Archive: Master and Apprentice and anyone else foolish enough
who just tells me where.
Category: Humor/ Parody, POV
Rating: G
Warnings: First-time author
Spoilers: None, about 40 years pre-TPM
Summary: Master Yoda finds himself as the substitute teacher of
a class full of energetic jedi students. Special guest
appearance by Qui-Gon Jinn in a youthful breakthrough
performance.
Feedback: Please! This is my first fan fic ever, and I
desperately crave guidance.
"Children, your teacher I will be for the next week. Master
Tressa on vacation is. Subbing am I. Yoda my name is. Tell me
who can, what lesson you currently are learning?"
A roomful of small jedi are looking at me with unknowing faces.
Perhaps I have not expressed myself clearly. Curse the
confusing syntax of this language. I must remember to make time
for speech lessons. Perhaps next century. Yes, I believe I'm
free then.
I choose a clever looking child to reiterate my question to.
"You there, what your name is, young one?"
The blonde girl answers shyly, "Lantee, Master."
Lannie, I must remember that. "Latte, what learned you last
class with Master Tressa?"
"Levitation, Master. We lifted blocks with our minds."
"Thank you, Lassie." I spy a box full of wooden blocks across
the room. I gesture at the tallest boy in the class, "you there
boy, what your name is?"
"Qui-Gon, sir Master Yoda, sir."
Kwi dash gone. I will have to remember that. "Boy, fetch you
the box of blocks for our practice."
"Sir, yes Sir," he runs off. Is he lisping?
"Come children, a circle you must form."
The small persons arrange themselves into a crooked square with
delusions of roundness. Close enough. Most of the young jedi
are human, but there are a few other species represented. A
small furry wilbock is picking its nose next to a short
calamarian. What interests me, however is a thin green child
who has placed himself (herself?) towards the rear of the
group. The child has long, skinny vegetative limbs and only one
large cylindrical, terra-cotta colored foot appendage.
Apparently it is from a jungle world and its ancestors acquired
characteristics of camouflage. None of this is important,
however. I am more concerned that he has placed himself apart
from the others. I will make an effort to draw him out.
The children are chattering loudly like muldavian bongo moneys.
The din is beginning to give me a headache. The tall boy I sent
for the box is returning, although he appears to be struggling
with its weight. What was his name again? Something dash
something else. Before I can suggest he find assistance, I
notice that both of his disproportionately large feet are
trying to step in the same spot at once. In seconds they are
locked in battle, with the inevitable outcome being that every
other part of the boy's body residing above said feet are now
approaching the floor to join them. Pandemonium ensues. Blocks
fly everywhere landing on young jedi and striking heads, limbs
and one of the vegetative child's fronds. The tall kid, what's
his dash name, nails two smaller children with his falling
body, one of them the wilbock, whose finger is promptly jammed
further up his nose than is apparently comfortable. Shrieks,
yelps and the crying of the bloody-nosed wilbock fill the air.
I am definitely getting a headache.
"Calm yourselves you must," I am screaming, trying to impose a
tolerable level of hysteria to the classroom. Before I can
continue, however, a small human voice disrupts the chaos with
an even louder laugh.
"Ha Ha! Qui-Gon is no jedi! He's just a clumsy idiot!"
Who? I notice the sheepish red face on the tall boy and realize
he is the target of the dark haired kid's attack. Said child is
continuing to point and snicker when I walk up beside him.
"What your name is boy?" I ask.
"Tindale, Master Yoda." The child knows what he has done is
wrong and is looking at me with guilt and a fear of punishment.
What was his name again?
"Pinwheel, why laugh you at Tall-Kid's fall?"
The boy looks sideways back and forth as though searching for
an answer other than the obvious one that he seems loath to
give.
"Because it was funny, sir?"
Force, these children were predictable. "Think you people being
hurt amusing is?"
"No sir," Spindle stammers trying to make excuse, "Qui-Gon just
looked so silly is all"
Who? Anyway, this boy has easily led me up to one of my
favorite parts of instructing young jedi. My famous "Dark Side
Speech." Generations of knights have been privileged to hear my
famous dissertation on the dangers of the dark side of the
force. Class after class of jedi have heard the speech and been
forever after wary of its evil lure. It has been contended that
thousands of jedi knights upon hearing my discourse have been
set permanently upon the path of light. I am not the only one
who says that, either. The power of my speech comes in its
ability to scare the stuffing out of a youngster. Although also
useful on older students, when used on children of this age, it
is usually the most effective. What a happy coincidence I have
been given an opportunity to regale these students with my
masterpiece by this boy, what was his name again?
