Alien: a being from someplace else. Reduction: to make smaller. Alien Reduction: To reduce a thing to its smallest unit so that it may be understood by an alien.

“Take me to your leader” says the glowing green light shaped like an artichoke. The possum falls over on its side and does not respond, for possums do not have leaders and are taciturn by nature. “Take me to your…” a shuffling, crinkling sound is heard, which makes the wolfe prick up its ears. “To your… your alpha!” says the leafy green glow.
The wolfe hops up and trots away to the den. The green follows after with a sheepish flutter of uncertainty.
“Alpha,” begins the green, fluttering about in an effort to find a safe glowing spot in the disorder that is the Alpha’s den. “Alpha, what does this card refer to?”
A small glossy stock card flicks out of the light and falls at the Alpha’s feet. She picks it up, it says “Ravenite FON Wolfe Pack” on the back, with some URLs beneath it.
“Aha!” says Alpha, “I knew I should have added 'whatever you desire' to that!”  Alpha smiles to herself.
“Explain,” snaps the light.
“Oh, well there was this movie, and one of the villains ran a prostitution ring called Fleur…”
“What is a movie?” snaps the light.
“Uh oh. Never mind.”
“What does it refer to?”
Lifting the card, Alpha moves an eyebrow.  “The card? Well, it is a cyber-club for...”
“Cyber club? Explain.”
“Ah, well, we refer to communications, organizations, activities, anything that occurs on the internet…. Wait, that’s a form of electronic communication among humans.”
“Thank you. Continue”
“Cyber refers to electronic space, which is really a matter of circuit and storage capacity on the…”
“I am fully aware of electronic and mathematical abilities of your species. This does not answer my question.”
“Okay, so the RFWP is a group of people who wish to promote and share their enthusiasm for a television show called Highlander: The Raven.”
“Why?”
“Because they like the show, and they enjoy sharing their joy with each other.”
“Why?”
“The story is entertaining.” Alpha's tone reveals boredom.
Silence, and a whir of crinkling, then a click and a hum. “What is a show?”
“I thought you said...”
“Forget what I said, answer.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else I will….” Shuffling, and a sudden rush of sound like… tumbling paper? “Drats… or else I will kill you.”
Sound of paper being collected. Silence.
“You do not respond… why?” the glow asks brusquely.
“Well, I don’t like being threatened by glowing green crudités.”
“But it says here... er...Why does this phrase alarm you? I have observed it has this effect on many of your species, but not on the bovine.” 
“The bovine can’t understand you, if you say it in… never mind. Humans do not like the idea of being killed.”
“What is “kill”?”
“To end a life. To cause death.”
“Ah yes, your species has a term limit on its existence in this physical space.”
“In this physical…? Do you know what comes after?” Alpha rises from her chair, her fear of death erased by her curiosity.
“I am asking the questions here!”  The glow expands and brightens as if in punctuation.
Alpha shrinks back into the chair. “Sorry.”
“So, what is a show?”
“It is a story acted out by performers and recorded to be presented on television sets, at least in this case.”
“How is this entertaining?”
“People enjoy hearing stories about other lives, other universes, so that they might gain greater insight and perspective into their own lives.”
“Why?”
“Because people get bored. They like variety.”
“Why?”
“Because we are a species of seekers? I don’t know!”
“Humans cannot make their lives entertaining enough in themselves?”
“Life is too short to do everything.”
“Ah yes, the mortality thing.”
“Right!"  Alpha leans forward with new enthusiasm,  "It is crucial to understand our inherent fear of death, our resistance to it, as it limits us. This is why we like stories about immortals.”
“Immortals? What immortals? Like me? Where?”
“Hold your horses…" Alpha leans back, hands out in a professorial pose of patience.  "The Raven is a story about immortals, one in particular: a woman named Amanda. People enjoy the story because… well, because they like to see someone who is not mortal coping with all the problems mortals might encounter if their lives were not so short.”
“They enjoy her problems? What problems could an immortal have that would be relevant to a mortal’s life?”
“Well, she has to preserve her immortality, and…”
“Her immortality is conditional? Then she is not immortal.”
“Well, I guess, but by comparison….”
“There is no comparison. Why would mortals invent a story about an immortal and then recant on her immortality?”
Alpha shrugs and tilts her head.  “Misery loves company?”
“Who is Misery?”
“No one, it is an emotion.  Well, actually, she was a character featured in some fictional novels by a fictional author in a movie…” light flickers impatiently.   Alpha pauses and blinks.  “No, never mind.”
“What is the origin of stories?”
“Someone writes them.”
“Who?”
“Well, the writer.”
“The writer, then, must be the most powerful of humans, to know the stories that explain people’s lives to them.”
“Uh…. I guess, but there are lots of writers, and mostly they aren’t paid very well, but they love their work and will suffer the greatest privations for it.” Alpha sniffs.
“I do not understand. Without them there would be no stories, which seem to be so vital to humans.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, misery loves company.”
Sharp flash from the artichoke.
“Pretend I didn’t say that again.”
“Who wrote the story of this Amanda?”
“Well, many people did, but the first was a man…”
“What is the difference between a man and a woman? Are these grammatical variations of the same word?”
“Um…. Yeah, sure, you could say that. The difference is irrelevant to this discussion. If you keep interrupting me I will never finish.”
The glow dims slightly.  “Continue.”
“A man wrote a story about an immortal many years ago, and the story appealed to people, so others wrote stories on the same theme, and the first story became many.”
“Why?”
“Why which… why did he write it? Well, he had to do a final project…”
“Why is not one story enough?”
“Well, despite the catchy nihilistic phrase “There can be only one….”
An eager flicker of enthusiasm from the prickly round green precedes a chirping: “Misery loves company?”
“Sure, but so do joy, and hope, and faith, and glory…”
“Your emotions are very sociable.”
“Indeed.”
The light dashes into the next room. Alpha follows, and finds the light hovering in front of the television set. The screen flicks to life and Susan Powter stomps across the screen, waving her hands, gesturing at a poster size photo of her once obese self. She lifts her shirt front and reveals a flat stomach and slender waist.
“This is The Raven?” blurts the light.
“No, that’s another show.”
“I wish to view The Raven. Make it so.”
“Hey, who’s the alpha around here? Do it yourself, the tapes are over there on the shelf.”
Thirteen hours later, Alpha returns from work to find the room littered with empty bags of plant food. Rummaging from the next room lures her to the office.
“What are you doing?” she exclaims as tape boxes tumble to the floor, cases fly open and cassettes pile off the shelf.
“I wish to view The Raven. I want more Raven!”
“Hey, immortal or not, you’ll have to wait like the rest of us.”
Dimming, the light bleats: “I wish to view The Raven.”
Alpha notices that the light has taken on a sickly yellow hue.
“You don’t look so good. Try reruns. Watch the tapes again, or try the Duncan stories.”
“Duncan? Who is Duncan?”
“Sheesh… newbies…”