Culture Shock, Chapter 6: Religion (Kara and Romo) (6/12)
Series Title: Culture Shock
Chapter Title: Religion(Kara and Romo), 6/12
( Chapter 1) ( Chapter 2) ( Chapter 3)( Chapter 4) ( Chapter 5)
Author:kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13 (for language--and not just "frak")
Characters: Ensemble
Summary: Crack. Starbuck's magic Viper needle leads the Fleet to modern-day Earth. And the Colonials thought learning to live with the Cylons was hard...
Notes: Yes, this is exactly what you think it is. It may not be the most creative chapter, but I couldn't help myself. Some familiarity with the original 1970s BSG series is necessary to catch a few of the jokes in the series, though you definitely don't have to know it well--I've never actually seen a whole episode myself. Special thanks to safenthecity for letting me steal her brilliant Cylon paternity episode of Maury for Chapters 2 and 12. (Original is here.)
Chapter 6: Religion (Kara and Romo)
Back in Vancouver, Kara Thrace was having a much easier time dealing with her Cylon companion than Tom and Lee were with Tory. However, even though Sam was far too considerate and too large to sneak up on Kara in such a way that made her think there was more than one of him, that didn’t mean she was free from startling discoveries of her own.
Like most of the Colonials, Kara and Sam decided to stay near where they’d received such a warm initial welcome, so they immigrated to Canada. Their relationship was more than a little uneasy, not to mention ill-defined-the Canadian government was still trying to decide whether it would recognize a marriage between a robot and a dead woman-but they were working through their issues in the way that Kara and Sam worked through issues best: with plenty of booze and sex. If she was being honest with herself, Kara admitted, they really weren’t so much working through any of their hang-ups, but they sure as hell were having a good time ignoring them.
Life in the condo the Canadian government and the GEECs had procured for Kara and Sam as temporary housing was just close enough to normal that the few unfamiliar things about Earth stood out in stark contrast, though Kara couldn’t say they really bothered her that much. But by far the most puzzling thing she encountered in her new condo was finding Romo Lampkin standing on its doorstep one morning.
“Good morning, Captain Thrace,” said Romo, who was wearing his sunglasses despite the overcast skies. They stood on the threshold for a long while, staring each other down. Romo smiled and broke the silence. “I hear it’s customary in this territory to invite friends into one’s home when they knock on your door.”
“We’re friends?” Kara groused, but she turned and walked down the entrance hall and didn’t object when Romo followed. She’d never admit to Romo that it was nice to see a familiar face, even if it was his. “And I’m not sure it’s Captain Thrace anymore-still haven’t gotten my billet.”
“No, I think it is,” said Romo, producing an envelope from under his jacket and holding it out. Kara grabbed it and ripped it open. “Met the mailman on the way in,” he added.
“Sure,” Kara mumbled as she read the letter, “couldn’t possibly be that you’ve graduated from picking pockets and moved on to mail theft, could it?”
“No, of course not,” Romo grinned. “I might need you as a character reference when I take the bar exam.”
Kara snorted. She set the letter down on the counter. “To save you the trouble of stealing it, the letter says there’s a place for Sam and me on the Galactica, if we still want it.”
Romo looked at her over his glasses again. “If you still want it?”
“I always said flying would suck once the war was over.” Kara shook her head, annoyed that she’d let Romo sidetrack her and suck her in to talking about herself. How did he always do that so easily? “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
“Making contacts with potential clients.”
Kara frowned. Not that it was that unreasonable of a guess, all things considered, but it still pissed Kara off that everybody seemed to assume that divorce might be in her and Sam’s near future.
“Don’t know what you’re doing here, then,” said Kara. “Sam’s out right now. You could ask him if he needs a release form written up for players in his new Pyramid league. Other than that, ‘fraid we don’t have any business for you.”
Romo quirked a grin that made Kara very uncomfortable. “I’ll remember that. But actually, I came here with something else in mind. I think we should discuss it over drinks.”
“Okay…I think. When?”
“Now.”
Kara’s brow furrowed. “At ten in the morning?”
“Has that ever stopped you before? Never has me.”
Kara nodded in concession and headed toward the liquor cabinet.
“No, no, not like that,” said Romo. “Grab your jacket. I’m taking you out.”
Kara was surprised at how few blocks she had to pester Romo with demands to know where they were going before he opened a door and ushered her inside a building.
She stopped just inside the doorway, taking in the sight the best she could.
Kara had been many things in her life: special, the chosen instrument of both the Gods plural and God singular, dead, and the harbinger of death, at least according to a crazy chick in a glowing bathtub who was usually right about that sort of thing. But none of that had prepared her for this.
