Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Feb 27, 2005 14:11:03 GMT -5
Well, my fanfiction muscles are a little rusty, but I'm in the mood for a little Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan....
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PRETENSE
by Anne Davenport
“Ah ha! I smell good fortune!” Wof*ga bustled through the dark, narrow hallways to the back pantry of the boarding house. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi followed. Their guide rounded the sturdy, round table and chairs that took up almost half of the small room.
“I won’t be a moment,” Wof*ga called back to them as his green cape and pale, blue head tails disappeared through the swinging door at the opposite end of the room. Obi-Wan looked about. The room was floor-to-ceiling with dark brown cupboards and shelves stacked with supplies in sacks and jars and boxes. A neglected droid didn’t even look up at them from its alcove in one corner and only a hint of natural light shone down from the tiny, narrow window that mostly only showed the side of the next building less than 2 meters away. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so and yellowed light panels in the room’s high ceiling dispelled some of the gloom. The aroma of dinner from the kitchen beyond welcomed them.
Obi-Wan’s stomach growled.
He cleared his throat and folded his arms, his hand disappearing into the wide, opposite sleeves of his brown robe. Qui-Gon’s mouth curled in a hint of a smile, but he didn’t say anything about his young apprentice’s lack of control. Neither one of them had eaten anything substantial since rising many hours ago. Every time they’d started to pause for a meal, something new had come up to take them elsewhere. The day-season of this polar city made “morning” and “evening” into virtual concepts. Technology and artificial lighting should have rendered this time of perpetual daylight into a simple curiosity. But the natives of this city took the seasonal lack of a natural day and night as a cue to nat maintain any daily schedule at all. Half their time had been wasted in just looking for people who were out shopping or eating or sleeping or partying or doing just about anything other than their appointed jobs. Qui-Gon wondered how this city managed to function at all, but it obviously did.
Boisterous voices and some banging noises came from the kitchen door. Qui-Gon Jinn removed his long, dark robe, hung it over the back of one of the chairs and sat down. Obi-Wan did the same. Neither one spoke while they both gratefully settled into the silence. They’d only been introduced to Wof*ga two days ago and the Twi’lek had talked every waking second of that time. It did seem to be true what Councilor Ikot had told them; Wof*ga knew everything about everyone. But getting information from Wof*ga was something like looking for a gold ring in a garbage heap; you had to sift through all the gossip to find anything useful. Not even using the Force worked to focus the Twi’lek’s mind on their immediate business; underneath all his flippant and carefree manners, Wof*ga was far from weak-willed.
Footsteps approached and the kitchen door banged open. Wof*ga returned. His dark eye alight, he bore a wide grin on his pale, face and a tray laden with food.
“And these are just the appetizers.” Their host praised the skill of the boarding house’s cook, Voreedi, while he laid out plates, cups and napkins for his guests. Qui-Gon partook only sparingly of the flavored nuts, cakes and jellied fruit while Obi-Wan, with his teenager’s metabolism, helped himself more generously.
“I had the droid fix up the spare room in my suite for you, and I’m sure Someruned will have returned by the time we eat and rest up.” Obi-Wan glanced at his master and then at the sad droid in its corner. This was the first they’d heard that they were actually going to be staying with Wof*ga and obviously there had to be more than one droid in the house. Qui-Gon sighed and patiently tried to extract some information about what their new accommodations were. Over three more courses of the meal that their host ferried in from the kitchen, they learned that Wof*ga downshaft neighbor was a flatulent Vreen with too many relatives, Councilor Ikot’s husband was cheating on her, the fruit sellers on the central city boulevard had formed a syndicate to corner the market in rare metals, a newly imported plant fungus could be killed with native Rulmat root extracts and tattooing Twi’lek head tails might be coming back into fashion and it might possibly replace tail extensions which were a repulsive trend that never should have been started.. Obi-Wan just ate and managed to have his mouth full whenever Wof*ga tried to draw him into the conversation. They’d found that more people talking gave Wof*ga more opportunities to go off on yet another tangent.
A bumping and a clatter came from the kitchen. Wof*ga leapt up.
“Oh, I forgot the dessert!” Before he could reach the door it swung open. A male human (presumably the much bragged-about cook, Voreedi) with short, graying hair and beard pushed through with another tray.
“Wof*ga, you flitterjit, you expect me to wait around while you—.”
He froze. He was as tall as Qui-Gon and broader in the chest and shoulders and he wore food-stained blue coveralls and soft boots. Obi-Wan felt a chill in the Force when he looked at the man’s eyes. Fear, anger, dread, contempt. And aimed right at the two Jedi. Obi-Wan stiffened from the raw emotion that he felt coming off of the man. His hand twitched to the lightsaber on his belt. But instantly he knew this was the wrong response and he pulled his hand back. He did not know what was happening, but this was not a hostile situation.
The tray crashed to the floor. Sweet, gooey sauce and pastries splattered on the floor; plastic bowls and utensils bounced away, spreading the mess further. The man turned and fled, the door swinging shut behind him.
