SUMMARY: The J-Boyz meet up with Jack Dawson and Isaac the
Bartender on the high seas
SPOILERS: Well, not really
FEEDBACK: Hell yes!
DISCLAIMER: Inspired by Sith Academy and too much television.
Weesa don't own none of thesa charaacters. Weesa have no money.
Weesa living off Ramen Noodles. Please leve weesa alone,
okiday?
Holding a large bag with "Bloomingdales" stenciled on the
side, Sidious pushed opened the door to Maul's apartment. The
sentient culture that had sprung from the stack of old
magazines and assorted garbage behind the door tried hard to
push it back in his face. After a short tussle, the Sith Lord
entered. Maul didn't appear to be in the room, but My
Apprentice was sitting in his sacred spot on the sofa, licking
her ass.
"Maul!" Sidious bellowed, not really wanting to venture
farther into his apprentice's abode.
Hearing shuffling feet next door, Sidious bent at the middle
(no easy task considering the sequined waistcoat), and peered
through the hole in the wall between apartments.
"Maul, are you in there?!" Sidious called. He found himself
looking into the happy and insipid face of the twit Padawan
next door, who stood wearing a bathrobe and holding a towel,
sponge, and rubber duck.
"Unfortunately not," Obi-Wan answered. "Sorry, -"
He was cut off by a voice coming from another room. "Don't
forget the flavored pubic hair shampoo...." Qui-Gon reminded
Obi-Wan.
"Ooops, gotta go," Obi-Wan smiled and left Sidious' line of
sight. Splashing sounds and giggling began drifting through the
hole in the wall.
For a moment the Sith Lord was tempted to abandon his
house-call and join the party next door. However, he needed
Maul to take on this task as soon as possible. Once again, he
surveyed the scene in Maul's living room. Only then did he
notice that Maul's beloved T-shirt was lying in the hallway
leading toward the kitchen. He then noticed that Maul was in
the shirt. He walked over to his apprentice and sharply kicked
him, while admiring the view of Maul stretched out, prone.
"Maul! What are you doing on the floor? Are you sick again?"
Maul opened his eyes and slowly sat up. Holding his head, he
peered up at his master.
"I must have fainted, Master," Maul admitted. "I was
attempting to clean out the cat box. The fumes...they..." He
shook his head, trying not to see double; a wise idea
considering the outfit Sidious sported was about as subtle as a
traffic light- including arrows pointing in suggestive
directions.
"Ahh. An excellent exercise in honing your dark skills, but
not one to be undertaken lightly. Have you never wondered why I
haven't assigned you this task? It is not a job for the weak or
fainthearted." My Apprentice looked up innocently at both Sith,
then resumed her intimate bath. Not unlike the neighbors,
judging by the noises emanating from next door.
Maul growled, "I am NOT weak!" He stood, leaning against the
doorway for support.
"Of course not," Sidious oozed as he turned and made his way
back into the living room. Maul followed, still holding a hand
to his head.
"Now," Sidious commanded. "You must get packed; we leave first
thing tomorrow and I need you to iron my frocks. He dropped the
shopping bag full of colorful women's clothing at Maul's feet
and started for the door.
"Where are we going, my Master?" Maul inquired, bile rising as
he imagined any destination that would necessitate the wearing
of garments like those in the bag.
"For a cruuuuiiiissise!" Sidious sang. He stopped and glared
at the pile behind the apartment door, sensing it considering a
quick leap at his throat. A hint of purple sparks shone at his
fingertips. The pile shuddered, but remained docile. With a nod
to My Apprentice, Sidious flounced out.
"Have you found someone to watch your Apprentice while we are
away?" Sidious inquired of Maul the next day. "Yes." My
Apprentice laid back her ears and gave a hiss. "Bill will be
serving My Apprentice's needs while we are gone." Little does
he know what he's in for, Maul thought, inner glee surfacing at
the thought of Bill buying crates of tuna, getting home with
them, and then wondering why he had done so. Not to mention the
class-3 biohazard production in the form of noxious vapor from
My Apprentice's litterbox...
"Excellent. Now don't forget some sort of evening wear..." he
paused as he saw Maul holding up three identical black T-shirts
that read "Sith Lords Kick Ass", "Don't Worry, Be Evil", and
"Drop Dead and Rot."
"...no, I think not," Sidious finished.
"But that's what I usually wear in the evening,"
Sidious snorted. "To be a true Lord of the Sith, one must be
able to mingle with all peoples, at all levels and in all
societies. Opportunities for petty evils are plentiful in the
lower classes, but for truly glorious Darkness, nothing beats
the rich. You will need a tuxedo. I have provided one for you,"
he added, nodding towards a powder blue number with ruffles on
the shirt hanging on the closet door.
Maul scowled deeply. "My Master, I will look like a pantywaist
in this."
"Nonsense, my apprentice. Have you ever seen Mace Windu in a
tux? Rrrroowwf!" Maul closed his eyes briefly in a vain attempt
to remove the mental image immediately planted in his mind. "We
leave this afternoon, so finish packing. And don't forget the
Dippity-Doo - I feel an Elvis look coming on." He waved and
left Maul with the alarming vision of what his master would
look like in white lamé, swiveling his hips.
"My Master, what is the purpose of this?" Maul growled as he
and Sidious, dressed as Palpatine, stepped from a taxi at
Tropical Island Tours and North Icelandic Charters (docking bay
94). "A cruise is a time to relax, eat, drink, and be merry -
this does not sound to me like an experience that will hone my
dark powers." He quickly stepped aside, dodging two young men
who raced with abandon toward the gangplank. Sidious admired
the view of their retreating backsides.
