Untitled Halloween Story

by: Laura

Rating: G

Category: Humor

Feedback: Pretty please with whole bags full of Halloween candy on top

Archive: Yes

Disclaimers: All in fun, no money being made and even if there was it would belong to George Lucas since all the characters belong to him. Poodoo.

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Obi-Wan pointed a quivering finger at the picture in the holo-catalog. "It’s this one, Master! This is what I really, really, REALLY want to be for Halloween," he said with a 10-year-old’s typical enthusiasm. "Isn’t it cool??!!"

Qui-Gon studied the colorful drawing carefully. "A Malastarian podracer. Are you sure? It looks fairly complicated...," he trailed off dubiously.

"Yes, Master, I’m sure it’s what I want to be. YansAr is gonna’ be the same thing, only his costume is a boughten one, all plastic an’ junk. This’ll be WAY better, and you have a whole week to make it. I’ll help you, I promise!"

Although his peers among the Jedi Knights would never have believed it, Qui-Gon could rarely resist Obi-Wan’s wheedling. He ordered the pattern and all the materials he would require from the hovering service-droid, directing them to be delivered to his Temple quarters.

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This new fashion for Halloween among the youngsters of Coruscant was not something he understood, Qui-Gon thought later. Trainees and padawans in the Temple, in particular, had everything they needed or desired to make their lives comfortable. Dressing up as something you weren’t and going begging from door to door for sweets seemed very alien to the Jedi Code. Yoda, however, had not objected when the little ones had presented their petition to be able to join in the fun with their non-Temple chums. "Learn they must," he had said, "to understand the traditions of many worlds. This is yet another of the many paths to enlightenment." Qui-Gon decided for the millionth time that he would never understand his old master.

It was late, and Obi-Wan was asleep. The ceaseless lights and subdued noise of Coruscant at night were hidden behind the drawn curtains. The tall Jedi Master began to unpack the items that had been sent up from supply. He was appalled at the sheer volume of...stuff, for lack of a better word, that was required to make up a costume that Obi-Wan would more than likely only wear once. The list from the holo-catalog, while long, hadn’t seemed quite this overwhelming. Now, with it spread all around him on the floor, he wondered what he had gotten himself into.

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In the morning, Obi-Wan bounded out of his room and skidded to a stop. Qui-Gon was asleep on the floor, surrounded by small stacks, mostly consisting of things Obi-Wan couldn’t put a name to. Qui-Gon came instantly awake, as always, and was on his feet in a moment. "Obi-Wan, please move these items to the workbench. I’ll begin assembling your costume this evening after our late practice session."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied, somewhat in awe of the intricacy of the costume he had chosen. He knew, though, that if it was ten times as complicated, Qui-Gon could take care of it with no problem. Qui-Gon could do anything.

Qui-Gon had his doubts about his ability to live up to Obi-Wan’s expectations. During the odd free moment throughout the day he studied the pattern instructions. Once, Mace happened upon him as he frowned down at the flimsy paper, trying to make sense of an instruction that read "Ease sleeve (23) onto shoulder (6), and staystitch." He knew what the individual words meant, but somehow, strung together like that, they were meaningless. Mace’s quiet snicker got his attention and he quickly hid the instruction sheet in his sleeve and arranged his features in the inscrutable mask he knew annoyed the other Master the most.

"He talked you into the Malastarian podracer? I overheard Obi-Wan bragging to YansAr in the lockers, but I didn’t think he meant you were making it from scratch. I hear it requires something called ‘notions.’ Do you even know what a ‘notion’ is, old friend?" Qui-Gon could hear the suppressed laughter in Mace’s voice and practically feel him vibrating with it through the Force.

"I have a ‘notion’ you should concern yourself with your *own* apprentice’s costume and leave me to worry about mine," Qui-Gon said.

Mace stopped suppressing his laughter as he walked away, and it rolled back behind him and filled the corridor. Qui-Gon sighed.

Again, it was late. Halloween was only two days away, and Qui-Gon had at least two *months* of work ahead of him. He had figured out how to pin the pattern to the fabric properly, and had even managed to cut out all the pieces. That had only taken him one night. The next night he had begun pinning pieces together and even sewed the collar, before he had realized he had sewed the wrong sides together. He had unpicked the stitching and just finished doing it over when the sun burst over the horizon and his alarm went off in the same moment. The third night had been about as productive. The following morning, Qui-Gon had started to gently probe his padawan about what would happen if they had to end up buying a costume, but had quickly backed off when the waves of disappointment and defeat had poured into his mind. Regardless what it took out of him, he *would* finish the costume. He may be a Jedi, but he had his pride.

Qui-Gon pushed his stool away from the workbench and sat on the floor in a lotus position. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind. If there was a solution to this problem, it would present itself when he was no longer focused on it. His unconscious mind would solve it for him. The tension eased out of his shoulders and back, his breathing became slower and deeper. The silence in the room was profound.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he jumped to his feet. He pulled open one drawer after another in search of the answer to his problem. When he found what he was looking for he gathered all the bits and pieces of Obi-Wan’s costume and placed them in a large canvas bag before very quietly leaving his quarters.

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"Master, it’s perfect! I knew you wouldn’t have any trouble with it. Those guys are gonna’ be so jealous of me!" It was Halloween night and Obi-Wan danced around the room, smoothing down the lapels of his costume, trying on the helmet and goggles, polishing the toes of his boots on the backs of his calves.

A buzzer sounded at the door, and it slid open to reveal Mace Windu. "Wh--??" he blurted out at the sight of the small boy in his Halloween finery. He was all too clearly astonished--speechlessness was not a trait he was known for.

In the alcove by the workbench, Qui-Gon reached back and silently closed the Coruscant Bell Yellow Pages. The heading "Tailors and Dressmakers" would have given away his secret. There was no need. What Mace didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

END