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Archive: Master Apprentice

Category: pre-slash, humor

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Spoilers: None

Summary: Qui-gon and his young apprentice participate in the Jedi Temple rummage sale to raise funds.

Feedback: Yes, via e-mail

Favoring the passing members of the Jedi community and the occasional flock of curious civilians with a benign smile, Master Qui-gon Jinn stood behind a small table displaying his wares. The table was covered in a piece of torn and stained brown cloth (the remnants of one of his old cloaks) and held two trays of baked goods. It was the day of the annual Jedi Temple Rummage Sale, when various Jedi goods and bric-a-brac went on sale for modest prices in hopes of raising fund for the Temple budget - which thanks to the ever tightening pocket strings of the Senate was woefully under funded.

Unfortunately, the Jedi lifestyle of eschewing possessions meant that there was generally a dearth of bric-a-brac or wares donated to the cause, and much of that which was donated seemed unappreciated by the general public. A simple rock might hold a world of meaning for a master/padawan pair, but to the civilians of Coruscant, it was... well... a rock.

Still, everyone did his or her part. Qui-gon and his padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi, had opted to bequeath brownies and bran muffins.

The bran muffins were Obi-wan's contribution. Ever since Jinn's young padawan had enrolled in the class, Nutrition Is Your Friend, Obi-wan had been almost tyrannical about their diet. If truth were told, Qui-gon was growing quite tired of "well balanced" meals. He had even taken to hiding fugu-bars in his pocket to avert the occasional craving for something sweet, chewy and scandalously fattening.

An elderly master paused at the table. Qui-gon graced her with one of his most charming smiles. "Master Prim. May I interest you in some baked goods?"

Rumor had it that Master Prim was nearly as old as the Temple Archives, which she tended, and Qui-gon remembered her as being ancient even when he had been a padawan. She leaned closer over the table, and reached out to point a crooked finger at one of the brownies. "Are those brownies? I do so love brownies!"

Qui-gon's smile grew even wider in anticipation of a sale. "Why yes, they are my best double-chocolate fudge brownies. My own recipe."

The finger curled, and Master Prim gazed up at Qui-gon from watery blue eyes. "Your recipe? You baked these?"

Jinn nodded, beaming.

"Oh, I see." The hand withdrew. "Too fattening I'm afraid. Have to watch one's diet at my age, you know."

Noting the crestfallen expression on Qui-gon's face, she nodded towards the muffins. "You bake those too?"

"No. My padawan made those. They are bran muffins, with a touch of apple and cinnamon, I believe."

"Kenobi baked these?" Prim leaned forward and bumped the table, which tilted alarmingly. Qui-gon quickly reached out with the Force and steadied the table, which due to one slightly shorter leg had a tendency to rock.

"I'll take two." Prim plucked two of the bran muffins off the tray and handed the required credit chits to Qui-gon. "Nothing like a little bran to keep things moving, aye Master Jinn?" She tucked the muffins into her satchel.

Qui-gon didn't answer, merely offered a somewhat wan smile as she totted off to check out other booths. He'd learned quite a lot about the benefits of bran muffins recently. He was truly good and sick of bran muffins, which had been one of the reasons he had questioned Obi-wan's choice of baked goods. He did not see the appeal of bran muffins to possible consumers, and being convinced no one would want them, he had resigned himself to the fact that he and his padawan would be eating them for weeks. However, he had to admit, they were selling far better than he had expected. Perhaps his padawan was not the only one being adversely affected by the Nutrition course.

"Master!" Young Obi-wan's voice caught his attention, and he turned to find his padawan bouncing beside him. Kenobi's youthful face was flushed with delight, the mercurial gray eyes dancing. "Look what I found!" He held out an old lightsaber casing, the metal dented and scratched. "This used to belong to Master Von Hzrek-Till. Can you believe it?" He waved the casing in the air, making a series of humming and whooshing noises as he manipulated the invisible blade. "It doesn't work anymore of course, but isn't it wizard?"

