The Value of a Credit

by Ms. Nawilla (ms_nawilla@hotmail.com)

Archive: MA only, unless the list revolts in disgust.
Category: Qui/Obi, Humor
Rating: adult themes
Summary: A Jedi makes a purchase he would rather avoid.
Series: Hell, no.
Feedback: send heckles and complaints to ms_nawilla@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: (at end of fic)

Please feel free to partake in the challenge issued at the end of the fic. This fic was inspired by my real life and my own rant on my LJ. Very self-absorbed of me. It's dedicated to Ceria, who said I should lead my challenge by example. Enjoy (or writhe in ficcie pain.)

He walked around, surveying the buyers. Loud, gaudy, cheap and far from in short supply.

The merchandise was even worse.

He picked up a wineglass, but he unintentionally got too close, his nose assaulted by the rank odor of cheap perfumes and overly flowery soap. This was supposed to be enticing? It was nauseating.

Changing his mind, he put the glass back down on the table, the cheap polymer base sounding a dull clunk instead of the usual ding of real glass. If this was the glass, he was glad he hadn't tasted the wine.

Shaking his head, he drew his robe closer to himself, and made his way past rows and rows of candles, waiting, unlit, in every retina-searing color of the spectrum. He supposed they would provide ample . . . atmosphere for some . . . romantic interlude. If one could call it that. At least if it were dark one couldn't see the hue of the candle?

At last, he had made his way to the cleansing area. Beside him, a harried looking woman fussed, arguing to no one in particular about proper techniques. A bit of Force, and she never noticed him as he walked by, selected an implement, and went about his business. It would be best if his status as a Jedi went unnoticed. He really did not wish to be in this place any longer than necessary.

He looked around carefully. He had what he had come in here for. All he had to do was take it to the owner near the exit. Credits would be handed over, and he could he leave. With a deep breath, he carefully avoided looking at the horrendous feast of artery-clogging, brain-shrinking food offered and walked purposefully forward. The owner, a bloated Dug who could barely move, let alone walk, sent him an oily grin.

His goal in sight, he tried to ignore the strange, figures suddenly surrounding him, statues frozen into grotesque poses, faces distorted way past exaggeration into vaguely demented. No matter. They did not live; they would not harm him.

And then, a flash of black and red caught his eye.

NO!

He turned.

It couldn't be.

He stood, frozen, jaw on the floor.

A stone, like so many other stones. Black, with distinctive red streaks. Here. In this place.

His mind tried not to reach the inescapable conclusion. The rock was here.

He must have been here.

With the rock.

He picked it up, then lurched toward the Dug, the implement still clutched, half unaware, in his other hand.

The Dug looked over both items, spat, then announced his price.

"Two credits."

Numbly, he handed over the currency. Weakly, he held up the stone.

"How long has this been here?"

The alien shrugged. "Long time. No keep track, they always bring more."

Clenching his free hand into a fist that had his nails biting into his hand, he accepted his change and a small sac to carry his implement. "Thank you," he grated and turned to go.

"Come again soon, Sir. Prices not go up, even in Coruscant."

He stopped at the door and looked down at the rock in his hand, then forced a biter smile as he turned back to the owner.

"I know. `The Credit Store, where Everything's a Credit.'"

The owner beamed as he left, seething. Once out of sight, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his once precious rock, a twin to the one he had just bought in every way.

Qui-Gon was so going to pay for this.

"River of Light, my ass!"

And speaking of asses, he new just what to do with his brand new toilet brush.

Disclaimer: characters owned by George Lucas, and the people at my local dollar store are neither Dugs, bloated or spitters. But the merchandise can be pretty creepy.

CHALLENGE:

Okay, if you haven't decided to mob me for this travesty of fanfic, here is the challenge: what would they sell in a Dollar Store (where everything's a dollar) in a GFFA? Wookie combs? Womprat jerky? Droid oil? The cheap ceramic Darth collection, two for a credit? And who is shopping there? Qui-Gon? Yoda? Bail Organa? Is this were Sidious met Count Dooku? Please do tell.