Archive: At MA and padder's. Anyone else, just ask.
Summary: The Famous Two must stop the Infamous Gurdty
Gang.
Feedback: Yes, please. Of any sort, in any font. Well, maybe
not Greek...
Disclaimer: These Gentle Men are the property of George Lucas.
I make no money from this, ever.
Warning: If you don't care for off-the-wall, go away now!
<g> This one went places even I can't explain...
It was early morning in the Garden of Generous Flexibility and
upon a warm flat rock sat the Storyteller. His brows were
stormy and lightening did crackle and spiz round his lowering
brows.
Surrounding the rock sat a gaggle of Young Ones, eyes bright
with triumph, having cleanly trapped their prey. All ears, they
were, like pirlies upon Great Sebbins Reef.
The Storyteller was not amenable.
Perdition has a name for short people like you. I expected
Peace and Quiet this morning, not Riots and Mayhem.
His Singular Glint of Roaming Apoplexy bounced lightly off
their gleaming faces.
[...No, really! We've never mayhemmed in all our lives.
Promise! (heads nodding all around)...]
snort A likely story... Master Kulpah says he has fits
of the tremblies every day after History of Minor Senators of
the Near Rim, Section III.
[...But that's not...]
Master Wiebo says she wears a seatbelt in The Joy of
Schismatic Calculus, where she claims that the laws of
mathematics regularly avoid your persons.
[...But we never...]
And Master Growt claims you have caused him to grow an extra
head. And he only has room for two! Well?
[...(silent glares of innocence)... Sorry?...]
The Storyteller folded his arms and shook his Wise and Hairy
head.
'Sorry' pays the piper, my Young Shoots, but his shoes are
still made by hand.
[...???...]
...(sigh)... Right. Once upon a time...
Little Green Yoda blew softly on his oh-so-hot chocci-pot,
visions of burnt teeth and a charred tongue dancing in his
head.
Yes, way too much Stote milk, there is. Prefer, I do, my
chocci-pot strong and vivid.
A snort snagged his ear from somewhere in the general vicinity
of Master Windu, who was slurping his beverage in great gulps.
Vivid, my eye! It's the buzz you like!
Master Yoda's glare danced a fancy ricochet around the walls
of the tower room to land with a little Plop! in Mace's own
chocci-pot, splattering random droplets of brown across the
sleeve of his tunic.
"To myself, my thoughts you will keep! Hmpf..." (puuuffff,
siiip...) Ahhhh! Good, good, good. With a small wriggle, Little
Green Yoda settled the hot tingle in his innards into just the
right spot.
Now. What was on today's agenda. New bouquets for the Grand
Entry? No, that was yesterday. Ah, yes. Today was the deadline
for sending in the erotic paiku to the Tri-Planetary Long
Distance Poetry Society. The bitty Master settled the Padd in
his tiny lap and furrowed his doughty brow.
Hmmmm. Ah. Have it, I do. Yeeess...
'Round the scaly oiled...'
A crispy chuckle zipped across the room and tickled his dainty
hairs. "Entering the Contest, be we? Don't you gots a chance.
Mine is surely to win!"
Little Green Yoda spared a glare, sipped a little sip and
looked back at the Padd.
'Round the scaly oiled
Green and bubbling pool I sit...'
"He's right, ya know." Master Windu waved delicate fingers,
then snagged the handful of Chocci-biddies as they came
tripping through the air. "Paiku is his specialty. I
believe yours is...resting?" He licked powdered sugar from his
fingers.
With a growl that bared his pointy teeth, Little Green Yoda
hunkered lower in his comfy chair and wrote on.
'By the scaly oiled
Green and bubbling pool I sit.
Sucks my...'
The brand new Council Chamber door was a wonder of
construction. Reinforced dorma wood, crossbraced with the
finest mock-steel this side of Corellia and mounted with a
drop-lock that not even Master Kyurd of the flying tentacles
could outwit, sturdy and staunch it stood. Big Bo Bros.
guaranteed its survival, 'No matter what!'
