Title: "One of Those Days in the Old Age of Yoda, Master Jedi"
Author: Qui-Jen Jinn (JediQuiJenJinn@aol.com)
Archive: My site (Phantom Knights), Early Years Archive and Council of Denial. All others, please ask. If you pass my trials, you can add my sillieness to your playground.
Category: Absolutely Crazy? ::grin:: Qui-Gon's Youth
Rating: PG-13 (mild language)
Warnings: I've proofread it, but I have no idea how well I did in said
proofing. Also, if you aren't prepared for some very odd plot-twists, watch
out. I hope they don't cause any vertigo ...
Spoilers: Spoiler free!!!
Summary: What really goes on inside of Master Yoda's head?
Feedback: By e-mail, constructive criticism only.
DISCLAIMER: Before anyone tries to sue me, I have no official connections
with George Lucas or any of the people/companies/etc involved in "Star Wars"
films/books/etc. The characters of Qui-Gon, Yoda, Mace Windu and Yaddle all
belong to George Lucas. The only thing I have created is this particular
story.
I'm not making any profit off of this. All characters will be returned from
whence they came, for better or for worse, when this story is done.
~*~*~*~
Qui-Gon Jinn, Padawan to Master Yoda, the most venerable of all the Jedi,
sighed heavily as he flopped down onto his bed. It had been one of those
days.
By "one of those days," one must not think of a typical Padawan off-day where nothing seems to go right. This was quite different. It had nothing to do with young Qui-Gon--at least, he didn't think it did--, but it had everything to do with his master. When Qui-Gon had "one of those days," it was because his master had one, too.
The morning had seemed like a typical one for the Jedi Temple. Qui-Gon had woken before first light and started the day with a brief meditation. Afterwards, he cleaned up and donned his clothing before making his way through the living area to the small kitchen. His master apparently wasn't up, because no food was set out to be cooked or eaten, and Yoda was nowhere to be seen. Qui-Gon felt the first stirring of unease, then. Usually, Master Yoda was awake long before his student, and to save time for lessons, he often had breakfast laid out for himself and the teenager.
Resigned to his fate, whatever it might be, Qui-Gon pulled some cereal and fruit from the cabinets and cooling unit, then set them aside as he retrieved dishes from another part of the kitchen.
The seventeen-year old had just finished setting places for his master and himself, and was sitting down to his meal when said Jedi Master walked into the room. Or rather, when said extremely *old* Jedi Master--clad in an over-sized yellow plaid shirt and baggy, orange-red pants, and a bright purple boa slung around his neck--bounced his way into the room, his gimmer stick replaced by the Jedi equivalent of a pogo stick ... in lime green.
"Mmmm!!! Good morning to you, young Padawan, yes!!!" Yoda cried as he pogo-ed past his apprentice. Qui-Gon smiled weakly and commanded his hand--and thereby, his spoonful of cereal--to complete it's interrupted journey to his mouth. He refused to give in. It was *not* going to be "one of those days."
"Food! For the Jedi, it is time to eat, yes?! Yes!!! For the Jedi, time to eat it *is*!!! Heh heh heh ..." Yoda continued to laugh and mumble to himself as he neared his cushion at one end of the table. Qui-Gon sputtered and almost dropped his cereal-filled spoon when his master bounced extra-high on the pogo stick, actually leaving the floor. The diminutive alien let go of the stick at the apex of his trajectory and dive-bombed his seat, hollering "Yippee!!!" all the way. He landed with a loud thud behind the table. When he didn't surface soon after, Qui-Gon became concerned.
"Master?" he called tenatively. "Master, are you all right?" Still no answer. "Master?" Qui-Gon repeated, his voice growing more anxious. "Mast-AH!" The padawan's plea became a shriek (albiet, a manly one) as a little green body suddenly popped into his lap, and a small nose came within inches of his own. Huge green eyes held pale blue ones for a long, silent moment.