Jinn closed his eyes and asked the Force for forbearance. They went through this every year during the Jedi garage sales. Somehow his padawan found other Jedi's junk fascinating. Nor was he alone. Qui-gon often suspected that most of the funds raised at this event came from Jedi merely passing their junk around to other Jedi in exchange for different junk.

He cracked his eyes open and turned his most patient expression on his padawan. "Obi-wan, you do not need someone's old lightsaber casing. You have your own lightsaber. A perfectly good one, I might add, which you constructed yourself."

Kenobi didn't let his master's lack of enthusiasm damper his own. "I know, Master. But this was Von Hzrek-Till's! Have you ever seen the old vids of his competitions? He was amazing!"

"I am Von Hzrek-Till, Jedi Master and consummate swordsman." Obi-wan deepened his voice in imitation of his hero and continued to wave the imaginary saber through the air. "I accept your challenge. Now you shall know the true Power of the Force!" Unfortunately, Kenobi's adolescent voice broke on the last word. Thus "Force" came out sounding not unlike the cry of a spitcat whose tail had been trod upon, which took a lot of the glamour out of the boy's performance.

Qui-gon's mouth twitched, but he managed to maintain a stern demeanor.

Obi-wan's face reddened in embarrassment and he ducked his head.

Folding his arms, Jinn slipped into the "stern but understanding master" mode "Indeed, Von Hzrek-Till's skills were admirable. He was a great Jedi..." The fact that he had been one of Qui-gon's childhood heroes as well was not something he was prepared to tell young Obi-wan at that moment. Not when there was a lesson to be taught. "However, his abilities did not originate in a battered, old lightsaber casing, but from hours of hard work and practice. Now go put that thing back."

Obi-wan's face fell as he realized his master was not going to relent. With a faint pout, he dutifully answered, "Yes, Master," and disappeared into the crowd, still waving the invisible saber in the air with a flourish.

Qui-gon might have felt a bit guilty for denying his padawan the lightsaber casing, but for the fact he knew some other object of interest would soon snatch the boy's attention.

"Are these brownies?"

A deep, smooth voice recalled Jinn's attention to his wares. Master Mace Windu stood before the table, a most uncharacteristic smile plastered across his generally composed features. Master Windu was well grounded in the Force. Very little could crack that placid serenity.

Apparently brownies were an exception.

Qui-gon returned the smile, filing Windu's weakness for brownies away in case there was need for blackmail or bribery in future interactions with the venerable Council member. "Yes. Only two chits a piece."

Windu rumbled in pleasure and reached towards the jumble of baked goods. "I recall Kenobi's brownies from last year. Very moist. Very delicious. . . and rich."

"Obi-wan didn't bake these..." Jinn offered proudly. "I did."

Windu froze, eyebrows lifting. "You did?"

"Yes. Obi-wan made bran muffins this year." Qui-gon shrugged, as though to convey his own less than enthusiastic response to the muffins. "He's on a bit of a nutrition kick at the moment."

"Ah, yes..." Mace Windu's hand still hovered above the brownies as he seemed to struggle with his words. "Well... nutrition is important." He baked away from the table, straightening and tucking his hands into his sleeves. His deep voice launched into lecture mode as he continued. "And we would do well to remember that we are examples for the young. As a member of the Council I must be ever vigilant and conduct myself in a manner befitting a senior Jedi."

He gazed steadily at Jinn as though challenging him to argue.

Qui-gon, for his part, wasn't quite sure how to respond to this declaration, and settled for a nod which he figured could not be misconstrued in any manner. There were things worth battling Windu over, but this was not one of them.

"I'll take a bran muffin."

Had there been just a touch of wistful disappointment in that voice? "Are you certain?"

A pause. "Yes."

Definitely disappointment. But Qui-gon fulfilled the request with efficient swiftness, exchanging the offered credits for the muffin. "Enjoy," he called as Mace Windu's swirling chocolate brown robe disappeared into the crowd. "They are not bad with Quallis tea!"

Obi-wan came bounding up, colliding with the corner of the table and almost knocking it over. "Oops! Not good." The padawan reached out to steady the table, nearly dropping the bundle of gray material he was carrying. "Sorry Master," he smiled sheepishly. "Haven't you found something to brace it yet?"

