SUMMARY: Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon. Sexual references. Humor/Parody.
Obi-Wan tries to get his master to take part in the spirit of a
Jedi holiday.
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The occasion called for silliness. Laughter. Emotional
openness.
The Jedi's annual holiday devoted to casting off solemnity and
serenity was well-loved throughout the order. Many missions
were called off or postponed so that everyone who could return
to one of the temples did. And, of course, everyone most of all
wanted to be on Coruscant.
Everyone who couldn't get to Alderaan, anyway.
Obi-Wan was, very naturally, stuck instead on a swamp planet,
with humidity that made his robes cling to him constantly,
ensconced in a "palace", or at least one called so by its
inhabitants, and forced to diplomatic politeness.
For some reason, Qui-Gon always seemed to avoid Coruscant
during the annual holiday.
This year, Obi-Wan was determined to bring the celebration to
his master, whether he liked it or not.
His planning took place the night before. There was no reason
to give Qui-Gon advance warning by beginning any sooner. The
later he began, the more hope he had of making this work and
carrying it off with some semblance of secrecy.
His master would have no choice but to embrace silliness on
the morrow.
"Obi-Wan, where is my robe?" a mild voice asked as Obi-Wan ate
the last of his breakfast.
"Robe?"
"Padawan."
"Master."
"Padawan." The tone grew sterner.
Obi-Wan worked on maintaining his air of innocence. "Master?"
Qui-Gon looked hard at him, but without directly invading his
mind, could not know what Obi-Wan was thinking. And his master
had too much self-control to do that over a mere matter of a
missing robe.
Of course, Qui-Gon hadn't mentioned that the rest of his
clothing was now dyed a bright green...
Perhaps his master was color-blind?
Obi-Wan shrugged, finished clearing away breakfast, and
dressed carefully in his own costume for the day.
Qui-Gon left for the negotiations much earlier than Obi-Wan
did. When Obi-Wan got there, he saw that his master did not
seem to notice the stares that their reptilian hosts were
giving him. On the other hand, if Qui-Gon wasn't aware that he
was wearing green, perhaps then he also didn't know that
everyone there was wondering about his sexual orientation.
Xenosexuals were treated rather... ah, enthusiastically
here.
"Obi-Wan?" came that mild voice again.
"Yes, master?"
"Why are you wearing a basket of fruit on your head?"
"I thought I might get hungry during the talks."
"I see."
And Qui-Gon said nothing more. Obi-Wan took his place in the
bowl-shaped depression in the floor that was his 'seat' at the
bargaining table, or in this case, bargaining floor. He was
beginning to wonder whether his master even had a sense of the
absurd, much less a sense of humor.
Near the end of the day's negotiations, which always concluded
just as the heat of the day began to fade, the head delegate
for the other side rose to its feet. "Master Jinn?"
"Yes?"
"Your companion has informed us that this day is a special one
for you."
If Qui-Gon knew why the day was special, he gave no sign of
it. Not even a verbal response to the delegate's statement.
Obi-Wan wondered suddenly if Qui-Gon had ever been a child
himself. Surely his master had once been a student himself.
Surely he hadn't been hatched out as a pod-knight, never
needing to undergo any other development stages.
Right?
The lizard continued. "Accordingly, we have prepared a small
celebration for you, as our guests. Naturally, it will need to
be short, as Sundowning is approaching, but we hope to make you
welcome."
"I am sure we will enjoy the presentation."
Obi-Wan shot a glare at his very under control master.
Something had to give before the end of the night, or he was
putting on a dress and doing a striptease.
He sank back into his hole and pouted.
Pouted all the way through the display of reptilian erotic
dance, perked up when one of the dancers began giving Qui-Gon
tongue, and pouted again when his master politely responded,
then returned to his impassive observation.
Did nothing move the man?
Apparently not. His master endured a lap dance with good
grace, accepted being fed delicacies that were a little too
lively for Obi-Wan's taste, and showed absolutely no response
to having his tunic opened and one of the juvenile lizards
fondling him.
That's it. I'm getting the dress.
Obi-Wan tried to stand up, overbalanced with the basket of
fruit on his head, and was recaptured by the hole under him,
with a sound much reminiscent of a biological process that was
rather rude when done in public.
"Is the entertainment not to your taste, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon
asked serenely.
"I-- I just remembered something I needed to do. To get. Back
in our quarters."
"Surely it isn't anything so urgent that it warrants the
insult to our hosts that leaving now would be?"
"No," Obi-Wan said, resigned. "I suppose it isn't."
He suffered through the rest of the ceremony, the lizards in
tutus, the capturing and slaughtering of the swans, the ensuing
fight with leather bladders stuffed with swan feathers, the
mock spaceship battle, and the passing out of the heavily
alcohol-laden dessert.
None of it had any visible effect on Qui-Gon, who was as calm
as always.
Obi-Wan ate his dessert absently, plotting further silliness
to use against Qui-Gon, but finally came to the conclusion that
there was simply no point. If his master could deal with all of
this with aplomb, without even seeming to notice that anything
out of the normal was going on, then nothing Obi-Wan could do
would shake him.
It was time to recognize the inevitable and give up. His plot
had failed.
Qui-Gon had to help him from his seat when it was time to go.
And back to their room, as well. Obi-Wan had eaten a bit more
of the dessert than was strictly good for him, and had
destroyed his sense of balance. His master, of course, had not
over-indulged.
Weaving even with support, still wearing the basket of fruit,
Obi-Wan was steered back to their quarters by Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon
let go of him as soon as they entered their suite.
Obi-Wan didn't have the strength to make it to his bed.
Instead, he collapsed over the first piece of furniture in the
room, intending to sleep on it, whatever it might be. It turned
out to be a chamber pot. He landed on the pot, chest-first. Its
rounded bottom sent him tumbling, the pot still stuck to his
chest. Fortunately, it had been emptied.
He considered the matter gravely. Now he was lying on the
floor, on his side, with a pot on his chest. Obi-Wan wasn't
entirely sure he could sleep on the floor, not without falling
off, at any rate. And he certainly wasn't going to sleep on the
chamber pot.
He dropped the pot and stood up, swaying. Then he noticed that
the basket was on the floor as well. Damn. I dropped the
fruit.
Obi-Wan bent over to collect it, got dizzy, went into a rather
clumsy forward roll instead, and landed on the floor, on his
back. His head was on the fruit, some of which had been
squashed by the landing, and some of which had not been
squashed and had instead left large lumps on his head.
As luck would have it, his hand came to rest in the
chamberpot.
Obi-Wan considered getting up, and evaluated his chances of
making it safely to his bed. They didn't seem very good.
With perfect drunken logic, he decided to sleep where he was.
In the morning, this would all make more sense. He was a little
disappointed that his earlier attempt to lighten the evening
had not worked. His master simply did not have a sense of the
ridiculous.
Which made it all the more curious that hysterical laughter
accompanied him as he fell asleep.
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