By contributor Eileen Shim

The crowd pushed through a maze of comic books and T-shirts as I tried to take some pictures. Grappling with my camera, I ran straight into the person in front of me. “Excuse me, ma’am,” the disembodied voice said, as I looked up to find an impossibly tall man. A harried-looking woman escorted him away, and a nearby teenager gawked, “Dude, that was Big Tiny.”

The man was Theodus Crane, an actor who had a memorable turn as the lovable prisoner Big Tiny on the third season of The Walking Dead, AMC’s zombie kill-fest. He cut a wide berth through a sea of gaping fans as he walked into the costume contest arena. “You guys all look so great,” he said with a smile, before the bevy of would-be Jedi knights, Starfleet commanders, Time Lords, Adventure Timers, and the entire pantheons of Marvel and DC Comics.

Such were the sights at Awesome Con, D.C.’s first comic book and science-fiction convention. The two-day fest brought in more 3,000 comic book and sci-fi lovers to take over the Walter E. Washington Convention Center with workshops ranging from cosplay weapon making to writing and marketing original content. Celebrity guests, such as Nicholas Brendon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Billy West and Phil LaMarr of Futurama, milled about the dealer’s area, where vendors unloaded fan art and geek merchandise faster than the Millennium Falcon jettisoning its smuggled cargo.

“We’ll be broke after this,” said a sweaty dad, with his son dragging him in front of a showcase of vintage Avengers books. “I don’t care,” the child replied, gleefully.

Many were excited that a full-blown convention was finally taking place close enough to make it a day trip. Doctor Who fans Stuart Weiser and Jenny Harlett brought their 12-year-old twin daughters, Naomi and Charlotte. “I’m glad it’s finally in D.C., it’s about time,” said Harlett, wearing a Dalek costume. Her husband dressed as the titular Doctor, while both their daughters dressed up as the redheaded Scottish heroine Amy Pond. “We had to spray all this in the morning!” Charlotte said as she showed off her temporary hairdo.

The artists and vendors were similarly happy for the business. Noelle Stevenson, an art student from Baltimore, had a throng of fans clamoring to buy prints of her popular web comics. After creating “The Broship of the Ring,” a modern, bro-y take on the Tolkien series, the local artist shot to Internet fame and got a deal from HarperCollins for her original comic, NIMONA. Now, three weeks before her college graduation, she was mobbed by fans.

“I definitely underestimated the turnout,” Stevenson, who quickly sold out of several prints, said. “I’ve never had a solo table at a con before, but this is really awesome, especially for a first-time con.”

And for others, the con was a safe space of pure escapism. Connor Freche, who wore an impeccable Captain Jack Sparrow get-up, said he turned to cosplay in high school to cope with being bullied.

“Instead of doing drugs, I became a pirate captain,” he said, miming Johnny Depp’s drunken swagger. He flipped through photos of his earlier cosplays on his iPhone, and explained that he now does side gigs as a professional Jack Sparrow impersonator between his retail jobs. “Everything is better with a pirate!” his business card read.

But this being D.C., politics still squirmed its way into the geekiest of conversations, especially a panel devoted to the interminable “Star Trek vs. Star Wars” debate. The participants, dressed in comic T-shirts and Starfleet jumpsuits, argued their cases before an expectantly rowdy audience. Though the panel began by shouting familiar catchphrases—“I am your father” for the Lucasians; and “KHAAAAN!” for the Trekkies—it quickly sobered to a serious conversation about the political worlds established in each franchise.

“In Star Wars, good and evil are clear,” a member of Team Star Wars argued. “You’re either a Jedi or a Sith. You’re with the rebels or with the Empire.”

“I think you just made our case for us,” a Star Trek fan countered. “In Star Trek, your enemy in one season can be your ally in the next. It’s the same way that our allies can be our enemies in the future. It’s a constant reflection of what’s going on in the real world.”

And Starfleet’s policy of peace and non-interference would serve well in our world, his debate partner added. “As for Star Wars, every time somebody does something wrong, Darth Vader kills you. It’s an inefficient bureaucratic system,” the Trekkie said. (Not that our own bureaucracy is anything to brag about to the rest of the cosmos, to say nothing of the fact that President Obama recently muddled up the two franchises when he bemoaned his inability to perform a “Jedi mind meld” on members of Congress.)

In another room, attendees wanted to talk less about diplomacy and more about chemistry. Over 60 people signed up for a session with Sci-Fi Speed Dating, a professional service that has even landed its own television special. Its founder, Ryan Glitch, has run the program for three years, and claimed to have contributed to one wedding, 14 engagements, 80 couples, and one baby. Presiding in a homemade Jedi costume that he said cost him $1,500 and 40 hours of his life, he told the lovelorn hopefuls to “move your ass to get some.”

“I’ve seen people passing out at these things,” Glitch said as the crowd nervously laughed. “Relax! Be your badass geek self.”

The participants were allowed to talk to each other in three-minute intervals, and later wrote down their contact info for the people they were interested in. A first-time con attendee, who did not want to share his name, began the session in a full Sontaran (Doctor Who, again) costume, complete with a latex mask. Though some ladies were intrigued by this mystery, he removed his mask halfway through. “I just can’t breathe in this,” he said as he fanned himself, while his conversation partner giggled. In space, even if no one can hear you scream, one still needs a steady flow of oxygen.

To Glitch, the workshop encapsulated the con experience: “I’ve been to over four dozen cons in my life, and it’s the same thing—people just want to meet other people,” he said. “D.C. really came out swinging.”