=========================================
PRETENSE
by Anne Davenport
“Ah ha! I smell good fortune!” Wof*ga bustled through the dark, narrow hallways to the back pantry of the boarding house. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi followed. Their guide rounded the sturdy, round table and chairs that took up almost half of the small room.
“I won’t be a moment,” Wof*ga called back to them as his green cape and pale, blue head tails disappeared through the swinging door at the opposite end of the room. Obi-Wan looked about. The room was floor-to-ceiling with dark brown cupboards and shelves stacked with supplies in sacks and jars and boxes. A neglected droid didn’t even look up at them from its alcove in one corner and only a hint of natural light shone down from the tiny, narrow window that mostly only showed the side of the next building less than 2 meters away. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so and yellowed light panels in the room’s high ceiling dispelled some of the gloom. The aroma of dinner from the kitchen beyond welcomed them.
Obi-Wan’s stomach growled.
He cleared his throat and folded his arms, his hand disappearing into the wide, opposite sleeves of his brown robe. Qui-Gon’s mouth curled in a hint of a smile, but he didn’t say anything about his young apprentice’s lack of control. Neither one of them had eaten anything substantial since rising many hours ago. Every time they’d started to pause for a meal, something new had come up to take them elsewhere. The day-season of this polar city made “morning” and “evening” into virtual concepts. Technology and artificial lighting should have rendered this time of perpetual daylight into a simple curiosity. But the natives of this city took the seasonal lack of a natural day and night as a cue to nat maintain any daily schedule at all. Half their time had been wasted in just looking for people who were out shopping or eating or sleeping or partying or doing just about anything other than their appointed jobs. Qui-Gon wondered how this city managed to function at all, but it obviously did.
Boisterous voices and some banging noises came from the kitchen door. Qui-Gon Jinn removed his long, dark robe, hung it over the back of one of the chairs and sat down. Obi-Wan did the same. Neither one spoke while they both gratefully settled into the silence. They’d only been introduced to Wof*ga two days ago and the Twi’lek had talked every waking second of that time. It did seem to be true what Councilor Ikot had told them; Wof*ga knew everything about everyone. But getting information from Wof*ga was something like looking for a gold ring in a garbage heap; you had to sift through all the gossip to find anything useful. Not even using the Force worked to focus the Twi’lek’s mind on their immediate business; underneath all his flippant and carefree manners, Wof*ga was far from weak-willed.
Footsteps approached and the kitchen door banged open. Wof*ga returned. His dark eye alight, he bore a wide grin on his pale, face and a tray laden with food.
“And these are just the appetizers.” Their host praised the skill of the boarding house’s cook, Voreedi, while he laid out plates, cups and napkins for his guests. Qui-Gon partook only sparingly of the flavored nuts, cakes and jellied fruit while Obi-Wan, with his teenager’s metabolism, helped himself more generously.
“I had the droid fix up the spare room in my suite for you, and I’m sure Someruned will have returned by the time we eat and rest up.” Obi-Wan glanced at his master and then at the sad droid in its corner. This was the first they’d heard that they were actually going to be staying with Wof*ga and obviously there had to be more than one droid in the house. Qui-Gon sighed and patiently tried to extract some information about what their new accommodations were. Over three more courses of the meal that their host ferried in from the kitchen, they learned that Wof*ga downshaft neighbor was a flatulent Vreen with too many relatives, Councilor Ikot’s husband was cheating on her, the fruit sellers on the central city boulevard had formed a syndicate to corner the market in rare metals, a newly imported plant fungus could be killed with native Rulmat root extracts and tattooing Twi’lek head tails might be coming back into fashion and it might possibly replace tail extensions which were a repulsive trend that never should have been started.. Obi-Wan just ate and managed to have his mouth full whenever Wof*ga tried to draw him into the conversation. They’d found that more people talking gave Wof*ga more opportunities to go off on yet another tangent.
A bumping and a clatter came from the kitchen. Wof*ga leapt up.
“Oh, I forgot the dessert!” Before he could reach the door it swung open. A male human (presumably the much bragged-about cook, Voreedi) with short, graying hair and beard pushed through with another tray.
“Wof*ga, you flitterjit, you expect me to wait around while you—.”
He froze. He was as tall as Qui-Gon and broader in the chest and shoulders and he wore food-stained blue coveralls and soft boots. Obi-Wan felt a chill in the Force when he looked at the man’s eyes. Fear, anger, dread, contempt. And aimed right at the two Jedi. Obi-Wan stiffened from the raw emotion that he felt coming off of the man. His hand twitched to the lightsaber on his belt. But instantly he knew this was the wrong response and he pulled his hand back. He did not know what was happening, but this was not a hostile situation.
The tray crashed to the floor. Sweet, gooey sauce and pastries splattered on the floor; plastic bowls and utensils bounced away, spreading the mess further. The man turned and fled, the door swinging shut behind him.