"Patience, young one," cackled Sidious. "I have reason to
think that this experience will be quite character-forming for
you. Extreme niceness and helpfulness can become as annoying as
outright rudeness and spite - sometimes more so. Look at
Richard Simmons, for example...or Mary Lou Retton"
Maul felt his ire rising at the mere thought of the underfed,
caffeine-addicted, health junkie, and the little agile twit
with the unbearably farm-fresh face. The constant smile, the
unceasing cheerfulness... Yes, clearly his Master was right
once again. It was a more refined and subtle form of torment;
Maul felt pleased that his Master believed he was ready for the
less obvious, subtler points of training. "Indeed, My Master. I
see your point," he admitted.
"Good. Carry my bags." Maul looked at the twenty-three
matching Louis Vuitton monogrammed pieces of luggage (ten
suitcases, six garment bags, four hat boxes, two make-up cases
and a purse) and realized as his irritation began to build that
it wasn't all going to be subtle.
Maul and Sidious stood on the upper deck of the ship (the
newly christened Lady of Vapid Euphemism), as people all around
them were madly throwing confetti toward those that remained on
the dock. Maul watched with disdain. What a pointless exercise,
he thought, although he was gratified to see the amount of
litter that was accumulating. Sidious noticed one of the
young-men-with-the-nice-asses that had previously run by him,
looking up in his direction from the lowest deck. He leered
back. He then realized that the young man was not looking up at
him, but was instead ogling a girl who stood nearby, dressed
(or overdressed, rather) in a long gown wearing an
exceptionally large diamond around her neck.
Nice frock, Sidious thought, as his view was obscured by a
dapper black man with a moustache, wearing a ship's uniform,
holding a try of champagne glasses in front of him.
"Champagne, Sirs?" he asked the Sith.
Sidious took two glasses from the tray, one in either hand.
"Got any Pete's Wicked Ale?" Maul asked, raising his hand,
preparing to wave it in front of the bartender's face.
"Coming right up, Sir," the man in the white uniform replied
with a smile.
"Really?" Maul said somewhat startled at the response.
"Of course, Sir. It's my job to make sure that all of the
passengers have any drink they desire." He turned to fetch Maul
his beer.
Sidious downed a glass of champagne in one gulp and began
sipping at the other, casually tossing the empty over the rail
toward the deck below. The tiny tinkle of breaking glass and a
loud wail wafted up toward them.
Below, Obi-Wan sniffled as his master put a comforting arm
around his Padawan and inspected his bleeding head.
The bartender returned with a tumbler and a bottle of Pete's
Wicked Ale perched on his tray. Maul accepted the bottle and
mind-whammied the man into thinking he had tipped him.
"Keep 'em coming, " Maul ordered.
"Well," Sidious said, as the boat left the dock and headed out
of the harbor, "shall we unpack? We still have dinner at the
captain's table and then I have to get ready for the cabaret.
I'm opening for some Canadian singer, according to that chirpy
cruise director."
"I can't go to a bar looking like this", Maul complained to
Kenobi, looking down at the glitter, sequins and confetti
covering his powder blue tuxedo. He must really talk to Sidious
about curbing his predilections for thinking he was Rip Taylor.
"I have to change."
The boys made their way to the cabin level and went separately
into their respective suites, which were next door to one
another. Maul emerged, wearing his black leather trousers and
trusty "Sith Lords Kick Ass" T-shirt that he had smuggled on
board by stuffing them down his pants. Sidious had been so
engrossed with scoping out the new talent on the ship that he
hadn't noticed the enhancement.
Having no need to waste time on hair gel nor having any desire
for a dental fresh-up, he quickly left his cabin and walked
into Obi-Wan's. The Padawan, hearing Maul enter, called "Grab
yourself a drink- I'll be out as soon as I've put some
Dippity-Do on my braid."
Maul scowled, and looked into the room's small refrigerator.
All he found was Guinness and some sort of herbal tea
concoction in a fancy bottle that the Hippie was probably
saving for a special occasion. Closing the door, Maul spotted
an object wedged between the cabinet and the refrigerator. It
was a mechanical device of some kind that looked as though it
was recharging itself in a battery pack. Curious, he picked it
up and read the label plastered across what could only be
described as the handle, because of the ergonomic finger ridges
molded into it.
"RotoVibraStim 2000" it read in bright sexy letters. Not
really wanting to inspect the business end too closely, Maul
peered at the dial on the side. An evil grin spread across his
face. He carefully moved the dial from "Massage Mambo", beyond
"Passionate Pounding" and up to "Ramming Speed". Then he broke
off the dial, threw it over his shoulder, and replaced the
RVS2000 back into its charging unit.
"Well, I'm ready to do some damage!" Obi-wan announced as he
emerged from the bathroom. Maul's mouth watered as he inspected
the Padawan's choice of evening attire: brown leather pants and
a white muscle shirt with a little alligator embroidered over
the right tit. Before Maul could act on what his brain was
suggesting, Obi-Wan grabbed his arm and maneuvered them both
out the door.
"C'mon, Girlfriend," Obi-Wan crooned, "there'll be plenty of
time for that later."
"I am NOT your girlfriend!" Maul's brain objected, although
his body didn't seem to mind the hand that swatted his ass as
they made their way to the lower deck's bar.