But of course, they had never met a 'what'.
BOOM! Craassshhh!
With a whoosh!, the tiny Padd flew upward, its dainty paiku
a'sail through the ether. Twelve bodies ducked, covered, and
waited...
The Superlative Council uncurled its collective self and
looked with confusion at the strange figure before them. It was
perhaps two feet tall and dressed in a bright red, expandex
one-piece with matching shoulder pouch. Quite fetching,
actually, considering the mottled green and orange of its
scales. Its little peaked cap was crowned by two small golden
wings, still slowly flapping above a logo that read: You Got a
Message, We Deliver Good and Cheap.
With an elegant bow, it proferred a silver salver bearing a
silver Padd, touched a tiny control with one practiced claw and
cocked its pointy head. There was a pause... Then, a voice,
familiar and yet terrifying, crackled from the little
speakers.
"Greetings, Masters!" Expandex-thing swayed gently in the
breeze of twelve whirling comfy chairs. And the Powerful Voice
continued. "Hope you are well. I am very fine. So is Obi-Wan.
The weather here is really great. The people are very nice.
They only tried to kill us once so far. Will see you on or
about the Festival of Graak, barring unexpected mayhem. The
Nefarious Gurdty Gang has been really hard to find. But we
shall! Uhh...find it! What? Ah. Yes. Obi-Wan says 'Hi!' And
please reserve the Rogur Room for the slide show. Best to all!
Yours truly, Qui-Gon."
Expandex-thing deposited the Padd on the chocci-table, set its
wings on spiv', and shot out the door.
Or rather, what was left of the door...
Far and away, across the galaxy, in a cozy little rooming
house known for its pulled trellis-work and fretted pips, two
figures relaxed in the fulsomeness of the Sarkiddian
dusk.
"Padawan Mine, it says here that the Gurdty Gang are
specialists in the fine art of leverage, as well as the
practice of infraction, profanity and sundry vice-type
pecadillos."
The Handy Apprentice nodded. "Yes, indeed. I suspect they
practice with utmost sincerity. Shift just a bit to your left,
Master. This naughty sash is stuck somewhere in the nether
region of your hip."
The Mighty Master sighed a great sigh. "This is so good,
Obi-Wan. The Force has shown us yet another wrong to right,
another set of slurgs to trod into the muck of their own mire,
another pile of dirty laundry to scour with the Right of a
Power so Awesome as to shiver the very bones of the nearest
mucilaginous miscreant!"
The Plucky Padawan smiled and folded the last piece of
clothing. "They say big words often reflect the size of a great
man, Master Mine." His pink little nose wrinkled with serious
abandon as he whispered, "They're so right...aren't they?"
Sarkkidia. Sailing the ether at the back of beyond, through no
fault of its own the hideaway of the cruel and unusual Gurdty
Gang.
And now it was midnight and fog draped the corner of Where
Abouts Avenue and Chuck-It-All Way with the strange shapes of
nightmare. Eerie fingers of dread draped themselves willy-nilly
from every crack, crevice and cornice. In the distance, a
shrill cry shattered the dreadful silence for just a moment
before slowly dying away. Yes, it was the call of the Joo
Birdy, feared near and far due to its deadly accuracy at close
range. It was said it could drop a grown Bantha with a single
plop, although that was mere hearsay. And this one was on the
hunt!
Up the sidewalk of the midnight street crept two hooded
figures. Keeping well to the shadows, they made their unhurried
way from door to door, listening, looking, sifting the deadly
silence with practised ease.
One spoke softly, his voice a mere whisper within the writhing
tendrils of mist. "Have you got a hanky, Padawan?"
A soft rustle tickled the air. "Here, Master."
There came a quiet blaahht, then silence reigned once
again.
Until the Joo Birdy called.
