Title - Shadow's Night
Genre - Humor
Rating - G
Characters - Obi-Wan Kenobi
Disclaimer - Mr. Lucas would never acknowledge drivel like this,
even though he owns all.
Notes - For the 2005 Halloween Challenge at tf.n, to
write a 1000-word vignette with the worst opening sentence you can come up
with.
Many
thanks to GreatOne for her help with this, especially
the awful first sentence.
Shadow's Night
Out of the eremitic
hermitage, leaden caliginous chimney
smoke rose like a galaxy-weary wraith,
and inside the arenose
abode, so did the austere cottage's expatriated anchorite.
It was Shadow's Night
on Tatooine, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was planning on
attending the local festivities in Anchorhead. Not because he relished disguising himself in
a ridiculous costume -- though it was a good way to blend in -- but because he
fervently hoped that this year Beru Lars would bring
her young charge.
It had been a full
season since Obi-Wan had even caught a glimpse of Luke Skywalker. Owen kept a tight rein on the boy, not letting
the six-year-old anywhere near the Jedi's home.
But this was Luke's first year in school; he would want to join the
other youngsters at the town's annual carnival. Surely Owen, cantankerous though he was becoming,
would allow the boy some time to enjoy life with his friends.
Now,
what to dress up as. A Tusken
Raider? No, he'd heard tales of
someone getting blasted one year after choosing that particular costume. A Jawa? He was too tall. A Twi'lek? Fashioning lekkus
sounded like too much trouble. Well, he
was known around the area as a crazy old wizard. Why not go with the obvious?
Obi-Wan set to work, dragging out every article of clothing from his dusty old
trunk and spreading them out on his bed.
He frowned as he realized that his meager wardrobe did nothing to negate
the image of being crazy, old, or a wizard.
And he wasn't even that old yet! The Jedi Order definitely should have enlisted
the services of a good fashion designer somewhere along the line.
After careful
deliberation, Obi-Wan selected baggy white pantaloons -- he couldn't even
remember where he'd acquired those --
a bright green frilly tunic -- he didn't want
to remember where that came
from -- and a wide yellow sash to tie it
all together. No, it still needed
something else … A
quick look around the small room, and his eyes fell on the faded checkered
tablecloth adorning his table. Ahh, what better way to look truly absurd than to don a red
plaid cape.
One peek in the
clouded mirror above the sink reminded Obi-Wan that more than just his clothes
would have to be changed to achieve a satisfactory disguise. He smoothed one hand over his neatly trimmed
beard. He knew he'd been a tad vain in keeping
the growth of whiskers so carefully groomed.
It was also his most recognizable feature. A feature which would easily grow back, he
thought, as he searched for a razor.
A bleaching agent
turned the rest of Obi-Wan's russet hair a glaring
shade of yellowish white. He hadn't felt
bold enough to give himself a Master Windu-style head
shave. Globs of lard served as hair gel,
and the Jedi spent close to a half hour fashioning his hair into outlandish
spikes. He only hoped his odorous hairdo
wouldn't attract sand fleas.
Glancing out his
hut's small window, Obi-Wan noticed that first sundown was already fast
approaching. Anchorhead's
carnival would soon be in full swing.
He'd better hurry -- no doubt Luke wouldn't be allowed to stay too late. Pulling on the outlandish costume he'd
assembled, Obi-Wan allowed himself a silly grin at his own expense. It was
a good thing Master Yoda would never hear of this. Though come to think of it, Obi-Wan remembered
one Senate costume party that the old master had been invited to. He didn't think the Coruscanti
socialites in attendance ever figured out who the little furry pink clown was.
As he loped across
the desert on his faithful eopie, Obi-Wan anticipated
how much fun he would allow himself to have this evening. Anakin -- even the name brought a pang of
sorrow -- Anakin had often accused his master of being a stuffy old prude. Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin's son would have a
more lively opinion of 'Old Ben' before the evening was over. He smiled to himself as he thought of how he
would do magic tricks for Luke and his friends. He'd astound them with feats of
prestidigitation. He'd make them laugh
at his array of comical acrobatics. Beru would probably recognize him, even with the disguise,
but he didn't think she'd interfere.
Owen -- if he came at all -- would spend the evening in the local
cantina, discussing the always poor harvest with the other moisture farmers.
Obi-Wan wondered
what little Luke would come dressed as. A star pilot, perhaps?
From behind the crown of a sand dune he'd eavesdropped on the boy at
play one afternoon the previous year.
Luke had been racing around the homestead, arms outstretched, making
noises like a ship engine that Obi-Wan had no trouble hearing even from his
hiding place. The youngster couldn't
help but have the makings of an exceptional pilot. It was in his blood.
As he neared the
outskirts of Anchorhead, Obi-Wan could see colorful
banners fluttering from tall posts lining the main street. Booths were scattered here and there, and
trestle tables were clustered under an expansive tent. Few people were milling about, however. Was he early after all? He thought he remembered the Shadow's Night
party starting by second sundown last year.
Obi-Wan began to
have a bad feeling when he failed to see anyone in anything that even remotely
resembled a costume. As he tied the eopie to a post near the cantina, he couldn't avoid hearing
snickers coming from two teenaged boys lounging against the sand-blasted
building.
Obi-Wan wasn't sure
he wanted to hear the answer, but he asked anyway. "Shouldn't the carnival be starting
soon?"
Both boys guffawed
loudly. "Man, get yourself a calendar," one of them snickered. "Shadow's Night was last night!"
Well, Obi-Wan mused
as he led his mount away from the fading sounds of laughter, at least no one
recognized him. And there was always
next year.
The End