The Emperor's Head Pub was not hard to find. Raucous music was
emanating from it so loudly; the chandeliers on the upper decks
were rattling. Arriving at the door, Maul and Obi-Wan were met
by two large hulking men who eyed Maul's tattooed face and
horns suspiciously.
"ID!" one of them demanded.
The bouncer was hit by a mind whammy in stereo.
"You don't need to see his identification," Obi-Wan replied.
Imbued with a combination of Force and the ship's acoustics,
these words seemed to hang in the air, then echo out the
nearest open porthole.
"We don't need to see his identification," the big men intoned
in unison.
"Wow," Obi-Wan said, reeling slightly, "déjà
vu."
"We're wasting time," Maul growled, and gripping Kenobi's
elbow, steered the Jedi into the bar.
Inside, it was chaos. The room was filled with smoke,
something sounding like a cheap Pogues cover band was playing,
and the patrons were drunkenly staggering about everywhere,
shouting, dancing and puking. Maul sidled up to the bar,
Obi-Wan in tow. The dapper black bartender with the moustache,
seeing them come in, had poured out a Pete's Wicked Ale and was
just waiting for the pint of Guinness to settle before topping
it up.
"Bloody hell," Obi-Wan said. "Are you a Jedi or something? Not
even Master Yoda can see the future that clearly." Maul, also
impressed, actually did tip the bartender this time.
"Keep em' coming," he ordered, then turned to survey the room.
The band now began to play a raucous Chieftain's tune...badly.
Maul watched some drunk chick, looking like a putz, trying to
stand on her toes in stocking feet.
"Too bad they aren't having a karaoke night," Obi-Wan
lamented. "I was gonna do my Elvis Costello number."
"I think we've seen enough of Elvis for one night," Maul said,
remembering the hip-grinding, blue-suede-shoe wearing Sidious
from the earlier in the evening.
Just then, a familiar face appeared out of the haze.
"I think it's time to be leaving, my Padawan," Qui-Gon said
from behind Maul. He strode up to Obi-Wan and placed a
possessive arm around him. "Tell your boyfriend that you'll see
him tomorrow."
"I am NOT his boyfriend!" Maul roared at both Jedi.
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon with a hound-dog expression. "But I
just got here," he whined.
"Well, I guess we could stay here for another drink. There's
something about this music that seems to speak to me," Qui-Gon
said dreamily, steering Obi-Wan toward a table. Obi-Wan turned
and shrugged at Maul, fixing him with a
sorry-nothing-I-can-do-about-it-he-is-my-Master-after-all look.
The Sith could feel the Dark Side welling up in him as he
cursed the Hippie and the sublime yet frustrating thrall he
held over his apprentice. Maul turned back to the bar, taking
the proffered bottle of Pete's without even looking up.
The band switched gears infinitesimally and began warbling
"Sunday Bloody Sunday".
Maul belched and determined to make the best of a bad
situation. He sauntered up to the girl who'd stood on her toes.
"Wanna fuck?" he asked.
He didn't see the punch coming, but he certainly felt it as
the running-up-the-gangplank-kid-with-the-nice-ass slammed his
fist into Maul's chin.
Later, Maul made his way back to the cabin, sober, sore and
pissed off. He could feel the Dark Side rising in him, and
briefly thought of using this extra energy for wicked purposes.
He considered crashing into Obi-Wan's cabin, grabbing the
Padawan, throwing him over his shoulder and slamming the door
in the Hippie's face.
Stopping at the appropriate cabin, he heard moaning. Maul
decided not to barge in, hoping instead to savor the
catastrophe that would ensue when the RVS2000 was activated. He
went into his own cabin next door, picked up a glass from the
small bar, and placed it against the adjoining wall, pressing
his ear to the other end.
The moaning sounds were definitely louder. In fact, they
seemed so loud, they appeared to be coming from inside his own
cabin. Maul dropped the glass. They were coming from
inside his cabin. Disgusted, Maul realized that Sidious was
home, bonking someone.
Maul went into his bedroom, only to find the bed covered with
Dippity-Doo, sequins, and a white, crewman's hat. A trail of
the goo, resembling a track left behind by some huge, drunk
snail in drag, led from the bed, through the door to the
bathroom, and stopped at the adjoining door that led to
Sidious' bedroom. Obviously the crewman had mistaken this room
for Sidious' when steering the couple toward a more horizontal
activity.
Maul heard a poorly imitated Mississippi drawl wafting from
Sidious' room: "Uh, thank you very much." Well, thought Maul,
beginning to heave, I can't stay here. He made a quick exit, a
hand over his mouth. He had just stuck his head out of the
porthole opposite his cabin door and was spewing his guts when
a second voice wafted by:
"Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building!"
Maul continued vomiting.
Two hours later, Maul contorted his body yet again as he tried
to get comfortable on one of the ship's colorfully striped deck
chairs that were clustered toward the stern of the ship.
Giving up, he turned and called toward the nearest door.
"Barten-" he stopped as a familiar-looking figure stooped to
proffer a frosted bottle of Pete's. Maul took it, amazed yet
again at the man's ability to prognosticate. "Now get me a
blanket."
"I'm sorry sir," the bartender apologized. "Not my job. I
believe it's Gopher's responsibility to get blankets for the
sad fuckers who end up sleeping on deck chairs." He paused and
added helpfully, "I think I last saw Gopher with someone
resembling The King."
Life hates me, thought Maul.