"I've been rather busy taking care of OUR baked goods, Padawan." Qui-gon's scowl was lost on Kenobi, who had set aside his bundle and was crouched down, peering under the edge of the cloth covering the table.

"I don't know why you don't get a new table. Surely, Temple supplies has something..."

Qui-gon leaned over to address what he discovered was his padawan's backside peeking out from under the tablecloth and wiggling most provocatively. He frowned. "Obi-wan, have you forgotten what this whole rummage sale is for? We are raising money FOR the temple budget. If we had the funding to buy new furniture, we wouldn't have to participate in this undignified fiasco."

"Oh, I don't know, Master." Obi-wan backed out from under the table and peered up at Qui-gon, gray eyes dancing. "I think it's rather fun! You should see some of the nifty stuff I've found." He grinned. "Hand my one of those brownies, would you?"

Qui-gon felt some of his annoyance melt away at the request. It warmed his heart that his padawan wanted one of his brownies, despite them being anything but nutritious. "Are you sure, Padawan? I don't want you feeling guilty about indulging... You know, the occasional sweet will not harm you. But if you are hungry I could give you some chits to buy something more...nutritious." He nearly choked on the word.

"I'm all right, Master." Obi-wan took the brownie from Qui-gon's hand a vanished back under the table. "A brownie will do just fine."

Jinn's brow knit. "Obi-wan? What are you doing? You don't need to hide under the table to eat your brownie. I am sure that even your Nutrition instructor would understand."

Obi-wan popped back out and jumped to his feet. Of the brownie there was no sign, but nor could Qui-gon detect any crumbs around his padawan's mouth.

He had a bad feeling about this.

"Oh, I didn't eat it, Master." Obi-wan gently pushed on the table, testing it. It rocked, but only slightly. "There! That's better!"

Qui-gon closed his eyes and let his feeling flow into the Force. "You used my brownie to support the leg?"

Obi-wan grinned, pleased with his own cleverness. "It was almost the perfect size, Master. And they are hard enough it should hold up well..." He seemed to realize what he was saying, and trailed into an awkward attempt to soften the words. "I mean. . ." He settled for dropping his eyes in chagrin.

Qui-gon tried for a strained smile. "I am sure it will."

Obi-wan suddenly seemed to recall the bundle of fabric he had been holding. He grabbed it and unfurled a deep, gray Jedi robe, which had obviously seen better days. As Qui-gon had predicted, it hadn't taken long for the boy to find some new distraction.

"Master! Look at this!" Kenobi was grinning in triumph, as he held up the robe for his master's inspection. "It is pure Xanthian Yak wool. Very warm, I hear. And look..." he stood on tiptoe to try and match the robe against Qui-gon's height. "It is almost the right length. I could hem something to the bottom. Some fringe or something."

Qui-gon blanched. Fringe? "Obi-wan, I don't need another robe."

"But, it is always good to have a spare...and Xanthian Yak wool is very expensive, Master. But this one is only 20 credits."

"Padawan," Qui-gon grasped the fabric in his hands and poked some fingers through various rends. "It is also full of holes. It looks like Bafta moths got to the wool... and here," he pointed out further flaws. "It is stained down the front, and charred along one sleeve."

Obi-wan wasn't willing to give up just yet. "The holes could be mended. And maybe the stain will come out in the wash."

Jinn regarded his padawan with patient amusement. "Don't you think that if the stain would come out, the previous owner would have managed to remove it?"

"But..."

"No 'but's' Obi-wan. If you really want me running around in a stained, torn, and charred robe, I can always pull that one I wore on our last mission to Brakkis II out of the closet."

Obi-wan shuddered. "Oh no, Master!" Qui-gon had nearly died on Brakkis II and the bloodstained robe with the large char edged whole in the middle of the back was far too much of a reminder of one of their most disastrous missions. "Never mind. I'll put it back."

"You do that."

