Mister Conquistador’s courtesy zone

One
With a politeness factor turned up to eleven and impeccable manners,
Conquistador was a courteousity king.

This may have been over compensating for the fact that he was a monster of
a man, huge in every way. Knowing his shambolic bulk might terrify, he made
efforts to forestall this outcome by projecting a courtesy zone with a radius of
about five metres in all directions. In practice this meant a broad, engaging
smile, eye contact like a junkyard magnet and the hearty manner of a used
yak salesman. Have you any idea how hard it is to sell a used yak?

The smile widens, eye contact locks on and Conquistador steps forward with
an outstretched hand, swallowing your puny hand like a catcher’s mitt
swallows a curve-ball. He pumps your arm, threatening to detach it at the
shoulder, inquires about your health, well-being, mood and general disposition
and if there is anything sub par he wants to help you fix it right now.

As you might expect this all comes across as howlingly insincere. Surely no
human could be this hearty and engaged and at the same time genuine. Yet
Conquistador was that very freak of nature.

Esperance though, was the polar opposite. And as luck wouldn’t have it she
bore a strange resemblance to that white bear of the polar regions, from her
black nose and furry fleece down to the claws on her feet and a rather
lumbering way of getting about on all fours. While this made her a good match
for Conquistador physically, her nature could not have been a greater
contrast. Reserved, remote and self-effacing, Esperance could no more
guffaw than the Queen could publicly piss on a beefeater’s dress uniform with
him in it. And yet it worked. Theirs was an enduring romance.

Two
Swivelling her Celestron NexStar Evolution telescope towards the Seven
Sisters, Esperance nibbled the tip of a celery stalk she had dipped into a salt
and lemon juice concoction, breaking her own rule about mixing food and
astronomy. As she was alone on the rooftop, no one need know, especially
not Conquistador, who had himself been scolded many times for food and
drink infringements.

The cluster she was viewing had over a thousand celestial objects including
quite a few brown dwarfs but only seven of the nine brightest were named for
the Sisters. The other two were their parents, Atlas and Pleione.

A wedge of light appeared outside the central tower which housed the spiral
staircase leading down to the rooms of the house. Conquistador had opened
the door. A few moments later the light blinked out, Conquistador having
closed the door after passing through it. Esperance tossed the celery and the
small dish of salty lemon juice off the roof into the dark. A brush-tailed possum
grabbed the celery as it arced past but then dropped it as the dish beaned it
on the noggin causing a stream of possum curse words to streak out through
the night.

Three
“Have you got the Pleiades in view?” asked Conquistador, a rhetorical
question since it was obvious the telescope was pointed at the cluster’s
fourteen stars visible to the naked eye.

“Did you finish up early?” asked Esperance.

“I printed out a mink coat with bamboo ink,” Conquistador said. “I couldn’t wait
to get home to see you try it on.” He held out the bamboo mink with its inviting
arm holes ready for Esperance to slip into, which she did.

“Comfy,” she said. “I take it no wild mink was killed to produce this bamboo
coat, and no mink was cruelly farm-caged.”

“Correct,” said Conquistador. “Also, to avoid confusion and prevent it being

used to promote the fur trade it looks nothing like real mink. In fact it looks
nothing like fur.”

“I noticed that,” said Esperance. “It looks like bamboo. Do you think it will
catch on?”

“It’s very soft,” said Conquistador.

“Soft bamboo,” said Esperance.

“You hate it,” said Conquistador. He was crestfallen, his crest having fallen
heavily against the side of his head like a pelican touching down on the mouth
of the Maribyrnong, only closer.

“I don’t hate it,” said Esperance. “Is it edible? Does it come in different
colours? Is it safe for the children?”

“What children?”

“Hypothetical children. You know, rug rats, terrible twos, ankle-biters.”

“Depends how much of it they eat. Did you have any ankle-biters in mind? I
suppose you could suffocate the little blighters with the thing but there are
easier ways to commit infanticide.”

“You’re upset.”

“You noticed.”

“It’s your crest,” said Esperance. “It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Here, give it back. I’ll put it in your wardrobe. You don’t have to wear it. Or eat
it. Or suffocate any children with it.”

“I’ll come down with you. I feel like a stalk of celery.”

“Let’s not go there. It won’t end well.”

“You’re not going to bring up the polar bear thing, I hope.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, my dear.”