Several painful hours later, Maul was awakened by what sounded
like a sob, followed by muttering in Spanish. He opened one
yellow eye. He closed his eye; it was just a voluptuous, tall,
blonde woman in a gold lame pantsuit, clunky gold high-heeled
shoes and copious amounts of mascara.
Both of Maul's eyes snapped open. What? What was that that
just flounced by? He turned, just in time to see the women
climb over the railing at the stern of the ship.
Was she thinking of jumping? She couldn't- not if there was a
chance of his getting laid! He unfolded himself from the deck
chair, and almost collapsed as he attempted to stand on legs
that had spent too much time in unnatural positions. Finally,
he managed to limp over to where the woman was standing.
She turned to glare at him. "Donchu try to estop me," the
woman warned.
Maul could tell she had been crying. Hell, anyone could; each
eye was competing for the title of "longest mascara trail".
Maul braced himself against the railing, readjusting his
posture in an attempt to both stretch his sore legs, and to
casually glance down the blonde's jumpsuit.
What tits... what an ass... what did she just say?
"Ar-ugh?" he managed to get out.
"I sayed, may agent eesa dead man."
"Why?" asked Maul, wondering how he could steer the
conversation toward her nice warm cabin and her nice warm bed
and her nice warm-
"Because, that estupid man forgot to book my eshow on thees
estupid sheep."
"Of course," said Maul, having no idea what she was ranting
about. Then a light bulb went on over his head. What kind of
show would a woman looking like this and dressed like that do?
His mouth began to water. "I'd like to see your show..." he
began.
"Really?" the woman perked up...literally.
"So would I" said a voice from behind them. This sentiment was
echoed over and over. Maul turned and stared, as close to 25
other sad fuckers lying on deckchairs, decloaked from under
ship-issue blankets. Maul couldn't help but notice Mace Windu
and Yoda among them.
"Told you I did stowing away in the duty free shop a good idea
was not." Yoda bitched.
The woman climbed back over the railing, catching Maul in the
groin with a heel as he attempted to get out of her way. He
staggered back to his chair.
The dapper bartender appeared, tray in hand and began taking
orders. The moon chose that moment to appear from behind a
cloud and cast its spotlight upon the woman in gold.
"I usually do my eshow to music," she purred.
"Will this help?" Mace Windu held up a boombox and a "Chic"
cd.
"Bravo, hombre!" the woman called, beginning to wiggle
slightly.
"Stole that from the shop you did," Yoda chastised.
"Distracted not I'd been by the liner notes of Nazareth's
Greatest Hits, return those I would have made you."
"Yeah, whatever..." Windu muttered under his breath.
The drinks arrived. The music pumped. The wiggling woman began
to wiggle faster. The combined testosterone level threatened
the ship's ballast.
The woman began shouting nonsense words in Spanish and
half-Flamenco-ed, half-wiggled all over the deck.
Twenty-some-odd tongues drooled all over the deck.
"Aaaah, cootchie, cootchie coo!" called the woman, weaving
among the deck chairs, strutting and thrusting.
"Arrrriiiiiibaaaa!"
She wiggled by Yoda, trailing a long-nailed finger along a
slender green ear. His eyes closed and he fell backwards off
the deckchair. Windu made no move to help. Next the woman
danced over to Mace, looking as appreciatively at him as he was
at her.
When she made it over to Maul, she stood right in front of
him, her bosom bouncing up and down in time to "La Freak".
"Ar-ugh," Maul gargled.
The woman changed positions, her ample booty thrusting
sideways at Maul's head, as she revved into "The Bump".
"Anda uno! Anda dos! Anda tre-" the woman chanted. Maul keeled
over for the second time that night from a blow to the head.
Death by Charo?
"Why must I learn shuffleboard, Master?" Maul inquired the
next day through clenched teeth.
He concentrated fiercely on ignoring the various physical
annoyances that gnawed at him at the present moment. As if that
episode last night hadn't been bad enough, now here he was with
a pounding headache, a swollen jaw, sweating in the sun on the
upper deck without even a -
"Pete's Wicked Ale, sir?" said a sudden voice at his elbow.
The dapper bartender had apparently shot up through the
floorboards without any warning to appear beside him. Maul
leaped a foot in the air, grasping for his light saber as he
came down before recalling that he'd left the damn thing in his
cabin. He gnashed his teeth, overcome by a ferocious desire to
slice into tiny pieces the next white-jacketed moron who said
"May I help you, sir?"
"Don't DO that!!!" Maul shouted, turning the full force of his
pain and fury on the vacantly smiling bartender proffering a
tray in his direction. Given the condition of Maul's head, he
was disappointed but not surprised that the feeble pulse of
evil had no discernible effect. Breathing heavily, Maul
snatched the frosty bottle from the perennially cheerful
crewman and turned away. "You were right about this incessant
helpfulness, my Master," he admitted. "Their constant presence
and unceasing pleasantness is most... grating."
Sidious, in his role as Palpatine, was watching their
opponent's shot with great concentration. The person currently
taking her shot was a remarkably fat woman, wearing a dress in
a painful shade of turquoise which, in its combination of neon
hue and sheer quantity, would have dropped a charging rhino in
its tracks. The woman bent over to take her shot. It was an
unfortunate position for her, as it clearly revealed the
outline of the industrial strength corset straining to remold
something essentially pear-shaped into an alternate, entirely
alien, form. Wonder what the tensile strength of whalebone is,
Maul mused as the last of the ale slid pleasantly down his
throat.