Gathering his latest rejected merchandise in his arms, Obi-wan glanced at the table. "How are we doing anyway?"

Qui-gon shrugged. "Not as well as I anticipated. I thought the brownies would do well. They sold well last year, but no one seems to be buying them. Your bran muffins are exceeding my expectations, however." He shook his head in puzzlement.

Obi-wan glanced at the pile of brownies with a quiet snort. Something that could almost have been a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I am sure things will pick up, Master." Giving Jinn a supportive pat on the arm, the boy vanished into the crowd.

Qui-gon turned back to the table just in time to greet senior Jedi Adi Gallia and her younger cousin Stass Allie. He nodded at the two ladies as they stepped up to the table.

"Qui-gon." Adi Gallia's melodious voice sent a shiver down Master Jinn's spine. The tall, slender Adi Gallia was known as one of the most beautiful Jedi Masters, and not without reason. "I see you and Obi-wan have chosen to make baked goods again this year."

"Well, they sold well last year."

Actually, when he thought about it, his own Qualla bread had not done all that well last year. Obi-wan's brownies however, had been a great favorite, which was why he had decided on brownies this year. People liked brownies. At least, he had THOUGHT they liked brownies.

"Ooh, brownies!" Stass Allie was every bit as beautiful as Adi, but lacked the innate sensuality and grace of her cousin. "Who baked these?"

Qui-gon frowned, feeling a bit perturbed. "Does it matter?"

His voice must have been sharper than intended, as both women blinked at him in surprise.

He tried a smile to soothe ruffled feelings. "I made the brownies. My padawan made the muffins."

"I like brownies," Stass reached out to grasp a brownie, but Adi snatched her hand.

"No you don't."

Stass Allie looked at her cousin in puzzlement. "Yes I do."

Gallia's almond eyes narrowed. "No you don't. They are fattening, and you are always complaining about your hips." She held four credits out to Qui-gon. "We'll take two muffins."

"But I don't like bran muffins!" protested the younger woman.

"Yes, you do." Taking the muffins in one hand and her cousin by the elbow, Adi Gallie serenely yet insistently steered the other woman away into the crowd.

Qui-gon sighed and tucked the credits into his battered moneybox. There had been nothing wrong with Stass Allie's hips as far as he could see, but then again, heavy Jedi robes could hide a multitude of sins...

A tug on his robe requested his attention, and he found Obi-wan back at his elbow.

"Well. Master. What do you think?" His padawan was holding a second padawan braid up beside his previously naked ear and grinning broadly. "Does it match?"

Qui-gon's brows drew together in consternation as he studied the slender braid of hair, tied with strands of blue ribbon on both ends. "Obi-wan, what in the outerworlds is that?"

"It's a padawan braid!" The imposter braid in one hand and his natural braid in the other, Obi-wan flipped them both about so that they danced beside his head like a pair of distressed antennae. "Do they match? I tried to find one the right color."

"Padawan..." Qui-gon glanced around, hoping there were no fellow masters about to watch his apprentice create such a spectacle. "I know it is a padawan braid, but what are you doing with it? Where did you get it?"

"Over there." Obi-wan turned to indicate a booth further down the walkway. "Master Odessa has a whole table full! All sorts of colors and styles. There was another one that had a bit more red in it, if you think this one is too blond."

Jinn peered down the rows of tables to the one Obi-wan had indicated, and there indeed was a tangled heap of severed padawan braids piled high in the center of the table.

Master Odessa was holding court, all four of his arms spread wide he invited passers by to come take a look at his wares. He was enticing passing padawans by alluding to the fashion faux pas of having an unkempt, stringy braid when they could be sporting the finest in hairpieces. "And with finals just concluding last 10 day, no doubt many of you have chewed your braids to a frazzle. No need for unsightly hair when you can find the perfect replacement here!"

He was luring the masters of Mon Calmari, Twi'lek and other hairless species by suggesting that the lack of such an important symbol of their Apprentice's status was undoubtedly causing their poor padawans an inferiority complex. "Besides, " he added with a sly wink, "when your Apprentice sports a braid, no one will question WHO is the master in your relationship!"