Closer. Much closer...
Deep in the bowels of the city, in a warren of rooms,
corridors, closets, cupboards, armoirs, and buffets, sprawled
the home base of the Gurdty Gang, the Dark Side's answer to
longevity. Big Guba Gurdty was in charge, it was his show, his
scene, his oeuvre. And, once upon a time, his pleasure. But
now...
Guba Gurdty glared at his skinky little henchmen, wadded up
the Data Padd he'd just read and threw it at their stupid,
pointy heads. His voice was like puddink, thick and
deep...
"Look, who are those guys? Everywhere somethin' Bad goes down,
Boom!, here come the snorkin' Jedi!" He took a puff of the
cherb-root planted between his puffy blue lips. "I mean, it's
depressin'! I've lost more a' my guys than a Prinkbutt's got
spikes!"
Appropriate looks of woe draped the face of every
minion.
Big Guba clasped his hands over a profound belly. "It's so
depressin', I'm gonna hafta do somethin' ta fix it." His smirk
curled halfway around his head, wrinkling the big yellow nose.
"Yeahhh. Somethin'...ta fix it..."
Nary a minion so much as breathed.
"So. Can any a' yous guys tell me where them Jedi is?"
The Master of All Masters squinted at the engraved sign set
with tiny screws on the center of the door. Swirls of writing
in some meandering tongue hurled curlycues right and left
across the little piece of metal. Translation was not his
forte, but...
"Let's see... 'No. Cocks. Allowed.'" The Mighty Jinn twisted
his lips in puzzlement.
"Master. I...believe...the second word begins with a spurlid
"q", so the translation would be 'knocks'." He reached up and
took hold of a braided-gold rope. "Shall I?"
With a sigh of relief, the Mighty Master nodded.
The gong fair shook the sidewalk. And as the echoes died away,
the Prickly Pair heard heavy footsteps approaching. The
measured pace seemed to sound the knell of crushing death, the
sound of doom, doom, doom...
"Padawan, I believe I should like a chocci-drop right about
now."
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan reached deeply into a small side
pocket... "Here's a lovely one, still nice and powdery."
The Mighty Qui-Gon placed it reverently upon his tongue.
"Mmmmm. Just right." His smile would have staggered a Rancor.
"Now, let us see what's behind this door..."
Right on cue came the click of a latch, followed by an
atmospheric creaking as the door swung open. Two pairs of
carefully trained Jedi eyes focused on the fearful phantasm as
it faced them, snapping long opposable claws of two of its
hands in a rhythm best described by the dead. Its voice was the
grating of a stone coffin lid as it spoke in warning...
"Gotta caul in my pack, gotta wormy in my drawers,
Got some gristle in my nose, run away from my claws.
You hear, you hear, you hear my news?
You fear, you fear, you fear my phews?"
It's grin exposed the carcasses of three and a half black
fangs.
Pursed his lovely lips, the Mighty Jinn considered carefully.
"Well..." He drew a deep breath. "Ah, no." And shifting the
chocci-drop to the southwest, he observed, "Never make the Top
40. Padawan?"
There was a quiet shooooom and two plops.
And, high above, in the full of the gloom, the Joo Birdy
called.
Deep within the passageways, cabinets, sideboards, credenzas,
drains and breadboxes sprawled Big Guba Gurdty, sharpening his
Gullie Knife and issuing orders. He loved issuing orders.
Especially orders that got him things.
"Hey! Youse wit da purple tail! Bring that box over here." He
mumbled and grumbled around his cherb-root, spitting the odd
wad in the vicinity of a small can not twelve feet from his
chair. Good help was so hard to keep these days. They all
seemed to want special consideration. Like a nice place to
live. Stuff to wear. More than one square meal a day. And, by
the Dirt of the Holy, money!
"Hey, hey! I said youse, the one gonna lose the tail! Gimme
that box!"