"Sit you down Twiddle. All of you sit."
They arrange themselves around my feet. All except the
vegetable-looking child who has chosen to stay aloof. Perhaps
due to the beaning he received from the flying block. A wary
species, perhaps. I notice to my surprise that the tall kid,
whatever dash whatever, has taken a spot next to Paddle, the
latter's transgression apparently forgotten.
I begin my opus. "When laugh you at what is different show you
not humor. Show you only your fear. Fear of what is different.
Many different types of fear there are. Fear of an attacker.
Fear of death. Fear of taxes. All are same to jedi, however.
Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to anger. Anger leads to
suffering. Paths to the dark side are these. Beware of the dark
side you should."
Sith, I'm good. The children are stunned. I let them stew for a
minute, working myself up for the crescendo. If these
youngsters are as predictable as I believe, I will soon be
given the opening for my coup de grace. I might not get that
headache after all.
Young Tinpail gives me fodder to continue speaking. "But Master
Yoda, how will we know when the dark side is near?"
"When you are at peace, calm, relaxed. Then know you will."
The children are looking very introspective now. I have
obviously had a profound affect on them. Perhaps the scare
tactic part of my speech will not be necessary with this group.
Maybe I have underestimated them.
A long, skinny arm snakes its way up into the air to waggle a
hand at me.
"Question you have Tall-Kid?"
"Yes sir Master, sir," he replies to me. I must speak to Master
Tessa about that lisp. "I guess I don't understand, sir. I
mean, are you saying that if we laugh at something funny, we're
evil?"
My headache is back. None of the other children is giving any
indication that they find this question is anything except
perfectly reasonable. I think, perhaps I need to move slower.
"No, Tall-Kid," I reassure the boy, "only of the dark side it
is when motivated by fear it is. We must be mindful of our
feelings. A jedi must seek out his own emotions. Face down his
fears, he must."
"That sounds kinda' scary, sir," Tall-Kid spits out. Fairly
astute observation, especially given his previous statement.
But before I can focus the lesson on this thought, Pimple's
belligerent nature surfaces again.
"That's stupid. Qui-Gon's just a scaredy-cat. I'm not afraid of
dumb old emotions."
Who? Any way, this boy is practically my straight man. He has
given me the fuel for the truly powerful part of my speech.
This is too good to resist. I step over towards Tampon until I
am directly in front of him. I put on my
'serious-and-somewhat-threatening-jedi-master look.'
"Think you know fear, boy? What know you of fear?" I push my
face closer to him with each word. "Not afraid are, you? Well,
you will be. You will be."
As I annunciate the last few words, I am almost nose to nose
with the young boy. My proximity to the child informs me of the
impact my diatribe has had on the lad. I sniff. Urine. The
youngster has wet himself. It happens. My speech is very
overwhelming, particularly to those whose bodies are not
completely under their control yet. Sometimes they faint.
Occasionally they vomit or lose patches of fur or scales, but
more often then not they prefer to pee.
I step back for fresh air, pretending not to notice. Piddle
seems grateful I have not made mention of his accident. My plan
for the day had been to tire the children with physical
activity before leading them in a discussion of jedi code.
Looking at the faces of the children, who seem suitably cowed
from my "Dark-Side Speech" I decide to change plans and have
our mental exercise now. This tactic will give certain
individuals with sopping underpants the chance to dry out.
"Question I have. Tell me who can when a jedi uses his
lightsaber?"
Several appendages race to the air wiggling. I notice the
vegetable child's is not among them. Throughout my entire dark
side warning he remained quiet, as though absorbing every word.
I think he may still be ruminating on my speech. He is very
introspective. Amongst the waving arms, I do not see the fleshy
stick belonging to the tall boy. As I look over at him I
realize why. He is sitting cross-legged next to Tinkle, who,
himself, is sitting in a pool of urine. Tall-Kid wrinkles his
nose, glancing at his odiferous companion. Just as he is about
to open his mouth and say something about the perfume he is
inhaling, I stop him.
"Tall-Kid, an answer you have? When uses a jedi his
lightsaber?"
He is distracted. "In defiance, Sir?" he lisps at me.