And finally, he was attracting civilian passers-by with the promise of a genuine "Jedi souvenir."

Qui-gon found the whole thing rather distasteful. Surely this was a bit excessive? Selling old padawan braids? Had the Order truly been reduced to this?

He watched two young knights move away from Master Odessa's table, one looked to be near tears, and his friend was doing his best to console him with an arm around his shoulders. As they drifted past, Jinn heard the one lamenting in a sorrowful voice, "I can't believe he sold my braid. My braid! I gave it to him! Sixteen years I was his padawan and he sold it! For twenty credits I should have kept it and sold it myself!"

His friend held out a handkerchief. "Here. I'll buy you a frozen slurzze. Okay?"

Qui-gon frowned. Definitely a line had been crossed. He would speak to Master Odessa about this, but not right now. No need to start an argument here in front of a throng of curious civilians and tittle-tattle padawans who would just love to see two masters exchanging sharp words.

Feeling rather peevish, he reached out and gave one of his own padawan's braids a sharp tug. This one was firmly attached, and Obi-wan gave a yelp of surprise.

"Master?" He turned wide, questioning eyes on Qui-gon.

"You are not hairless, Obi-wan. You have a perfectly acceptable braid. You have no need of another."

"I thought...a spare?"

"A spare braid?" The high brow crinkled even more deeply. "What an absurd notion, Obi-wan. Why would you need a spare braid?"

"Well, Master Odessa said you never know when an accident might happen. Your braid could get caught in a transport door, or sliced off during a practice bout, or pulled out during crèche duty..."

"Or eaten by a zaggerat," Qui-gon added in an acerbic tone.

Obi-wan's mouth opened in an "o" of astonishment. Obviously this particular danger had not occurred to him. "Master" he asked in awe, "What is a zaggerat?"

"That is not important, Obi-wan. All you need to know is the chances of your needing a spare padawan braid are about equal to the chances of ever meeting one. Now go give that...thing back to Master Odessa."

"But Master Odessa said..."

Qui-gon about lost what little patience he had left. "I don't care what foolishness that shyster Odessa has been spouting. The man should be selling used speeders, not serving the Order. I am your master, and I said put that back!" Unfortunately, his admonishment happened to fall into one of those natural lulls in the conversation around them so that his sharp words rang out over the crowd.

Heads turned.

Civilians drew back.

Masters scowled.

Padawans whispered.

Tongues wagged.

Master Odessa crossed all four arms and glared down the row of tables at Qui-gon. Obi-wan blushed bright pink.

And Qui-gon wished he had not gotten out of bed that morning.

"Yes, Master." Head bowed, Obi-wan dutifully slunk back to Master Odessa's table and held out the braid, which was swiftly snatched out of his grasp by three of Odessa's four hands. The fourth shooed him away back towards Qui-gon's table.

Returning to Qui-gon's side, the boy stood with eyes on the floor, his dejected posture and woeful expression doing terrible things to Qui-gon conscience.

Jinn sighed. His annoyance had been with Odessa, not his padawan, and now the boy felt rejected. Reaching into his battered moneybox, Qui-gon pulled out a few credit chits. "Obi-wan," he said with forced cheer. "How about you go buy yourself a slurzee, hmmm?"

"I'm not really hungry."

Qui-gon winced. The melancholy in that voice would wilt a flower. "Well, I am sure there are lots of other things to see, Obi-wan. Why don't you go look around? You're sure to find something interesting."

And no matter what it is, Jinn told himself, you WILL let the boy buy it!

Obi-wan gave him a cautious side-ways look. "Are you sure. Master?"

He plastered on a broad smile. "Of course I am sure. I can manage here. It is not as though my brownies are selling all that well anyway."

"All right. If you really don't mind, there are a few more tables I'd like to check out."

"Go ahead," Jinn waved a hand to shoo the boy away. Much as Master Odessa had done.

With a final uncertain backward glance, Kenobi disappeared into the crowd.

"Speak so to the boy, you should not!" came a sharp reprimand from somewhere in the vicinity of Qui-gon's knees.