"Fooled you I did!!!" Yoda exclaimed as he jumped from Qui-Gon's lap onto the table, narrowly missing the boy's meal. "Hee hee hee. Yes ... yes ... fooled you ... yes ... heh .... heh heh ... heh heh heh ... "
"Master, did you take your medication last night?" Qui-Gon asked gently as the tiny Jedi crawled accross the table towards his own breakfest.
Not bothering to turn around, Yoda answered, "Medication I do not need. When nine-hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not, hmmm?"
"Master, you're only eight-hundred."
Yoda whirled on his student, cereal flying from the bowl grasped in his three-fingered hand and fruit pulp smeared over his face. "Think you I know not what my age is? Hmmmm? My own council will I keep, on how old I am," he insisted. Qui-Gon had to duck the fruit remains and cereal that flew accross the table as Yoda gesticulated wildly.
"Yes Master," Qui-Gon called placatingly from beneath the table. Yoda just humphed and went back to his food.
~*~*~*~
Things had only grown worse from there. Qui-Gon had had no classes with
other masters scheduled for the day. Yoda had set it aside for some
levitation training and meditation. Well, if nothing else, there *was*
plenty of levitation going on in the quarters of Jedi Master Yoda and Padawan
Qui-Gon Jinn. Only problem was, there was no order to that levitation.
Qui-Gon found himself having to scramble after datapads, clothing and plants
as his Master moved about the rooms. Once, the small Jedi levitated the
couch in the living area, and Qui-Gon had had to grab it with the Force as he
balanced a pile of datachips in both hands and a datapad under his chin.
~*~*~*~
Later that day, when Mace Windu stopped at Yoda and Qui-Gon's to see just why his friend hadn't come to lunch in the cafeteria, he was mildly surprised by the person who opened the door. Instead of his usual picture of Padawan discipline, Qui-Gon looked as though he had been alternately living in the swamps of Dagobah and the deserts of Tatooine for the past two months without survival gear.
"What happened to you?" Mace asked incredulously.
"Don't ask," Qui-Gon fairly growled at the other Padawan.
"Oh," Mace said, then, "Oh ..." as comprehension finally dawned on him. He nodded towards the interior of the quarters and mouthed, "One of those days?"
Qui-Gon nodded.
"He forgot his medication?" Mace continued silently.
Another nod.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow Qui-Gon," Mace said quickly; then, he high-tailed it down the hall to his own set of quarters. Annoyed, but too tired to care, Qui-Gon shut the door and turned back to the chaos that his master had caused.
~*~*~*~
"Need help, I do not!" Yoda insisted for the twentieth time in the past hour.
"Master, please," Qui-Gon pleaded, brushing his disheveled braid behind his ear.
"No!" Yoda cried insistently, glaring down at his padawan. "Repaint this ceiling I will. Bother me, you will not."
Qui-Gon hung his head and took a long, deep breath. It didn't help.
"Old, I am not. My ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. I FEEL the Force. Everywhere. Surrounds us, it does. Connects us. The trees in the gardens. Masters and Padawans. Dez-ZZ-Top Our-Knees and Loose-key Ball-Lee. The ceiling ... and the paint."
"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon mumbled.
"Now, the can, you will give me."
Wordlessly, Qui-Gon handed the can of Palpatine Pink (A Vote for Palpatine is a Vote for Order in your local Student Government Association!) to his master. Yoda was balanced precariously on a pile of furniture, old boxes and what appeared to be some well-used gimmer and pogo sticks, a comically large brush clutched in his right hand. He had exchanged the outrageous clothing of that morning for an old biege sheet with a jagged hole cut in the middle for his head. While holding the can of Palpatine Pink (A Vote for Palpatine is a Vote for Order in your Local Young Ty--er, Democrats Group!) with the Force, Yoda dipped his brush in the bright, viscous liquid and began to liberally apply the paint to the ceiling. Globs of the stuff dripped down on everything, and Qui-Gon thanked the Force that he had covered most of the room with old bedsheets and towels. It wasn't long, though, before he was cursing himself for not doing the same for his body as a large drop of Palptine Pink (A Vote for Palpatine is a vote for--
~Gah! Get out of the story, Palpy! I think the readers got the point.~
At last I will reveal myself to the author. At last I will have revenge.
