Archive: Master and Apprentice; whoever else wants it
Category: Humor/Parody, POV
Rating: G
Warnings, Spoilers: nada
Summary: Master Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi embark upon a delicate
mission involving trade negotiations and disputes.
Feedback: Very much appreciated
Disclaimer: All characters and names resembling others real or
unreal is highly intentional. No profit is being made off of
said resemblance however and hopefully no harm has been done.
Please do not prosecute.
"Yes, young apprentice, feel the force. Flow through you it
will," I encourage. Obi-Wan is struggling. He is not completely
in tune with the force and his error is beginning to show. The
large table he is attempting to move with his mind starts to
wobble. Abruptly it falls, thudding loudly in the room.
He is panting and looking disappointed. "I am sorry Master
Yoda. I have failed you," he says dejectedly.
"Sorry you should not be. Fail you have not unless you give
up."
"You're right, of course. I'll do it this time," he announces.
I watch as Obi-Wan settles himself. I can sense him stretch out
his mind, this time one with the living force around him. The
piece of furniture rises smoothly into the air.
"Yes, better," I praise, "now through the doorway move it."
This action requires Obi-Wan to rotate the table on its end and
send it levitating horizontally. He does credit to his training
however, as the object sails evenly over the floor and out of
the building. "Down there you may set it."
He does as I have instructed, then turns his face toward the
sky. Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan faces me, smiling. "I think
you have picked a beautiful day for your garage sale, Master
Yoda," he tells me.
"Told me did the force that it would be so. Very strong today
is my future sense," I enlighten him.
"Well, I hope it told you we'd be having lots of customers.
You've sure got a lot of stuff to sell here. That table was the
last of the big items. I can start putting on the price
stickers if you can lay out the small things."
"A wise plan that is apprentice," I agree and start spreading
knickknacks onto a card table. Already several beings have
wandered over and begun to pick through my belongings.
"How much do you want for this rock, Master?" Obi-Wan
questions me.
"Force sensitive is that stone. Very precious is it. Five
credits. No less."
"But it's chipped. It isn't very pretty either. In fact, I
can't sense anything from it through the force," he states.
"Gave that to me did Qui-Gon. Told me he did that found it on
his home world he had."
"Oh yeah, I got one of those too," he says somewhat
disdainfully. "Well, for sake of sentimental value, I'll put
four-fifty. What do you want for this exercise bike? It looks
brand new. Didn't you ever use it?"
"Reach the pedals I could not, Obi-Wan," I explain, distracted
by another voice.
"How much for this robe?" a large woman with curlers in her
hair and a cigarette drooping from her mouth queries.
"Not crude matter is that. Pure Mandalorian silk it is," I
tell her. "Twenty credits."
"I'll take it," she agrees, handing me the cash.
"See also did you the matching slippers? Sell them to you for
five more I will," I tell her conspiratorially, sending her in
the direction of the footwear.
By now the yard is full of creatures rummaging through the
tables. Obi-Wan is loading gardening tools into the hatchback
of a speeder. Two wookies are looking at and pawing my hummel
figurines with their large furry digits. A line is beginning to
form of people wanting me to take their money for my discarded
possessions.
"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan yells at me over the crowd. "These
jawas want to know if you'll take two credits for this box of
lightsaber parts."
"Hard to find are some of those. Two-fifty, no less."
Beings are milling around, scrounging for bargains and
chattering loudly. I hear a familiar chirping above the din and
call out to my jedi helper, "Obi-Wan, ringing my com-link is.
Answer it will you?" I see him nod but cannot hear his reply
over the screeching of the jawas who have excitedly begun to
try out the exercycle.
Moments later, as I am counting out change from the sale of my
collection of "Intergalactic Geographic Magazines," Obi-Wan
returns with a suspicious look on his face. "That was Master
Windu. He can't seem to find his golf clubs. He wondered if you
knew where they might be. I told him I'd ask, but that I was
certain you wouldn't have borrowed them since they're
left-handed. Please tell me the set of clubs I hauled out here
for you didn't belong to him."
"Sold them I did."