"What?" I am shocked. Oh wait. Obviously, not everyone has the
same command of this language as I posses. "Think you again,
Tall-Kid. Meant you to use that word?"
The boy places his hand on his chin and screws up his brow. He
has completely forgotten the stream of wee-wee inching its way
toward his foot.
"No sir, Master Yoda sir. I mean defense sir. Yes, defense."
With his enthusiastic answer, he is spraying saliva onto the
head of the child in front of him. I must ask Master Tressa
about an orthodontist. Yes, I must remember that.
"Correct you are Tall-Kid," I congratulate him as he wipes
spittle off his chin.
My headache is growing rapidly. I think my skull is twice as
large as it was this morning. I decide to abandon the
intellectual debate in favor of exercise.
"No more questions. Time it is now to hit each other with
sticks," I declare.
"Yippee!" screeches a chubby dark-haired girl. "Lightsaber
practice!"
She jumps up and leads the throng of yelling children to a wall
where several boxes full of thin, colored wooden sticks are
stored. In the rush, I watch as the tall kid trips over one of
the blocks that are still scattered around the room and takes a
header into the nearest stick container. Practice sabers roll
out and are quickly snatched up by eager students.
I pair the students off, trying to create combinations that
will enhance their fighting abilities. I have decided to match
up Tinkle with Vegetable Boy. Since I cannot easily determine
whether the young jungle dweller has any olfactory senses, I
decide to take a gamble that he does not and therefore won't be
offended by Diddle's pungency. I am concerned however about
Vegetable Boy. (Perhaps if I used a more familiar moniker for
him, say a nickname like 'Veggie' he could relax more.) Veggie
has not chosen a saber stick. Perhaps he is a pacifist. I pick
a stick for him, a green one, and place it in the loose black
material covering his support appendage. The organic substance
yields to the pressure of the practice saber and I take that as
an acknowledgment of his desire to train. Good for you, Veggie!
Meanwhile, the yells and screams are becoming nearly
intolerable. My head has swollen to ten times its original
size. At least I'm sure it must have, because the amount of
pain I feel could not fit inside a normal cranium. The students
are enthusiastically beating the crap out of one another.
Tall-Kid is getting his shins wacked by the chubby girl. The
wilbock is dueling one handed, his second paw being employed in
excavating the nostril he had neglected earlier. Two skinny
girls are lying on the floor smacking each other's heads after
apparently doing enough damage to legs and feet that standing
is no longer a viable option. I glance at Veggie and Sprinkle.
The human boy is easily knocking the other's stick away with
each blow. But to my satisfaction I watch as each time Veggie's
saber clatters to the floor, Wizzer stoops to pick it up. Of
course this manages to display the large yellow stain on his
breaches, but I am proud of Wetter for his generosity towards
the vegetable boy. I am proud of Veggie, too, for his
perseverance.
I allow the practice to continue, giving instruction where
needed and demonstration with my cane when words cannot
penetrate thick skulls. Finally, the children begin to tire and
I send them towards the storage bins to put up their sticks. My
noggin is now the size of a speeder bike and growing. I look up
at the chronometer and blissfully realize the class is finally
over.
"All for today that is, children. Go you now to your quarters.
For dinner you must clean up. "This last statement brightens
Puddle's face considerably.
As the children file out of the classroom, I notice that Veggie
has remained behind. Perhaps he seeks individual training.
Truly a sign of maturity, that. But I cannot offer to him what
he lacks the courage to ask from me. I seek him out to test the
strength of his resolve.
"Young one, why stay you behind?"
He ponders my query, perhaps searching for the proper phrasing
to state his intentions. I am longing to return to my quarters
and find rest and perhaps aspirin, but the training of my
students is more important. He is taking his damn sweet time,
but I wait. A jedi is patient.
Suddenly I sense a familiar presence near my left elbow.
"Yes, Tall-Kid. What need you?"
"I just wanted to ask you one last question, sir Master Yoda
sir," the boy hoses me with his reply.
My head is the size of a bantha now. Hanging on the fragile
thread of my neck like an overripe jojabba fruit the weight of
which pulls on the delicate branch threatening to snap it in
two.
"So ask already."
"I'm just wondering, Master Yoda, sir, why it is you keep
talking to that potted plant."
Snap!
"To your room go, Qui-Gon."
"Yes sir, Master Yoda, sir. See you tomorrow, sir," the
youngster fixes me with a wide grin which displays the gaping
hole where his front teeth used to be and would soon be again.
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