Qui-gon leaned over the table and peered down at the wizened Master Yoda. Yoda's ears were swiveled back and his mouth pursed like shriveled qualla fruit, a clear indication of his disapproval.

"No, Master Yoda," he admitted. "It was not the boy who vexed me. I shall apologize."

"Apologize to Master Odessa you will as well," Yoda scolded, toddling closer and waving his gimer stick in the air in an unequivocal threat.

"But Master..."

WHACK! The stick swung and smacked Qui-gon soundly on the shins.

Qui-gon grimaced. "Yes, Master. I will apologize to Master Odessa..." He paused, considering his chances. Then took a few cautious steps out of the reach of Yoda's stick before adding. "But don't you think selling off the braids of former padawans is...a bit unorthodox?"

"Need money, the temple does." Yoda replied with a shrug. "Padawan braids are very popular with the citizens of Coruscant. Wear them to costume parties, they do."

Qui-gon shook his head. What was the Temple coming to?

Realizing this was not the time nor place to continue the discussion he tried for a sidetrack. "Could I interest you in a brownie, Master Yoda?"

"Hmmm? Brownie you say?" Yoda's ears both perked into high alert. With a small hop, the diminutive master levitated himself into the air and landed somewhat awkwardly atop the small table. The unbalanced table tipped sharply, and Qui-gon found himself hard pressed to save both the plate of brownies and the muffins before the pitched to the floor. As it was, the battered moneybox and Master Yoda were left to their own devices. The moneybox crashed to the floor and opened, scattering coins in all directions, and Yoda rolled under the next table with a yelp of dismay.

Master Jinn hastily righted the table, then hit the floor on his knees to scramble for wayward coins before they all disappeared into the pockets of passers-by. He was wrestling with a pair of giggling padawans for possession of the moneybox when a sharp rap on his backside demanded his attention and startled him into dropping the box.

"Favor coins over fellow Jedi you do? Coins bruise not!" Another rap by the gimer stick punctuated Yoda's denouncement.

"Yes, Master. Sorry, Master," Qui-gon muttered as he scooted out of range. "Have a brownie?" He snatched one off the plate and held it out to the glowering Yoda.

For a moment, it appeared Yoda would not be mollified, then he relaxed a notch and took the brownie from Qui-gon's fingers.

He turned it over in his claws as though studying it for imperfections, before taking a bite.

"Pheh!" he spat nubbin of a nose wrinkling in disgust. "How you get so big eating food of this kind?" He thrust the brownie back at Qui-gon. "Eat this I will not! Poison me you try!"

Jinn looked aghast. "Certainly not, Master Yoda!"

Shoving the little, green troll down the nearest refuse chute had its appeal, he admitted, but not poison.

"Master?"

Qui-gon looked up to find his padawan standing over him with a bemused expression. Tucked under one of Obi-wan's arms was the dented money tin, under the other, what looked to be a bundle of sticks.

"Are you all right?"

"Padawan!" With a final glare at Yoda, Qui-gon swiftly scrambled to his feet and smoothed his robes into place. Tucking his arms into his sleeves, he turned to his apprentice doing his best to project unruffled dignity.

Obi-wan was biting down hard on his lower lip, fighting laughter. Eyes dancing, he handed Qui-gon the moneybox. "You seem to have misplaced this."

"Thank you, Obi-wan." With overstated repose, Jinn retrieved the box and placed it on the table. He also caught a better glimpse at what Obi-wan was carrying under his other arm. Indeed, it appeared to be a bunch of twisted sticks. Remembering his promise to allow Obi-wan to purchase whatever he wished, he dredged a hollow smile from somewhere and leaned closer. "What have you got there? It looks like... a bundle of sticks! How... marvelous!"

Kenobi gave him a strange look. "Yes, someone is selling kindling. Can you believe it?"

"Kindling that is not!" came an aggrieved voice from below. Reflexes honed by years of past experience and reinforced just recently lead Qui-gon to take a swift side step to avoid the swing of the gimer stick. Obi-wan was not so fortunate, and cried out as the stick smacked him across the lower leg.

