Archive: If MA wants it, sure, why not. All others, just ask
me.
Disclaimer: Saint George of the Fevered Imagination owns the
Jedi. I sneak in and borrow them once in a while. I'm not
making any money from this. If I were, I'd just spend it on TPM
merchanidise...
Category: Humor, Silliness
Rating: I tried to sneak some sex implications in, but this is
still G
Warning: The plot bunny appeared when I was dyeing my hair and
sat around staring until I succumbed to writing. Don't say you
haven't been warned of my sense of humor.
Spoilers: I'll be damned if I find any.
Summary: My advice: Always double check the labels!
Feedback: Yes, please! Flames will be steadfastly ignored, all
praise gobbled up like Belgian chocolate smeared all over
Maulie ;). I'm NOT on the Master/Apprentice list, so
email me privately.
Thanks go out to my lovely beta Krizu. Honey, when I manage to
clone Maul, I'll send you one pronto!
Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master par extraordinaire, strode down the
hallway to his quarters. If his calculations were correct, he
would have just enough time to fix his hair before his Padawan
arrived. Maybe Obi-Wan would help him rinse the dye out.
Palming the lock to the door, he stepped in, ducking out of
habit to avoid splitting his head open on the low doorframe.
After setting the small bag he had been carrying down on the
table, he flung his robe on the bed and sat down. He picked a
rectangular box out of the bag, turning it over in his large
hand. The label read: "Head of the Council Hair Dye - shade no
69 'Mature Master Metallic' ". Few people actually knew just
how much effort it took to maintain the "sexy sage" look.
Picking the small bottle of dye out of its wrapping, Qui-Gon
made his way to the bathroom, singing. The instructions had
stated that one should wet one's hair before applying the dye.
His deep voice echoed off the tiled wall of the shower stall.
Secretly, he fancied himself quite the singer. The strain of
dissonant warbling abruptly turned into a gurgling and spitting
fit as he turned his head the wrong way. So much for singing in
the shower then.
Rivulets of water streaming down his infamously muscled torso,
he stepped out of the stall and reached for a towel. Wrapping
it around his hips, he meticulously blended the dye, shaking
the bottle vigourously as he admired his reflection in the
mirror.
Yes, Jinn, you're a mighty fine-looking man.
He resisted the urge to curse as he managed to rip the flimsy
plastic gloves that came with the dye. Hoping the color
wouldn't stain his hands, he began working the gel into his
hair. A glob fell on the slick tile floor with a satisfying
splat, slowly spreading out. Had the Jedi Master thought of
looking down, he would have noticed something very wrong. Alas,
he had eyes but for himself as he tried not to smear the dye
all over his face.
Twenty minutes later, he sat reading a report on the progress
of the kindly Senator Palpatine's program for underprivilegied
Zabrakians while the color set. He had slathered some of the
gel into his beard as well, not wanting to end up with a
mismatch of hair and beard. Oh, his Padawan would be so
surprised when he found out.
Obi-Wan stopped outside the door of his Master's quarters,
running a hand through his spiky hair and adjusting the ribbon
at the end of his braid. He raised a hand to knock when
Qui-Gon's voice called out:
"The door is open, Padawan."
The sight that greeted him was baffling. His Master, sitting
reading -all normal so far - but what was that gunk in his
hair? Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled cutely at the smell of chemicals
hanging in the air.
"Master, what have you done with your hair? And what is that in
your beard?"
Qui-Gon risked a glance at the clock before turning his
attention on Obi-Wan. A thin trickle of dye gel slithered down
his temple as he moved his head.
"I've dyed it, Padawan. Will you help me rinse the color out?"
Obi-Wan obediently padded after his Master into the opulently
furnished bathroom. Qui-Gon let his robes fall to the floor,
stepping into the stall, extending a long arm and beckoning
Obi-Wan in with him.
In a matter of minutes, occasional bursts of giggles and the
splash of water echoed in the steam-filled room.
"Oh, it seems I dropped the soap! Hold still, Master, while I
fetch it for you."
Squeal.
"Master!"
"Yes, Padawan?"
"Err.. nothing. If you'd just bend your knees so I can reach
properly..."
"Certainly, Padawan."
"Master, are you sure you have the right color dye? The water
looks awfully pink."
"The Force guided me in my purchase. I am certain it is the
correct color."
"Whatever you say, Master."
Half an hour later, two warm and very clean Jedi stepped out of
the bathroom and headed for the bed. Obi-Wan, holding a brush,
scrambled to sit behind his Master. Qui-Gon towelled off his
hair, neatly depositing the towel over the back of a chair with
the Force. In the bright light of the ceiling fixature,
Qui-Gon's hair took on a strange hue. The color became more and
more prominent as his hair dried, and Obi-Wan seriously debated
wether or not to tell his Master what had happened to his hair
when Qui-Gon rumbled:
"I sense a disturbance in the Force, Obi-Wan. Is something
wrong?"
"Err... well, what color did you buy, Master?"
"Number 69, 'Mature Master Metallic'. Why?"
The bed dipped and shifted as Obi-Wan leapt off it and sprinted
to the bathroom. He returned in a few seconds, brandishing the
dye bottle like a trophy. Holding it up against the light, he
looked at the label. Then at Qui-Gon. Then back at the label,
this time paling two shades.
"Did you inspect the label before using the dye, Master?"
"I do not think so. What is this, Padawan?"
"Well... this isn't number 69. It's number 70."
"Surely that can't be bad. It's only one shade off."
"According to the list, number 70 is.." Obi-Wan trailed off.
"Yes?"
"It's called 'Punk Padawan Purple', Master," he finally managed
to say.
"Oh dear. Is it bad?"
Obi-Wan bit his lip as he gazed at his Master. The formerly
distinguished-yet-sexy salt-and-pepper hair was now more like
the wig of an Outer Rim transvestite. And the beard wasn't much
better.
"It's... different."
"Care to elaborate on that one, Padawan?"
When there was no reply, Qui-Gon rose, pushed past his Padawan
and strode towards the nearest mirror. Obi-Wan squeezed his
eyes shut and stuck his fingers in his ears. Still, the scream
left his head ringing.
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