He was about to beckon for a waiter when it occurred to him to
put the crew to a test. Without turning, he reached behind him
and released the empty bottle. Just as he suspected -- no
crash. He reached back again, and felt an icy bottle appear in
his hand. When he brought it forward into his view, it was
indeed another Pete's. He frowned, remembering the astonishing
abilities of the bartender at the 'Head the previous night.
"These bar people are strong with the Force," he muttered. "I
shall have to study this in more depth."
"Jack! Watch this one and tell me if I'm doing it right,"
Rhino Woman called to her partner. Maul glanced at the young
man to whom she spoke and recognized "Jack" as the boy who had
given him such a vicious sock in the jaw down in third class
the night before. At the moment, Jack was paying more attention
to the insipid muzak coming from the nearby restaurant than to
his rotund partner, dancing about and swiveling his hips in a
way that Sidious seemed to find quite fetching. Obi-Wan, seated
at a table in the restaurant, also seemed to find it
interesting. Maul ground his teeth in annoyance.
Wishing he were drunk already and determined to get there as
soon as possible, Maul downed half his beer and repeated his
question to Sidious. "My Master, why must I learn
shuffleboard?"
"Because," answered Sidious without turning from his view of
the dancing boy. Maul waited. Surely there was some important
yet subtle lesson to be learned from this inane pastime, he
thought (other than the obvious one that fat women should (a)
not wear that particular color or (b) bend over); else why
subject them both to it? No more, however, seemed forthcoming.
Resisting the urge to plant a boot in Rhino Woman's backside as
she wriggled about looking for a good shot, he said carefully,
"Because why?"
Sidious turned a beady eye on him.
"My Master." he added hastily.
Sidious turned back to continue his inspection of Jack's keel
before answering. "Because," he went on, leering evilly, "I'm
the Master, that's why. Your life is really just one big game
of 'Sidious says,' isn't it?" he cackled, sensing the flash of
rebellion in his apprentice's eyes. "Go ahead! Strike me down!"
he taunted, savoring Maul's fury and hatred. "You couldn't
strike down a paraplegic chipmunk in your condition," he
finished disapprovingly. "Maybe you should stay off the sauce."
Me? Maul thought. I wasn't the one in bed with someone named
after a rodent last night. Speaking of paraplegic
chipmunks...or should I say, gophers?
"Ah, it's our turn," Sidious turned to him, "Now pay close
attention. You will shove one of your pucks in that direction.
Our goal is to have our pucks go farther than theirs. Get on
with it."
Maul finished off his beer and stepped forward. The "board"
was a long rectangle painted on the deck. Across each of the
ends of the rectangle were two lines about 16" apart. Their
opponent's pucks - large round heavy objects - lay grouped
around the second line at the far end of the board.
"I do not see the challenge in this," Maul grumbled, "but I
will endeavor to shame our opponents thoroughly, my Master."
Especially, he added mentally, since one of them is that idiot
who punched me last night. He laid the puck on the end of the
board, carefully eyed the distance, and gave it a quick shove
with the stick - backed up with a little extra Sith momentum.
The puck shot with amazing speed across the deck, becoming
briefly airborne as it ricocheted off a chair leg, and
finishing by conking the Hippie a good one just behind the ear.
"Master!" squeaked the Padawan Twit anxiously as Qui-Gon went
face down into his seafood risotto.
Maul's eyebrows shot up. The combination of highly-polished
deck and slippery metal puck obviously created remarkably
low-friction conditions. Perhaps this has more potential than I
estimated, he thought. I may grow to enjoy this.
Sidious was not amused. "Keep the pucks ON the board!" he
hissed. "The prize for this game is free tickets to the
Chippendales show in New Alderaan next month, and I'm not going
to miss it!" Suddenly recollecting that it might not be wise
for an Imperial Senator to show such excitement at the thought
of semi-nude dancing men, he continued in Maul's head.
//Feel the dark force flow through you. BE the puck. Try
again, and this time INSIDE the rectangle!//
Maul shrugged. The faint voice of Obi-Wan anxiously inquiring
for a doctor for "his Master's boo-boo" was music to his ears.
Very well, he would try again. He laid down the second of his
four pucks and poked it cautiously with the stick. The puck
slid slowly to the center of the board and slowed almost to a
stop... Suddenly it seemed to remember something very important
it had to do down at the end of the board and zoomed the rest
of the way, to stop with the edge hanging over the farthest
line.
"Good, good!" Sidious commented. "We'll win those tickets
yet!"
"My turn, Molly?" Jack stepped up to shoot. He was a jolly
little fellow, considerably smaller than Rhino Woman, but
equally alarmingly clad in plaid slacks and a shirt of a
pattern that appeared to be large multicolored dewbacks engaged
in an ungainly mating ritual.
Bet that frightens the children, Maul thought. Perhaps I
should - no, not even for frightening children could I subject
myself to that. Sith should be objects of fear, hate, anger,
but never ridicule. (He pushed down firmly in his mind all
thoughts of the numerous times that Sidious' children, singly
and in combination, had made him feel quite utterly ridiculous.
That was different. Yes, quite different.)
Maul stepped forward again and laid the third of his four
pucks on the line. This time he didn't bother with the stick,
just moved the puck with his Sithly powers until it was beside
the second one, hanging just over the line. About all the Dark
Side is good for today, he thought sourly. Pushing bloody
little saucers all over the bloody deck.
