The media expert was a very small man of great age, his hair was very white, what there was of it at least. He had only a few wisps remaining on his head, his face was filled with wrinkles, and he walked with a stoop that was only made possible by a cane. His clothing was a crisply pressed white suit and tie, with shining white leather shoes so well polished I could see my face in them.

He was any other successful old man at a glance, but his eyes were sharp and keen, he ignored me at first, which was strange as most humans gave me at least a second glance, and instead his eyes had a laser focus on the waiting fourteen year old girl.

“Oh yes, yes you’ll do marvelously.” He said as he hobbled toward the table.

Rebecca looked at him with a single skeptical eyebrow raised, “You are the media expert?” She asked, and the old man cackled.

“I don’t look like much, do I? But,” he raised his cane in one hand and straightened up at once. He then reached up to his forehead and peeled away what I first thought was skin, and then dropped it onto the table, “that is the first lesson.” He pronounced.

It was a wig. Beneath the wig was still gray hair, but it was lustrous thick white and his last few steps were a clear, confident stride. He yanked a chair back and sat down while Fauve and Rebecca looked at him with mutual disbelief.

“Appearance, my girl,” he said and shook his polished wooden cane, “is more powerful than anything you can imagine. People think lies are the most effective thing, but people forget words, even true ones. And even when someone remembers lies, the details fade over time. But people remember what they see first.”

“This is moving awfully fast.” Fauve said, leaning back in her chair, while their expert leaned forward just as William took a seat beside him.

“I suppose so, but that’s how things go, fast, child. Fast! But I guess we should have an introduction. Percival Terrance Barnum, at your service!” He said and extended his hand across the table first to Fauve, then to her mother, and finally to me. “I’ve been handling press conferences since before your father’s father was born. Unfortunately,” he looked Fauve up and down, “there’s not much time for a makeover. Ideally we’d make you look even younger, the younger they are, the more the crowd loves a victim. Youth and innocence… Everybody remembers having it. If they’re lucky at least. Everybody decent wants to protect it. Everybody who remembers it, remembers it fondly. And when somebody tries to ruin both, people hate the ones who do it. So if we had time, I’d take you in, get some pigtails done and some younger clothes, with a little makeup we could make you look five years younger… but we don’t have time for that.”

“No.” Fauve said at once. “Even if we did, no.” She shook her head vigorously, her loose wavy hair bounced behind her back, her parents developed deep frowns and traded silent stares between each other.

Myself, I didn’t know what to think.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“It's immaterial anyway, so there’s no reason to convince you, and that’s lesson two!” He brought the tip of his cane down twice against the floor creating a loud double crack. “Focus on the immediate, anyone who isn’t your ally out there is going to try to distract you. If you get side tracked, they control the narrative. They control the story, they control you. You have to remain focused on the subject. Don’t get distracted. These press conferences don’t last forever, time is limited and some people out there will want to waste it. If a question doesn’t pertain to the event, or you don’t know the answer, you move it along, understand, doll?”

Fauve pursed her lips and I watched her lean forward with renewed interest in the old man.

“I’m not a doll!” Fauve snapped, and the cane tapped the floor three times more, echoing around the room and off the walls.

“That’s lesson three. Do not get angry. Lose control of yourself up there, and they win. Make an angry face, scowl, shout, and the next thing you know, you’re the next incel community meme. Do you want that?” Percival asked and tapped his cane four times while Fauve thought.

“Lesson four! Be quick! You plan out what you’re going to say before you say it, we’re going to rehearse your answers before we leave. People hate waiting, and they’ll assume you’re formulating lies.”

Mr. Barnum’s lessons lasted for two straight hours, grilling Fauve on how she’d answer questions that, from what I knew of humans, nobody should be asking children. But he remained steadfast, persistent, and unwavering until his voice gave out.

He was barely able to whisper by the time he was done, “I think I damaged the end of my cane on that last lesson.” He said and with one quick flick of his wrist he brought the long smooth stick up and cocked his head to examine the tip. “May I have some water, Mrs. Walker?” He asked, and Rebecca finally rose to her feet, she put a glass beneath the faucet and turned it on.

While the water was rushing into the vessel, Percival said with a whisper, “One small crack. I thought so. Time to get another one I suppose.”

“Over one crack?” I asked, it seemed wasteful to me, but the old man nodded.

“Yes, I’m still pretty spry for a man my age, but time takes a toll on these old bones, and I do need one of these now and again.” He said and put the tip of his cane back to the floor. “One little crack, and the whole cane is just waiting to fall apart. A little weight the wrong way on it, then the crack will become a snap, and old Percival will come crashing down like the tree that was chopped down to make this thing.” He tapped a finger against the wooden knob shaped handle. “That’s all it takes, just… one… crack, and the entire thing is just waiting to be broken. That’s your last lesson. And your best weapon. Be. That. Crack.” He said and when Rebecca handed him the water, he drank greedily, gulping it down until the glass was empty and he slammed the base down on the table.

“Thank you, that was wonderful.” He said, and started to rise, William and Rebecca opened their mouths to object, but I beat them to it.

“Wait, what about me? Aren’t there things I need to know?!” I exclaimed, my tail was stiff and then curled as the prospect of the inevitable hit home.

“You were listening this whole time, weren’t you, my alien friend? What else do you need?” Percival asked and shook his head, “No, you need nothing, in fact if I thought you’d have obeyed my wishes, I wouldn’t have had you here for any of this, or barely any at most. You’re an alien, nobody expects you to act just like a human. Just be yourself up there, if you look coached, you’ll either confuse people or make them suspicious.”

It made too much sense for me to argue with him, and he pushed himself up from the table, “Now, come on, the car is waiting outside still and I’m sure my driver is getting bored, we need to head to the conference, and we need to be gone ten minutes ago.”

With that, we stood up together and followed the old man toward the door, going to… whatever end it might lead to.