The Storyteller Comes Again OR Rustlers of the Jedi Bounty
by MJ (bonarbridge@hotmail.com)
Series: The Storyteller (3/?)
Pairing: Q/O
Category: Humor, Adventure, AU
Rating: PG
Archive: MA only
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan must round up a fearsome band of
Space Rustlers.
Feedback: Would be heavenly
Disclaimer: Dear Mr. Lucas, Your universe is yours, my universe
is mine, and never the twain shall meet. To you is the power
and the ownership.
Note: This little bugger should be read aloud in your best
Flash Gordon voice for proper enjoyment.
Note-note: Plot bunnies! With sharp little teeth! Get off! Get
off!
We begin.
The Storyteller sat glaring at his audience.
They glared back.
Well, young ones? Am I to tell you another Story?
They blinked.
Do you want Glory? And Bedazzlement?
They nodded.
Do you want hot-blooded, delectible, ravishing,...
They wrinkled their young foreheads.
Yes. Well.
And the Storyteller spoke.
The Mighty Qui-Gon Jinn clomped through the doors of the
Glorious Jedi Council Chambers, followed closely by Obi-Wan
Kenobi, the Handy Apprentice, at a more sedate ripple.
Unexpected, they were. Undaunted, they looked. Pissed off, they
seemed.
Uh oh.
The Council members decided en masse that it would be best to
lean back, just a little, in their comfy chairs and, perhaps,
suspend breathing for just a moment.
The Powerful Master smiled the smile of the just. Of the
strong. Of the not-so-humble. And spoke, his melodious tones
carrying clearly to all non-corners of the room.
"Padawan mine, I believe it is Time we showed the
Council...Everything..." And the exquisite Obi-Wan smiled.
The collective gasp from twelve throats could be felt three
corridors away.
Extending one hand gracefully toward his Handy Apprentice, the
Masterful Jedi inserted nimble fingers through the front of his
robe. As sweat collected in puddles on the nearest Council
members, Qui-Gon pulled forth what appeared to be a flip folder
of vacation snaps.
Disappointments were quickly dispersed into the Force.
Obi-Wan took hold of one end of the gaudy package and began
unwrapping it, flip by flip. Twelve heads leaned forward,
twelve pairs of eyes tried to pretend they didn't need
distance lenses.
When the flipping stopped, Qui-Gon peered with frightening
intensity at the small Head of the Council, his former Master,
Little Green Yoda. Little Green Yoda tried really hard to
appear nonchalant.
"Master Yoda, this could nigh well be the end. Really." He
waved toward the pictures. "You see before you evidence of the
most nefarious gang of operatives ever to darken our galaxy."
He swirled suddenly, pictures flying wildly about his head. The
Handy Apprentice dropped and rolled as Qui-Gon's voice
thundered, "They Stop at Nothing!" He stopped and blinked,
snapshots draped over his shoulders. "I mean. They stop at
everything." His voice rose once more. "Everything! And they
take it, take it, take it!" Yoda decided he could shake off the
spray a little later.
Qui-Gon looked down at the delicious Obi-Wan sitting demurely
at his feet, cocked his head, and asked, "Padawan mine, are we
not overdue for a Rumble?" The Handy Apprentice pulled himself
up The Master's nether regions with lightsome ease, his Pocket
Secretary slipped neatly back in his pristine robe. "Yes,
Master." His eyes, how they twinkled. His dimple, how merry.
His cheeks were like roses. "It's best we not tarry." Smile.
The Chamber quivered.
In a flurry of robes, cowls and Executive Briefcases, the
Mighty Qui- Gon and his Handy Apprentice whooshed to the doors,
where one parting remark was born.
"We will save you, oh Masters." Flash! Rumble...
Little Green Yoda knew he would eventually stop
trembling.
Posky's infamous Dirge For the Very Soon To Be Expired would
have been highly appropriate in a situation such as the one now
facing our Heroes.
They were deep in a cave system on the home world of Beebo the
Hutt, Thief Extraordinaire and Head of a greasy group of ship
rustlers. No butt wiper, he.
And now, Master and Apprentice, after slipping silently through
damp tunnels and cramped passageways, trying to find a hole in
the loop of Beebo's ring, were facing a nightmare in the dark:
a Cave Bauble, dreaded glob of oderous body, squatted right in
their way.
"Padawan, the Mark 3 Surprise, please."
"Yes, Master." There was a rustle as Obi-Wan pulled out seven
inches of death and mayhem and passed it to the Mighty Qui-Gon.
Still warm.
!Blaaaaht! A high-pitched squeal was followed by a loud, wet
pop as the noisome creature said hello to the walls.
"Don't forget to reload, Obi-Wan. There may be others about."
About 23, they soon found out, each one smellier than the last,
each one left behind them, a slimy Rorschach on the walls of
the cave system.