The fat woman shot again, her dress remaining amazingly
unsplit. Sidious made the final shot, leaving his puck
precisely balanced on top of Maul's two. A murmur from the
crowd greeted this feat - whether of appreciation or suspicion,
was difficult to tell.
"Last shot, ladies and gentleman, this is for the prize, two
tickets to the Chippendales show next month in New Alderaan.
Let's see if the young man in the loud shirt can carry it
off..." came the voice of the referee.
"Last shot is ours, I see," said Jack. "Well, this looks tough
to beat but we'll give her a try..." He seemed to barely touch
the puck with the stick; it slid gracefully forward, slowing,
slowing, slowing... just in time to hang perhaps a quarter of
an inch further than Maul's.
//Nooooooo!// Sidious howled in Maul's mind, although
remaining icily calm outwardly. //This will NOT happen, I will
NOT be beaten by those two...//
Jack's last puck suddenly developed a mind of its own and
began backing up just as Maul's last shot also inexplicably
evolved intelligence and began creeping forward... This was too
much for the other team to stomach. "Cheats! Cheats!" shouted
Jack. "Molly, they're cheating! They must have some sort of
device ..." he leaped forward over the board, swinging his
stick in Maul's direction.
Maul ducked, then caught the brat a good one right in the
stomach; Jack fell heavily to the deck, wheezing and gasping
for air. Meanwhile, Molly had picked up a puck and hurled it at
Sidious, who ducked out of the way just in time.
Now the entire crowd was involved in the melee. Jack was
involved in a fistfight with one of the other nice-assed-boys,
while Maul gleefully sent anything that wasn't nailed down
flying around the deck. Suddenly he felt much better about this
game. Another heavy silver puck rammed directly into Molly's
impressive bosom; not even making a dent in the massive
structure, it rebounded at even greater speed across the deck
to whack the Hippie just behind the other ear.
"Master!!" squeaked Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon went face-down in his
lemon sorbet.
The gray-haired referee, holding the tickets aloft to prevent
their getting dropped and trampled on, shouted repeatedly for
people to please calm down, but he was consistently ignored.
Suddenly a hand appeared from behind him, snatched the tickets,
and disappeared into the crowd.
Maul heard his Master's voice in his mind: //I have the
tickets, my Apprentice. Our purpose has been served. Let us
retire to our cabin and change for the cabaret.// With one
final vicious thwack to the side of Jack's head, Maul seized
the Pete's Wicked Ale from the tray held out to him,
miraculously undisturbed in the midst of the chaos, and fled
for their quarters.
That evening, Maul didn't even try to stomach the headliner at
the cabaret. Any form of entertainment entitled "The Palpatine
Riverdance Extravaganza" was not worth bearing witness to. He
did, however, impatiently sit through the opening act, some
lounge lizard named Vic Fontaine, hoping that the Twit might
make an appearance. Of course, Maul would never admit that to
himself...
The wiggling woman from last night was nowhere to be found.
Curiously, Mace Windu seemed to have disappeared, too. Maul had
seen Yoda earlier, arguing with the ship's architect about the
number of little boats that seemed to litter the upper decks.
The man had appeared anxious and had finally run off when Yoda
started working out a math problem on his stumpy fingers.
Now Maul sat in the "Head", wearing the "Don't Worry, Be
Evil/leather pants combination, a Pete's in front of him. The
band, in a vain effort to revamp its repertoire, was playing
"Nothing Compares to You"...but not the Prince version. The
dapper bartender stopped in front of Maul, wiping down the
already immaculate bar.
"I saw your boyfriend earlier," the man said. "He was asking
for you."
"He's NOT my boyfriend!" Maul growled automatically. Then,
with a little more animation, said "What did he want?"
"He told me to tell you to meet him by the cargo hold doors at
midnight." Maul glanced at the clock over the bartender's head:
five to midnight.
"I'll take," he said, accepting the proffered bottle, "one for
the road."
Maul didn't even bother to open the cargo hold door; instead,
he shoved Kenobi roughly up against it and fastened his mouth
on the Padawan's neck. He felt arms reach around him and hands
grab at his leather-clad butt.
"What took you so long," Obi-Wan breathed. He tilted his head
in the other direction as Maul switched sides.
"I, uh, ran..." Maul began.
"Oh, never mind," Obi-Wan finished, pulling Maul's mouth up to
his own.
After some time, Kenobi came up for air and looked around.
"We're not gonna do this in the hallway."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Maul observed.
"I've found a better place," Obi-Wan said, a gleam in his eye.
He pushed open the door, revealing a large room stacked from
floor to ceiling with boxes and crates. In the middle of the
room, a large automobile was lashed to the deck. Maul walked
farther in for a closer look.
"Hmmmm..." he intoned. Obi-wan sidled up behind him and
wrapped his arms around Maul from behind, pressing a hard body
part against Maul's backside. Maul had to admit this car looked
a lot more comfortable than his speeder bike, and a damn site
more comfortable than his landspeeder, still a burned-out shell
since Kenobi had "borrowed" it a few stories ago.
"I've always wanted to do it in a car," Obi-Wan purred,
rubbing his hand across the bulge in the front of Maul's
trousers. "Qui-Gon never would 'cause he said his feet would
stick out the window."
Maul reached around, grabbed the Padawan's braid, and using it
like a leash, led Obi-Wan toward the car. As they neared the
automobile, they noticed that its windows were fogged up and it
was rocking slightly. Obviously, it was occupied. Maul felt
evil and anger rising inside him. Then something in his brain
snapped. He had been punched, spat on, "coochie, coochie,
cooed", made to wear a ridiculous tux, and his bed was covered
with Dippity-Do. "That's it," he growled.