The Squirn snagged a corner of the box with a crooked claw,
ducked its head and started pulling what appeared to be an
extraordinary load. Big Guba knew exactly what was in the box.
He was so excited, he could smell his own sweat.
"Yeah, that's it, that's it. Little closer, pup. I been
waitin' for dis a long, long time." His reaching hand could
almost touch it now. "Yeah..."
There was a knock on the door...
Big Guba growled, deep in his chest. Wasn't nobody supposed to
bother him down here, they had orders.
"Who da Sithin' Hells is it?"
The voice from outside the door was full and melodious. "Not
the Milkman!"
Blammm! Crashhh!
"May we come in?"
Stepping over the threshold, the Great Jinn smiled a
blue-blazing smile, double-knotted his sash and set his Saber
on Deep Fry. "Padawan, if I am not mistaken, you have yet to
learn old Master Ling's Battle Kata, Droid in the Hopper. So,
please pay close attention, as I shall quiz you at a more
opportune moment."
The Amazing Obi-Wan smiled with all of his lovely teeth and
nodded. "Go for it, Master! I'll play Move and Die with these
Minions over here." He fastened his glittering orbs on the
various skin textures shivering against the wall and watched
the multicolored sweat pop out.
Now as everyone knows, the Battle Kata, Droid in the Hopper,
was one of Master Ling's most famous creations. It was said he
developed the sacred moves after a tour through a Parts
Recycling Plant on the Outer Rim and at the height of its
performance, was often heard to cackle with admirable abandon.
The Mighty Qui-Gon Jinn was presently the only Jedi alarming
enough to grasp its harrowing moves. With a sinuous strut, he
moved into First Position, delicately balanced on the tips of
his boots, Saber lightly swinging with the beat of his rising
pulse.
Big Guba, moving with the grace of mountainous lava, shifted
his Gullie Knife to his left hand and snatched up a huge chunk
of floor, thereby proposing his version of the ancient
principal regarding the knife and the hard place. His smirk
slid from side to side as he advance on the crazy Jedi. "You
done your last good thing, Mister Smart Guy." The knife wove
wicked circles in the air. "This is my business. You gonna
leave me alone." His bulk slowly closed the distance to the
silent Jedi. "Cause you gonna be a nasty spot on my floor, soon
as I smash your face into ya shoes!" He lunged.
Qui-Gon was an expert on Master Ling's Battle Kata because he
understood the keyword to its structure. That keyword was
"trammel". He was on Big Guba before the fat fool knew what was
happening, dancing around his gnarly legs at the speed of
light, peppering his body with steel-toed kicks, punching,
spinning and whirling. From toes to heels, he hopped and
bounded, jabbing over and under the flashing Gullie
Knife.
On the sidelines, the Perfect Padawan was dancing from foot to
foot, Saber a'swing, eyes glowing with something more than mere
approval. "Disconnect his bones, Master! Show him how to mince
puddink!"
Round and round they went, the mountain and the pinwheel of
fire. Big Guba was huge. And strong. And canny. But the Master
was... The Master. And before long, Master Ling's Battle Kata
was winding to a close. And Qui-Gon moved in for the finale,
arms flicking, legs swinging, Saber slicing until, with a
prolonged sploot, Big Guba Gurdty melted to the floor and lay
still.
The Mighty Qui-Gon stood tall and proud over the mass of
fallen figure. "What? Dead already?" Eyes ablaze, he lifted his
fine head and scanned the room, raking the deposed minions with
icy-blue haughture. He spoke. "You know, if you run real
fast, we might not catch you..."
And those minions could surely run real, real fast.
The Mighty Jinn carefully sheathed his Saber, eyes aglow with
the Battle well-fought. "Padawan Mine, did you observe the many
moves of Master Ling's wondrous creation?"
Face aglow, the Handy Apprentice observed with a modicum of
personal pleasure, "That was Magnificent, Master! And your
hair... Not a strand out of place!" His eyes danced with joie
de vivre and visions of Big Ferd's Slickin' Best.