Obi-Wan is holding his hand over his eyes theatrically, trying
to make me feel guilty. "I was afraid of that," he sighs.
"Well, I don't suppose you got a good enough price to buy him
another set?"
"Thirty credits only."
Another explosion of breath, "I guess I'll just call him back
and tell him you were mugged by an unscrupulous caddie with
dark side powers. But really, Master Yoda, I am surprised at
you. Surely you could have got fifty at least."
"Not for left-handers, young apprentice," I remind him.
Obi-Wan retreats into the house to make his com-call and I
return to business. The people seem to be buying the most
unusual things. No one has paid any interest in my Harlequin
Jedi Romance novels, yet every shoe has been purchased, even
the ones with the broken heel. Odd.
I am putting Elvis records into a box for a customer when
Obi-Wan quickly sidles up to me. Bending down to whisper in my
ear he confides, "Master, do you see that man with gray hair
wearing the 'Vote for Palpatine' button? I think he just stuck
one of your Atari games in his pocket. What should I do?"
"Confront him you should not, padawan. Pretend you will to
straighten clothing and keep an eye on him."
"Yes, Master," he acquiesces, slinking slyly behind the
clothesline where the garments are hung.
I fail to mark his progress as I am distracted by a loud
commotion. An ugnaught and a protocol droid are fighting over a
hat made from beer cans and crocheted yarn. After I have broken
up the altercation, I notice Obi-Wan and two uniformed city
security officers approaching.
"Master Yoda," the young apprentice tells me, "these policemen
wish to speak to you."
"Yoda I am," I politely offer. "How I can help you?"
"It's just a routine check, sir." The first cop says. "We like
to make certain everyone having a yard sale has their permits
in order. If you wouldn't mind getting yours for us, we can let
you get back to business."
"Permit?" I am beginning to worry now.
Obi-Wan looks stricken. "Master, you did get a permit didn't
you? The fines for not having one are very steep. Sometimes
even hundreds of credits."
Shock hits me. "Hundreds? Earned that much we have not,
Obi-Wan." I am beginning to get desperate.
"Sir do you or do you not have a permit for this sale," the
second officer asks me. She is glaring at me with one hand on
her hip and one on her blaster. I have no other recourse.
"A permit I do not need," I chant, waving a hand.
"You do not need a permit," they both repeat together.
"Continue my sale I may." Another pass of the hand.
"You may continue your sale," they intone.
"You will buy my old recliner," fingers wiggle.
"Now Master, that's uncalled for," Obi-Wan interrupts. I lead
them towards their patrol car.
When I return, the young apprentice greets me. "Master, that
guy with the horns and the tattoos wants to know if you'll take
a quarter for this 'Sith Lords Kick Ass' T-shirt."
"Sold," I declare. "But keep the hanger."
The crowd has died down considerably now and there are only a
few stragglers listlessly poking at what's left. Beings drive
by in speeders craning their heads, but none stop.
Obi-Wan approaches me. "Well, Master, it certainly has thinned
out. The taun-taun races are on cable tonight. We might be
losing customers because of that," he muses.
"OK," I decide, "put back I will what's left. Count you can
the money, Obi-Wan."
"But master, there's still a lot of stuff here. It's rather a
lot to carry. Wouldn't you like me to help you?"
"Size matters not, padawan. Proceeds do. Count," I admonish
him.
"Yes, Master."
When I have finished levitating all my rejected belongings
inside, I seek out Obi-Wan. He is not looking pleased.
"Well, Master Yoda, it's not good," he tells me sadly. "I'm
afraid you don't have near enough for that speeder bike you
wanted."
I try not to let my disappointment show. The Sithster Z-27
must not be destined for me after all. My head hangs
involuntarily.
"Of course," muses Obi-Wan, "there's still time to get down to
the track and put this money on the taun-taun races. You did
say your future sense was especially strong today, right?" He
fixes me with a devilish grin.
Brilliant! "Fetch you my cloak, Obi-Wan. Hurry we must," I
instruct heading for the door. The Sithster will yet be mine.
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