Maul pulled the car door open, reached into the back seat, and
yanked out both Jack, the nice-assed kid with the mean right
cross and the putzy chick with the toes. He tossed them roughly
to the floor, then hurled their clothes at them. "Get lost!" he
yelled, waving his hand wildly across his face. The two young
people decided to make a hasty getaway in lieu of the maniacal
look in Maul's eyes, and the suggestion placed in their minds
that the Auto Club frowned upon such activity and would suspend
any future driving licenses for which they might apply.
Maul jumped into the car, pulling Kenobi after in him. The
door slammed. The windows re-fogged. The car started rocking
wildly. After several minutes, a red and black tattooed hand
smacked against the inside of the back window and slowly slid
down its length.
Meanwhile, Qui-Gon, who had sat through the Riverdance
Extravaganza, found himself enwrapped in cultural nostalgia
(for no reason he could immediately identify), and
propositioned Palpatine. The two retired back to the former's
cabin. They started at the front door, segued through Qui-Gon's
room and finally "came" to rest in the kitchen.
Dozing in post-coital satisfaction, Sidious finally managed to
remove his dancing shoes, throwing them haphazardly. They
landed with a clatter between the fridge and a cabinet.
"What's this?" the Senator asked, holding up the RotoVibraStim
2000.
Regaining his eyesight from behind a tangle of hair, Qui-Gon
looked at what Sidious was holding.
"Nothing!" Qui-Gon said, trying to grab it away.
Sidious executed Evil Smile #34 and winked at Qui-Gon. "You
know, I think I saw these on sale at Sublime Oscillations."
Qui-Gon wrestled with Sidious for control of the device.
"Let's just see how it works, shall we?" Sidious said, as he
thumbed the "on" switch.
The device made a low hum and began vibrating slowly. They
continued to wrestle for possession. The RVS2000 picked up
speed, the hum becoming a whine and finally a scream. It began
vibrating so violently that both men had to let go, their hands
chafed. The machine, with a life of its own, tumbled to the
floor, and vibrated across the cabin. Reaching the bulkhead, it
attained its peak speed, rammed a hole in the wall, and then
punched a series of large gashes down the length of the room.
Immediately seawater began to gush into the cabin.
Qui-Gon and Sidious quickly and ungracefully stood up in a
tangle of arms, legs, discarded clothing and hair.
"Oh, shit".
"No shit."
Both men tried to exit through the cabin door at the same
time.
Obi-Wan had opened a car window to let in some cool air. Now
he reclined in the back seat, naked, with Maul, likewise, lying
against him, between the Padawan's splayed legs. Obi-Wan was
idly running his tongue around one of Maul's horns, while Maul
was casually toying with Kenobi's braid, which hung over both
their right shoulders.
//I wonder what he would do if I just yanked this off?// Maul
thought whimsically.
//I would probably yank this off//, Obi-Wan responded,
reaching around Maul and grabbing hold of something Maul was
not only very fond of, but also very attached to.
Maul decided not to follow up on his threat and Obi-Wan,
instead of removing Maul's favorite organ, began stroking it
instead. Maul sank back further into Obi-Wan's arms, enjoying
the occasions when the Padawan got butch.
This was the life. If only he had a-
"Pete's Wicked Ale, Sir," said a voice from outside the car. A
tray was extended through the window with a bottle sitting on
it. Maul accepted the beer, too relaxed to get worked
up...about this, at any rate. The tray was retracted and
reappeared, holding a pint of Guinness. Kenobi reached for the
glass with his unoccupied hand.
"Ahh.... " both sipped and sighed.
Life was good, thought Maul. Nothing could possibly spoil
this...
An enormous gush of water suddenly flooded the cargo hold,
drenching the two from head to foot and rapidly beginning to
rise towards the ceiling.
"What the Sith...!" spluttered Maul, just as Obi-Wan gurgled,
"Holy Force!" They floundered out of the automobile, spitting
out unpleasantly bitter saltwater.
"ATTENTION! ATTENTION!" came a blaring voice. "REMAIN CALM.
WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST!"
The boys glanced at each other and read in each others' eyes
the same thought: "We're bantha poodoo if we don't get the hell
out of here, but quick!!"
Struggling against the inrushing tide of seawater, the two
managed to exit the cargo hold with their clothing and regain
the deck. The L.O.V.E. boat was exhibiting an alarming list to
one side, there were screams and cries from all directions.
People were fighting their way towards the sides of the ship
where the tiny boats that had disturbed Master Yoda earlier
were suspended and rapidly filling. Maul caught a glimpse of
Mace Windu in a dress and bonnet carrying a "baby" that looked
remarkably like Master Yoda in a diaper, arguing with an
attendant, "But you said women and children first!!"
In an effort to maintain some calm, on the aft deck the band
from the bar had struck up a mournful and tuneless rendition of
"Danny Boy". Calm my tattooed ass, thought Maul. About ten
minutes of that and we'll have people volunteering to leap
overboard...
"Master!" Obi-Wan cried with relief as he spotted Qui-Gon's
tall form standing with Sidious just across the deck. Damn,
cursed Maul silently, thought maybe we were going to lose him
at last, but he always manages to squeak out of it. Someday I
will have to do something about him myself.