People with profound longing in their eyes streamed from the street and into this odd temple. All approached something that was almost like an altar, covered in strange, shining silver relics. Several muttered a muffled prayer of “thank God” when they were handed the Eucharist, and as they tipped it to their lips, she could see the peace wash over their faces. And the cult icon…one great, bold religious icon was emblazoned on almost every surface, even on the vessels of this-bizarre to her but obviously holy to the Earthlings-sacrament. The very air was thick with religious fervor and devotion, and also, cinnamon.
There was only one rational conclusion to draw: Earth had a Cult of Starbuck.
And apparently, its sacraments all involved coffee.
“Come on, Starbuck. Don’t block the door, or someone in need of a caffeine fix will likely run you over,” Romo said, guiding the still-dumbstruck Kara over to the cash register. “Ah, sir,” Romo called to a man behind the counter.
“Hey, Romo, my man! What can I get ya?”
“I’ll have a grande extra hot soy with extra foam, split shot with a half squirt of sugar-free vanilla and a half squirt of sugar-free cinnamon in a venti cup-and fill up the room with extra whipped cream while you’re at it.”
Kara swiveled her head and stared at Romo as if he’d started speaking in tongues. Romo either didn’t notice or, more likely, chose to ignore her expression.
As the kid behind the counter worked frantically, Romo whispered to Kara, “I’ve heard that ordering a drink with more than two adjectives sort of calls my masculinity into question, but I can’t help it. The entertainment factor of seeing these kids try to remember all that rubbish makes the risk worthwhile.”
“And for you, Miss?” the barista asked.
Kara stood for a long time trying to form words. Finally, she managed, “Coffee?”
The barista looked at her, equally confused. “Yes, and…?”
“Black,” she said haltingly.
“Okay.” The barista shrugged and set to work again.
“So, Ted,” Romo said to the barista, “yesterday you were telling me about how ubiquitous this brand of…temple dedicated to caffeination is.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, they’re everywhere. Three hundred Starbucks locations in this city alone.” The barista expertly twirled a dollop of whipped cream on the top of one of the drinks, slapped lids on both, and then handed them to Romo with a little bow. “It’s gonna take over the world someday, man. Just you watch.”
Kara felt Romo shove the drink into her hand. She sipped it automatically, then realized why Romo had asked for so much odd crap in his; the coffee was better than the shit they’d made from algae in the Fleet, but not by much. She stared at the insignia on the cup. “Frak, first the harbinger of death, and now I’m a frakking mermaid…”
Romo looked at her over his glasses and smiled. “So, should we sue them for commercial appropriation of your name and celebrity identity, or try to get an endorsement deal?”
On to Chapter 7: Visual Arts (Gaeta and Hoshi)...
Chapter Title: Religion(Kara and Romo), 6/12
( Chapter 1) ( Chapter 2) ( Chapter 3)( Chapter 4) ( Chapter 5)
Author:kappamaki33
Rating: PG-13 (for language--and not just "frak")
Characters: Ensemble
Summary: Crack. Starbuck's magic Viper needle leads the Fleet to modern-day Earth. And the Colonials thought learning to live with the Cylons was hard...
Notes: Yes, this is exactly what you think it is. It may not be the most creative chapter, but I couldn't help myself. Some familiarity with the original 1970s BSG series is necessary to catch a few of the jokes in the series, though you definitely don't have to know it well--I've never actually seen a whole episode myself. Special thanks to safenthecity for letting me steal her brilliant Cylon paternity episode of Maury for Chapters 2 and 12. (Original is here.)
Chapter 6: Religion (Kara and Romo)
Back in Vancouver, Kara Thrace was having a much easier time dealing with her Cylon companion than Tom and Lee were with Tory. However, even though Sam was far too considerate and too large to sneak up on Kara in such a way that made her think there was more than one of him, that didn’t mean she was free from startling discoveries of her own.
Like most of the Colonials, Kara and Sam decided to stay near where they’d received such a warm initial welcome, so they immigrated to Canada. Their relationship was more than a little uneasy, not to mention ill-defined-the Canadian government was still trying to decide whether it would recognize a marriage between a robot and a dead woman-but they were working through their issues in the way that Kara and Sam worked through issues best: with plenty of booze and sex. If she was being honest with herself, Kara admitted, they really weren’t so much working through any of their hang-ups, but they sure as hell were having a good time ignoring them.
Life in the condo the Canadian government and the GEECs had procured for Kara and Sam as temporary housing was just close enough to normal that the few unfamiliar things about Earth stood out in stark contrast, though Kara couldn’t say they really bothered her that much. But by far the most puzzling thing she encountered in her new condo was finding Romo Lampkin standing on its doorstep one morning.
“Good morning, Captain Thrace,” said Romo, who was wearing his sunglasses despite the overcast skies. They stood on the threshold for a long while, staring each other down. Romo smiled and broke the silence. “I hear it’s customary in this territory to invite friends into one’s home when they knock on your door.”
“We’re friends?” Kara groused, but she turned and walked down the entrance hall and didn’t object when Romo followed. She’d never admit to Romo that it was nice to see a familiar face, even if it was his. “And I’m not sure it’s Captain Thrace anymore-still haven’t gotten my billet.”