Looking down in surprise, he yelped, "Master Yoda? I didn't see you there!"

Yoda harrumphed, ears laid flat. "Fine walking sticks are those! Still much use in them. Excellent bargain they are!"

"Of course they are," soothed Qui-gon. "Obi-wan has an superb eye for a good deal. I am sure he already has grand plans for them." He patted his padawan confidently on the shoulder. "Don't you, Obi-wan?"

"Master?"

Qui-gon ruffled the boy's hair. "Now, Padawan, don't be shy. Tell Master Yoda what you plan to do with those...superb walking sticks."

Obi-wan wiggled in distress. "I... I wasn't going to buy them, Master. I just thought... I thought they were silly."

Qui-gon closed his eyes and searched deep inside himself, for patience, for understanding, for appreciation of universal irony... for a place to hide.

"Silly? Find my venerated gimer sticks amusing do you?" This was followed by the sound of another smack of wood against flesh and a yip of pain from Obi-wan. "The youth of today. No respect for elders have they. For nine hundred years have I trained Jedi..."

Qui-gon risked opening one eye at that. "Nine hundred? I thought it was..." He broke off when Yoda threw a dangerous scowl in his direction. Ah well, what were a couple centuries among friends.

"Buy those sticks you will!" instructed Yoda before waddling into the crowd.

"Yes, Master Yoda," squeaked Obi-wan, rubbing at his abused legs. "Nine hundred years, Master?" He glanced at Jinn. "That's a lot of bruised shins."

"Yes, and an abundance of gimer sticks."

Obi-wan held up the bundle of walking sticks with a disgusted expression. "Oh well, I suppose we can think of something to do with them."

Qui-gon offered the boy a conspiratorial smile. "I rather think your idea of kindling was a good one."

Obi-wan returned the smile and Qui-gon took him by the shoulders and gave him a shove towards the crowd. "Now go buy those things, for you can be certain Master Yoda will check to see that you do, and he is not one to vex lightly."

"Yes, Master," Obi-wan replied dutifully. Gathering the bundle of gimer sticks under his arm with a long suffering sigh, he sauntered away.

Only moments later, two padawans Qui-gon recognized as a pair of Obi-wan's age-mates and sometime companions wandered up to the table.

Qui-gon smiled, anticipating a sale. No padawan he had ever encountered could resist a brownie - well, aside from those of the Qualantian species, but for them cocoa had an unfortunate intoxicating effect. He shuddered at an old memory. Drunk Qualantians were not something to be taken lightly. He distinctly remembered how much mischief eight tentacles could get into when bereft of a fully functional mind.

The padawans were eyeing the baked goods with the longing expressions common of self-proclaimed "starving" adolescents everywhere.

"Can I interest you two fine young padawans in a brownie?" Qui-gon offered, all innocence.

Jeran-Kai and Lev Tinu, Qui-gon thought he recalled. Or was it Lev-Kai and Jeran Tinu? Well, it hardly mattered. He really couldn't be expected to correctly identify all of his egregious apprentice's numerous friends, now could he?

"Oh yes, Master Jinn, sir!" offered the fair-haired padawan Qui-gon had determined was Lev. "They look delicious!"

Qui-gon decided he quite liked Lev. Very polite child.

The darker haired padawan gave his companion a swift elbow to the ribs.

Lev grunted and turned to his friend with an aggrieved expression. "What?"

Jeran leaned close to Lev's ear, his dark eyes flickering between Qui-gon and the brownies. "Ask who baked them" He hissed.

Lev's bright blue eyes clouded in confusion. "What? Why?"

Jaren pulled his friend into a close embrace, trying to be discrete, but the whispered words carried clearly. "Remember what Kenobi told us? About his cooking?" He gave a slight tilt of his head towards Jinn.

Qui-gon's brow furrowed. He decided he didn't much like this Jaren kid. Too cocky.

"Oh..." Lev looked up, enthusiasm somewhat dampened. "Uh...sir, Master, sir?"