"There you are," Sidious said as Maul and Obi-Wan came up to
them. "Are you ready to leave?" He waved his hand towards the
crewman controlling access to the small boats. "Women,
children, and Imperial Senators first," the crewman said
politely, beckoning them forward. Sidious seated himself
gracefully at the front of the small craft followed by the
three others. Sidious and Qui-Gon both waved their hands. "This
lifeboat is full," the crewman apologized, blocking Ms. Windu
and "child" from entering. The infant suddenly sat up and
pointed a wizened finger at Windu. "Told you I did! Breasts you
must have to look like a woman!"
"Oh, so this is MY fault?" Windu shouted back. "If you hadn't
made us stop at the Gift Shop for those stupid Precious Mammals
statues we'd be out of here by now!"
The sound of their wrangling faded as the small lifeboat was
lowered into the water. The four were easily able to
Force-control its motion once in the water, and they moved
slowly but steadily away from the half-submerged cruise liner;
after another twenty minutes, all was quiet except for the
occasional wail that drifted across the water. Debris was
everywhere. At one point, a girl floated past some distance
away, lying on a large piece of wood; Maul was gratified to see
that the frozen face floating beside her was that of the
annoying Jack. Serves him right, he thought. Arrogant squit.
Obi-Wan finally broke the silence. "Master," he ventured,
"should we not go back and see if we can help anyone?"
"You have much to learn, young Padawan," his master responded,
wringing the water out of his long disheveled hair. "There is a
time to be born and a time to die. We wouldn't want to
interfere with anyone's time to die, would we?"
Voices were heard. Floating near them they now saw another
small boat containing the female Speedy Gonzales and the woman
with the impressive bosom; other than that they could see no
one, but in the distance a rhythmic throbbing sound could be
heard, rapidly coming closer. A searchlight stabbed the dark
waters around them as a helicopter hove into view. On the
underside they could see a large shield with an enormous red
"X" on it, surrounded by the words, "A Place for Everything,
and Everything in its Place". Large speakers on either side of
the helicopter body could now be heard: "Bad boys, bad boys,
whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"
"Oh, Force," groaned the Hippie. "It's the Cross-Over Police."
"The C.O.P.s?" said Obi-Wan. "That means we're safe, right?"
"What are you, nine years old?" Maul snarled. "You still
believe the C.O.P.s are your friends?!"
A voice came over the loudspeaker. "This is the Cross-Over
Police. You are guilty of gratuitous appearance in a storyline
not your own. You are in deep poodoo."
Sidious stood up. "I am an Imperial Senator-" he began.
"Sit down!" barked the speaker. "You are hereby fined $1m
Imperial credits -"
"If the Empire doesn't belong here, how can you accept
Imperial credits?" demanded Obi-Wan indignantly.
"Tell your little gnome to be quiet. Our financial practices
are not subject to scrutiny by interlopers from a long time ago
in a galaxy far far away. You are hereby fined $1m credits and
sentenced to be sunk."
A loud outcry from the occupants of the boat was suddenly and
effectively silenced as a large round object dropped from the
helicopter, landing in the center of the boat and cracking it
in half. The helicopter moved off to the next boat and as the
four struggled to each find some sort of flotation device, they
could hear the loudspeaker.
"Will the Unsinkable Molly Brown and Charo please board the
helicopter?"
Darkness slowly gave way to a hint of light in the east. As
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon floated and dozed, the bits of flotsam and
jetsam to which they clung drifted closer and closer to a small
island, at last depositing them on the sand of a tiny deserted
beach. They lay there, awake but too exhausted for a moment to
open their eyes. Footsteps were heard. The beach was not as
deserted as it first seemed. Obi-Wan opened his eyes to stare
square into a face peering over him; the face was somewhat
silly and vacant-looking but did not appear threatening. He sat
up. The face belonged to a slender young man wearing a white
cap, red shirt, and white pants. Standing over Qui-Gon was a
fat man in a blue shirt and a cap.
"Hey, Gilligan, little buddy!" the fat man shouted excitedly,
"I think they're both alive!"
Darkness slowly gave way to a hint of light in the east. As
Sidious and Maul floated and dozed, the bits of flotsam and
jetsam to which they clung drifted in the general direction of
a faraway shoreline. Well before they could reach it, kind
hands pulled them from the water to lay them on the deck of a
speedboat. They lay there, awake but too exhausted for a moment
to open their eyes. At last Maul opened his eyes to stare
square into a pair of the most gorgeous breasts he had ever
seen. The breasts were large, perky, and definitely did not
appear threatening; in fact they seemed positively friendly. He
sat up. The breasts were attached to a slender, blonde woman in
a very tight swimsuit with the word "BayWatch" imprinted on it.
Sidious was being attended to by a muscular young man who
looked suspiciously like David Hasselhof, and seemed very
pleased with the attention.
The Cross-Over Police are going to love this one, Maul
thought.
"Oh, look!" the blonde woman cooed. "They're alive! I get the
one with the tattoos!" As she placed a Pete's Wicked Ale in his
hand and leaned forward to kiss him, Maul reached out with his
mind to see what had befallen the Twit and the Hippie. Just as
he did so, he felt the Padawan's mind reaching out as well. As
the images of their respective situations were exchanged, Maul
fancied he could hear the Twit's desolate cry floating over the
water:
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!"
He broke off all contact and as he abandoned himself to the
woman's accomplished kiss, his last coherent thought before
hormones took over was "Life loves me."
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