“No, I think it is,” said Romo, producing an envelope from under his jacket and holding it out. Kara grabbed it and ripped it open. “Met the mailman on the way in,” he added.
“Sure,” Kara mumbled as she read the letter, “couldn’t possibly be that you’ve graduated from picking pockets and moved on to mail theft, could it?”
“No, of course not,” Romo grinned. “I might need you as a character reference when I take the bar exam.”
Kara snorted. She set the letter down on the counter. “To save you the trouble of stealing it, the letter says there’s a place for Sam and me on the Galactica, if we still want it.”
Romo looked at her over his glasses again. “If you still want it?”
“I always said flying would suck once the war was over.” Kara shook her head, annoyed that she’d let Romo sidetrack her and suck her in to talking about herself. How did he always do that so easily? “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
“Making contacts with potential clients.”
Kara frowned. Not that it was that unreasonable of a guess, all things considered, but it still pissed Kara off that everybody seemed to assume that divorce might be in her and Sam’s near future.
“Don’t know what you’re doing here, then,” said Kara. “Sam’s out right now. You could ask him if he needs a release form written up for players in his new Pyramid league. Other than that, ‘fraid we don’t have any business for you.”
Romo quirked a grin that made Kara very uncomfortable. “I’ll remember that. But actually, I came here with something else in mind. I think we should discuss it over drinks.”
“Okay…I think. When?”
“Now.”
Kara’s brow furrowed. “At ten in the morning?”
“Has that ever stopped you before? Never has me.”
Kara nodded in concession and headed toward the liquor cabinet.
“No, no, not like that,” said Romo. “Grab your jacket. I’m taking you out.”
Kara was surprised at how few blocks she had to pester Romo with demands to know where they were going before he opened a door and ushered her inside a building.
She stopped just inside the doorway, taking in the sight the best she could.
Kara had been many things in her life: special, the chosen instrument of both the Gods plural and God singular, dead, and the harbinger of death, at least according to a crazy chick in a glowing bathtub who was usually right about that sort of thing. But none of that had prepared her for this.
People with profound longing in their eyes streamed from the street and into this odd temple. All approached something that was almost like an altar, covered in strange, shining silver relics. Several muttered a muffled prayer of “thank God” when they were handed the Eucharist, and as they tipped it to their lips, she could see the peace wash over their faces. And the cult icon…one great, bold religious icon was emblazoned on almost every surface, even on the vessels of this-bizarre to her but obviously holy to the Earthlings-sacrament. The very air was thick with religious fervor and devotion, and also, cinnamon.
There was only one rational conclusion to draw: Earth had a Cult of Starbuck.
And apparently, its sacraments all involved coffee.
“Come on, Starbuck. Don’t block the door, or someone in need of a caffeine fix will likely run you over,” Romo said, guiding the still-dumbstruck Kara over to the cash register. “Ah, sir,” Romo called to a man behind the counter.
“Hey, Romo, my man! What can I get ya?”
“I’ll have a grande extra hot soy with extra foam, split shot with a half squirt of sugar-free vanilla and a half squirt of sugar-free cinnamon in a venti cup-and fill up the room with extra whipped cream while you’re at it.”
Kara swiveled her head and stared at Romo as if he’d started speaking in tongues. Romo either didn’t notice or, more likely, chose to ignore her expression.
As the kid behind the counter worked frantically, Romo whispered to Kara, “I’ve heard that ordering a drink with more than two adjectives sort of calls my masculinity into question, but I can’t help it. The entertainment factor of seeing these kids try to remember all that rubbish makes the risk worthwhile.”
“And for you, Miss?” the barista asked.
Kara stood for a long time trying to form words. Finally, she managed, “Coffee?”
The barista looked at her, equally confused. “Yes, and…?”
“Black,” she said haltingly.
“Okay.” The barista shrugged and set to work again.
“So, Ted,” Romo said to the barista, “yesterday you were telling me about how ubiquitous this brand of…temple dedicated to caffeination is.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, they’re everywhere. Three hundred Starbucks locations in this city alone.” The barista expertly twirled a dollop of whipped cream on the top of one of the drinks, slapped lids on both, and then handed them to Romo with a little bow. “It’s gonna take over the world someday, man. Just you watch.”
Kara felt Romo shove the drink into her hand. She sipped it automatically, then realized why Romo had asked for so much odd crap in his; the coffee was better than the shit they’d made from algae in the Fleet, but not by much. She stared at the insignia on the cup. “Frak, first the harbinger of death, and now I’m a frakking mermaid…”
Romo looked at her over his glasses and smiled. “So, should we sue them for commercial appropriation of your name and celebrity identity, or try to get an endorsement deal?”
On to Chapter 7: Visual Arts (Gaeta and Hoshi)...