"Yes?" Qui-gon plastered on his most patient-yet-congenial expression.

"Um..." He glanced at his friend for fortitude. "Did you bake these?"

For just a moment...just one moment of temporary weakness in a lifetime of exceptional repute... Qui-gon Jinn considered lying. Then sighed and answered with as much dignity as possible. "I did, yes."

"Oh."

The two boys exchanged looks.

"Oh." Lev offered again, eyes flickering around as though seeking an escape route.

"Then... ah... No thank you," Jaren said, with far more aplomb than his blond companion did. He began tugging Lev away from the table.

Qui-gon decided he'd had enough. "Why not?" he asked.

The two boys froze, eyes wide, looking quite like a pair of Pipchooks about to be devoured by a Hutt.

"Why...?" Lev's voice was a near squeak, and Qui-gon was almost certain his chin trembled.

"Why not?" Qui-gon repeated patiently. "Why do you not want a brownie?"

"Uh..." Fearful looks flickered rapidly between the two boys.

"We..."

"It's..."

Qui-gon pulled himself up and folded his arms across his chest, adopting his most "imposing master" stance. "Now, boys. You know that lying to a master is a most grave offence." He drew the word 'grave' out with just the right about of chilling intonation, implying consequences too horrific to be spoken aloud.

Even Jaren paled at that.

"No, Master," Lev's voice was a bare whisper, and this time there was no mistaking the wobble of his chin.

Qui-gon let the silence stretch.

It was Jaren who finally spoke up, with a sigh of defeat. "We don't want to get Obi... Obi-wan in any trouble."

Qui-gon remained silent, just quirked an eyebrow of inquiry.

"He said... He said..." Lev struggled to get the words out.

"He said you cooking stinks like Bantha poo-doo," supplied Jaren with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Master."

Qui-gon had known that was coming. Hadn't he? All the indications had been there, and obviously Obi-wan wasn't the only one with reservations about his cooking.

Had known it was coming, and still...

He closed his eyes for a moment and released the hurt into the Force.

When he opened them again, his expression was carefully neutral. "Indeed."

The two boys squirmed under his unrelenting gaze.

And Qui-gon had a thought.

A most shockingly scandalous thought.

Oh, this was going to cost him. Hours on his knees in contrite meditation lay ahead.. .but it just might be worth it.

He smiled, all benign serenity. A hand lifted a waved lazily through the air.

"Now boys. You want to buy my brownies."

Two mouths fell slightly open. Two pairs of eyes blinked owlishly. Two dazed padawans parroted, "We want to buy your brownies."

"My brownies are very good. You will tell all your friends how good my brownies are."

"Your brownies are very good."

Oh yes, many, many hours on his knees.

Upon his return, Obi-wan took one look at his Master's flat, hooded expression and froze. Obviously, he realized he has transgressed; though he remained uncertain as to the nature of the offence.

"Master?" He said it hesitantly, trying to gauge the seriousness of his misstep.

"I think," stated Qui-gon is a toneless voice, "that you should take charge of the table for a while. I should like to look around a bit."

"Y... yes Master." Obi-wan's shuffled nervously under his master's cool regard. "I will watch the table." He set aside his newly purchased bundle of gimer sticks and centered himself behind their small table. Hands tucked in sleeves, shoulders squared, he was every inch the proper Jedi Apprentice.

Then he caught sight of the empty brownie tray. "Master!" He couldn't keep the squeak of surprise out of his voice. "You sold all the brownies?"

Qui-gon relished a momentary thrill of satisfaction. "Yes, Obi-wan. I did." He cocked an innocent eyebrow at his apprentice. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't have?"

Qui-gon savored the sight of his apprentice squirming in discomfiture.

"Uh... well. No Master." The padawan meekly ducked his head.

A perverse glee prompted Jinn to add, "A few of your... nutritional... bran muffins remain unsold, I see." He smiled sweetly. "Not to worry. I am sure they will sell soon."

With that, he turned and swept into the jostling crowd. Somewhere out there was a genuine Master Von Hzrek-Till lightsaber casing and it was calling his name.