~Yeah, yeah. Run along now and hone your rage, already. By the Force ... Where were we? Oh yeah.~)
... It wasn't long, though, before Qui-Gon was cursing himself for not covering his own body as a large drop of PAINT (~Take that, Palpy!~) fell right into his short, spiky hair.
//Sith//, Qui-Gon thought to himself, irritated.
"Heard that, I did," Yoda sing-songed from his perch. "Use that word, you will not. Fill you with fear, it will. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate (~Come on, everyone. Join in.~) leads to suffering!"
Exasperated, Qui-Gon stalked out of Yoda's bedroom to wash his hair.
~*~*~*~
The rest of the day had been typical of a senile Jedi Master with one of the
highest midichlorian counts ever recorded. Qui-Gon dodged furniture, paint,
food, his Master's toys, his Master's lightsabre, his Master's gimmer stick,
and his Master as the Force swirled uncontrollably about their quarters.
Finally, at the end of the day, Master Yaddle took pity on the young Padawan and came down to the quarters he shared with Yoda.
"Forgot his medication again, hmmm?" she asked from where she stood in the entryway, surveying the damage. It looked like one of Coruscant's electrical storms had decided to have a family reunion in the place.
"Yes Master," Qui-Gon told her as she gingerly picked her way through the debris. "He's in his bedroom right now, counting the notches on his gimmer stick."
Yaddle nodded sagely and began to forge her way through the mess to bedroom.
"Stay here, you will," she told Qui-Gon, who nodded eagerly. There was no way in the Seventh Sith Hell he was going into his master's bedroom, not now. He unconciously took hold of his Padawan braid and started to finger it nervously when Yaddle disappeared into the maw.
Qui-Gon gave up on fingering his braid after the first five minutes, and began to shift his weight anxiously; the clutter of the quarters made it impossible to pace properly. Another five minutes, and he heard cries of, "Mine! Mine! Or I will help you not!" from his master, then a muffled *thump*. Master Yaddle soon emerged, her hands folded in the sleeves of her robe. She smiled benignly at Qui-Gon and said, "I think Master Yoda was just overtired. He should sleep the rest of the night, and be fine tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you remove all evidence of today's ... episode. It might upset him if he sees it."
"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon replied, bowing his head respectfully. "Thank you."
Yaddle nodded and said, "May the Force be with you." Then, she strode out the front door.
//Think you would, that figure out Qui-Gon could, hitting Master Yoda over the head with his own gimmer stick, I am//, Yaddle thought to herself with a sigh. //High midichlorian count, Master Yoda has. Unstable it is. Old he is. On the Council, he is//, Yaddle thought worriedly. //Oh dear ... //
Somewhere in the universe, the receptionist for THE POWERS THAT BE! felt an "Aha!" light up over her head and quickly took note. "Warning: Excessively high counts of midichlorians may lead to mental instability in Jedi ... "
~*~*~*~
The next morning, Qui-Gon Jinn awoke somewhat refreshed. He was relieved
when he emerged from his room to find breakfast waiting and Master Yoda
already engaged in a morning meditation. "Good morning, Qui-Gon. Slept
well, you did, yes?" the now calm Jedi Master inquired.
"Yes, Master."
"Good, good. Now, eat you must. Much have we to do."
Qui-Gon nodded and hid a grin as he sat down to his meal. Yoda narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then shook his head. Human boys could be so very strange sometimes ...
~*~*~*~
THE END
This was posted on April 21, 2001.
© 2001 heather.lively@ns.sympatico.ca
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