The Mark 3 Surprise was getting pretty hot.
Beebo the Hutt glared at his newest acquisition. It didden
wanna pway. It just satted there and looked googly-eyed. No
fun! No fun! Don't make Beebo mad! (huge pout)
The nearest colleages in robbery tried to distract the Fat
Bas...the Boss...from his temper tantrum. Pounding the floor
with no feet just doesn't do it.
The newest acquisition was pretending to be djello: it
quivered, it glazed over in spots, it gurgled little bits of
the unknown around its insides.
Beebo lost patience and, grabbing the Bad!Acquisition, he threw
it across the room, where it smacked the wall with a resounding
glurg. Bad thing gone! Me wannanother thing! Now!
Across the room, the glurg found happiness in flathood and
became a quite significant God. How nice.
Beebo was now pounding the floor with a somewhat surprised
Assistant Underdog, yelling cogent orders in all directions.
Toy! (pound) Now! (aaaaagh!) Toy! (pound) Now! (aaaaagh!)
Some distance yonder, the Masterful Qui-Gon Jinn felt the
vibrations through the surrounding stone. Ah, yes. That
way...They turned and sidled up the dark, rocky passage.
Meanwhile.
Beebo the Hutt was playing Bogarian Hopscotch. Jump! (pound)
Play! (aaaaagh!) The local baddies were running out of Spray
and Wipe.
Tunnels to the right of them. Tunnels to the left of them. Too
damn many tunnels...
Meanwhile.
Beebo the Hutt was feeling distinctly peckish. Food! (pound)
Eat! (aaaaagh!)
Our Heroes now found themselves at the bottom of a narrow
stairway. Qui-Gon felt forward with The Force. No one.
Whisper...
"I'll go first, my Padawan. You guard my rear."
Sizzle...
Obi-Wan's hand said 'fine by me'.
And they started up. Quietly. Step. By step.
"The Mark 3 Surprise, my Obi-Wan. Is it loaded?"
Step. By step.
"Of course, Master."
Fizzzzz....
Meanwhile.
Beebo the Hutt was playing with his food. You play cards! Me
wanna win! The food looked blearily at the huge mound before
him and let one eye roll back in its head. The other three were
on their own.
The Mighty Qui-Gon Jinn and the Handy Apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi
sped on winged feet down the last passageway, their goal in
sight. This stinkin', no-good, hell-of-a-hole would soon be
shut down, closed up and sent packin'. It was Time to Shake the
Digit of Doom at Beebo the Hutt.
Meanwhile.
Beebo was not a happy camper.
Me want toys! (pound)
Me want food! (aaaaagh!)
Me want...!
There was a tap on the door.
Who there?
Blam! Blam! The double doors to Beebo the Hutt's hidey hole
flew open with the sharp sound of smoke and the smell of
thunder. Two Blazing!Jedi stood in the doorway, eyes hard with
the music of Justice and the Jedi Dream, sabers set on
Barbecue.
Way Cool...
Whang! Whish! Brong! Zzzzzzzttt! Lightsabers dancing the Jedi
Jig, The Mighty Qui-Gon and the Irresistible Obi-Wan hopped
their way around the room, thieves and brigands deciding that
arms and legs were unnecessary if death was inevitable. Smart.
Whoung! Poing! Kshshsh!
Beebo the Hutt forgot to be angry. He forgot to be mad. He
forgot what it felt like to have a bottom as the sections that
used to be himself lost touch with each other.
So long, Beebo. We hardly knew ye.
Our Heroes Shwanged and Mwommed their way up one wall and down
another until nary a thug nor a rustler remained corporeal
anywhere. Then they turned to face each other, saluted, stashed
their Trusty Weapons and, arm in arm, headed for the showers.
The silken rustle of sheets whispered across the moonlit
shadows surrounding the spacious bed. The scent of Passa
berries was sharp and tangy, floating in the air like some
delectible dew.
"Where do you suppose that goes, Master?" The laugh was rich
with possibilities.
"Padawan mine, is that a trick question?" Slow shift of
bedsprings.
"Qui-Gon. It distinctly says 'insert tab A into slot B'." He
gave a charming gurgle. "Can't you read?"
"Oh, yes, my Obi-Wan." He wrinkled his nose and smiled with all
of his teeth. "And I also speak in tongues..."
....Okay...(cough)...okay...that's all...
[Wait! Wait! What were they making?]
Making?...uh...Making.
[Yeah. You know, tab A, slot B. That stuff.]
....uh...an organ. Pipe! Organ. Go away.
[Oh, please? Tomorrow?]
Could be. Could be I'll come another time. We'll see...
The Storyteller stood, with quite a small stagger, and headed
away down the path. If the pond had just been on the other side
of the garden...
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