For just a moment, as their eyes met, the Galaxy suspended all
movement. In a manner of speaking, held its breath. For just a
moment. And when that moment had passed, pockets and pools of
Dark everywhere were brighter by several hundred watts.
"Come, Obi-Wan. Our Duty is Done and we must off to Daring
Deeds as Demanded by Destiny."
The Plucky Padawan ginned. "Ribs or roast, Master? And there's
Passa Berry souffle for dessert..."
The Mighty Jinn closed one eye, rolled the other one around
twice, licked his lips and crouched. "Last one home is a biddy
bean!"
One well-controlled whoosh had them up and out of the criminal
fortress and through the door, nimbly skirting a heap of dirty
white goo punctuated by two outflung hands and one twisted
foot.
Ah, yes. Those poor naughty minions. It seemed the Joo Birdy
had had the last word...
"Obi-Wan, Droid in the Hopper..." The gasp was quiet, but
sincerely heartfelt.
A soft squirt of Big Fird's Slickin' Best made wet
counterpoint to the gurgling chuckle that came from the center
of the amazingly large bed. "Yes, Master? I am all ears." The
wet counterpoint seemed to speed up just a bit.
"We should practice..." The grunt was also quiet, but
supremely heartfelt.
"Oh, yes, my Qui-Gon, we should." The next squirt was perhaps
wetter than the first, and yet exquisitely... heartfelt. "And I
propose..." Exquisitely slick. "...that we begin..."
Exquisitely lubricious. "...as we mean to go on." Exquisitely
Perfect.
The Mighty Jinn supposed correctly that words were
superfluous. The gasp would serve quite nicely in lieu of
punctuation.
There was a thunk as Big Fird's hit the floor and a 'sproing'
from the direction of the overworked springs. Obi-Wan settled
into first position. "So. I'll be the Hopper..." The voice
faded to the width of one vocal chord, one puff of breath.
"...and you...can be the Droid..."
[Gee, look at 'im, he wonked again! Hey! Hey,
Storyteller!]
Young Ones were beginning to converge on the rigid figure
seated upon the ground, face frozen, eyes wide and
rolling.
[Wait a sec, I know...] The speaker settled close to one
wonked ear. Took a deep breath... [Joo Birdy!!]
With a yawp that would have done Little Green Yoda proud, the
Storyteller shot straight up and whirled, one hand up in the
classic Hi-Yah pose, the other gripping a Saber whose flashing
beam shoomed dramatically left and right.
With considerable alacrity, the party of Young Ones chose a
better spot not twelve feet away, from which to watch the
dramatic recovery.
It didn't take long. But it took quite a bit of wonderful
vocabulary, which was surreptitiously noted upon several Padds
carefully tucked into strategic pockets.
With a tiny sshupp!, the Saber was put away and a glare of
hitherto unseen proportions was bestowed upon the waiting
gaggle of youths. Apparently, the Storyteller was a bit
miffed.
One of these days, I will give Perdition a helping hand!
[...(not a sound)...]
Don't ask me anything, don't say anything, don't think
anything!
And he staggered regally off down the wrong path, through the
Fountain of Celestial Buoyancy, and around the curve to the
Path of the Spurious Elastic.
There followed a brief, thoughtful silence.
[Anybody know what a Joo Birdy is?]
[Well... It flies. And it poops. Real big, I suppose.]
[Yeah.] Agreeable nods all round.
The trill of birds warbling pleasantly among the tall trees
leant a peaceful air to the golden rays of sun dappling the
ground.
[Hey, anybody wanna play The Mighty Jinn and His Plucky
Padawan Meet Darth Grubby and His Deviant Digits?]
[Yeah! Come on! We can use the Machine Shop!]
And with happy laughter, the group of Young Ones hurried off
in the Direction of Delicate Destiny.
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