Rating: G? They're just toys, for goodness sake ;)
Summary: Just somethin' inspired by my continually fruitless
search for a 12-inch Obi-Wan doll...
Feedback: Hmm. I'm not sure I even want to claim authorship for
this.... oh, what the heck. Tell me I'm sick.
Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was not in a happy mood. The situation
just couldn't go on as it presently was -- not if his sanity
was to remain intact. Jedi serenity and acceptance be damned.
The lack of qualified padawans in this sector was simply
appalling -- the very idea that any of these creatures could
become a galactic defender of peace was as likely as his waking
up tomorrow to discover he'd been granted joints in his knees.
He stared sullenly at the pathetic lot of would-be apprentices
before him, presently paired off and practicing a series of
training exercises so that he could gauge their physical
prowess. He stifled a groan of despair.
Candidate Lightyear slashed at his partner, a raggedy-looking
sock monkey, with the business end of his magic-marker-serving-
as-makeshift-training-stick. He missed by a good three yards,
being heavily encumbered by his bright green plastic spacesuit.
The monkey made chittering noises at him, then lunged forward,
feinted left and slashed him across the chest, setting off of a
bright red button. The wings on his jetpack deployed and he
rocketed off the nightstand training platform. The sock monkey
winced as he watched his partner plummet to the unfriendly tile
floor below, waving down his apologies.
Candidates Sheridan and Picard seemed to be comparing field
notes and sharing Stupid Crew Stories, having forgotten that
they were supposed to be sparring. Candidate Malibu Barbie was
off crying in a corner after having chipped a nail during a
short and decidedly one-sided battle with Candidate Scully
(looking quite fashionable in a no-nonsense way, Qui-Gon noted,
in her belted black pantsuit). Candidates Mulder and Krycek
seemed to have disappeared together earlier in the evaluation
process, and if the sounds emanating from the dresser drawer
were any indication, they probably would not be back any time
soon. Candidate Maul appeared to be busy beating up the
terrified stuffed teddy bear population on the sofa bed and
no-one was in the mood to question him about the ethics of such
actions.
All in all, Qui-Gon decided, there just wasn't a single decent
prospect among them. Of course, there had been a brief flare of
new hope when that Luke kid had shown up, but a quick mental
probe had shown him to be far too reckless for Jedi purposes.
And truthfully, the boy seemed a little on the dim-witted side
anyways. He was probably better off spending the rest of his
days farming, or whatever it was he'd said he did. The handsome
young man who had accompanied him, though... Solo, was it? Yes,
he would have been a joy to "train", Qui-Gon mused, in ever so
many ways. But it was clear that the two were joined at the hip
and there would be no taking one without the other. The Jedi
Master sighed in frustration.
Leaning back against the wall, Qui-Gon tried to take deep
calming breaths and expel his ever-growing stress and tension.
He bowed slightly as Hidden Majesty Amidala stalked by their
training grounds, surrounded by her coterie of orange-clad
look-alike handmaidens. Probably on her way to a tea party with
the those giggly wide-eyed Disney princesses that she'd oddly
taken a fancy to. He caught himself watching the sway of her
slim non-articulated hips with far more interest than he should
have been, and silently berated himself. Yes, he would have to
find an apprentice soon... he was obviously getting desperate.
Not that he would have any trouble getting himself a date if he
really put his mind to it, he told himself. After all, most
people were quite impressed when he mentioned his prodigious
size of twelve inches. Of course, he didn't actually specify
that the number referred to his height, but he was sure
that was besides the point anyways.
From somewhere over in the direction of the computer desk,
Qui-Gon caught the sound of high-pitched mocking snickers. He
turned around in time to see Jedi Duel Action Figure Qui-Gon
and his matching apprentice (both having shed their cumbersome
plastic cloaks) watching him in barely suppressed amusement,
cuddling happily with the help of their newly enhanced extra
points of articulation (compliments of some ingenious product
developer at Hasbro, Incorporated, who never imagined what his
"improvements" would mean for the love lives of action figures
everywhere). He ignored them with a dignified turn of his head,
making a mental note to send Initiate Maul over to play with
them later that day. He allowed himself a smirk.
A little more time, Qui-Gon thought to himself. I'll give the
Council, the Force, the Powers that Be, just a little more time
to send a suitable padawan my way.
And... spoke up a little voice in his head ...if that
doesn't work, there's always that GI Joe fellow with the
kung-fu grip...
~finis~
--
Hmmm. No toys were harmed in the writing of this fic, though a
few did get stuck in odd poses for authorly inspiration. All
were consenting and of age, to the best of my knowledge.
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