27 February, 2006

C! (Cybertainment Holovision) Trial of the Time Period

Yes, that's right, my lovely friends, this is C-3P0, with the triumphant return of C!, Cybertainment Holovision. I'm here in Coruscant bringing you the Trial of the Time Period, the brownie mogul, Qui-Gon Jinn, and the sweet snack purveyor and Sith, Count Dooku, battling it out, to save themselves from a lifetime in prison, or worse.
If you don't know the story thus far, which is understandable since you didn't have C! Cybertainment Holovision to bring you the scoops, I'll regale it to you now, in my particular, dramatic, over-acted idiom.
Master Dooku, the Count of Serenno, aka Darth Tyranus, was sent to stay with JawaJuice, the JJ part of Uncle Jinn and JJ's Brownies, and Qui-Gon, the deceased Jedi Master and spiced brownie entrepreneur, after JJ lost a very important poker game.
During this game, Qui-Gon came across the ghost of Jo Jo, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator's sidekick Monkey-boy, who had passed on a short time prior. After guiding him to the Second Banana Heaven, Qui-Gon returned to find his former Master living in his home! He fled back to Second Banana Heaven, where he stayed for over a month.
He returned home and the Master and his former Padawan reconciled their differences. The two began work on a new album.
After they finished one of their new songs, to which several record execs, who downloaded a bootleg off the Creamy Gnutella P-2-P-2 network, say is simply wonderful, the Coruscanti local Police burst in with a warrant for their arrest, as well as a search warrant.
We bring you the final chapter in the Trial of the Time Period!

"Will you just listen?" The elder Sith Master glared at the apparition before him. Dooku's fists were balled at his sides and his jaw was clenched, set in a frown.
The ghostly Monkey-boy simply smiled, his playful grin shown no fear.
"Why are ya' worried, boss? I can lick 'em, no problem!" He wagged his tongue.
Dooku scrubbed his hand over his face, letting his fingers rest on his beard. He shook visibly. His eyes were filled with a mix of anger and fear.
"I don't believe all of this." Sitting heavily on his cot, he reached to his side to grab the dulled metal box.
There was a faint tap.

"It is hopeless," Dooku said, shaking his head and absently stroking the container.
"It's never hopeless when you've got a Monkey-boy on your side!" The ghost began to rustle through papers in a manilla folder. "I've got it all figured out. You just need to follow me! Hoo hoo ha ha!"
Suddenly snapping, the elder stood, letting the box clatter to the floor. His eyes ablaze, he turned to the spectre, reaching out his strained manacled hands. "Look, you silly sod! We'll be put away forever if you botch this up! I'll spend my last few years in a wig as a b!*&# to Big Kowalski!" He looked manic, beginning to pace like a caged animal. "I know that I look good with long hair, old chap, but this is not what I had ever intended. I didn't even perpetrate this crime! My Master simply tired of me and pushed me aside, and this not even being the first time, as the Jedi Council excelled in that. I drove my Padawan away to the Nether World, and now I'm here, desperately grasping my soap in one hand and trying to hold onto the tattered vestiges of my fleeting sanity in the other!" He clenched both fists dramatically. "I have no faith in you and none in the Force, abandoning me here in this pit. I am..."
He was interrupted by a loud clanking sound coming from the box at his feet. The sound repeated once, twice, and after the third, all was silent.
Dooku looked down, sadness drooping his features, as he scooped up the box.
"I'm sorry."
Jo Jo looked hurt as he spoke. "You don't think I can do this, bwauth?"
Dooku sat again, and shook his head. "My hope is gone. You might as well leave me to my fate."
The Monkey-boy knelt, coming into the melancholy Master's view. "This isn't about you. Hoo hoo." His laugh was flat. "This is about my buddy in the box. He did me a favour, Dooks, and I owes him one."
The Master absently ran his thumb over the lid. He knew how awful it was out here, away from the Force, away from the simple mundane pleasures of day to day. However, he had no idea what his former Padawan was experiencing. He simply imagined the worst a thousand times a night. He could tolerate life without the Force, but for Qui-Gon, the Force was the only life he could have.
Dooku sighed and looked at the ghost.
"It is just hard to believe that you could be a barrister."
"What's a barrister?" Jo Jo asked, beaming.
Dooku scrubbed his face again.
"Just kidding. Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha! It's a fantastic story, bwauth. I didn't even know nothing about law or lawyers or judges or bananas... Well, I know bananas, but not the legal aspects of them, and so..."
Dooku sighed.
"Right, well, I was watching Farming with Celebrities, with that one guy from that one show with the gold chains and the attitude and the butt kicking and hoo hoo, and he was paired up with this lawyer from Bent Armpit, Dantooine. Well, they started talking and I knew that lawyers were smart people with suits and ties and briefcases full of papers with words on them. Something told me to be a lawyer. Something said, 'Jo Jo, you should be spouting legalese and would look good in navy.'"
Dooku examined his fingernails. "How did you become a barrister?"
"Well," the animated ghost began, "I talked to Janine Melnitz and she said I had to pass the Bar Exam. Hoo hoo. So, I found this place to study for monkeys called 'Monkey Bars' and..."
"Wait a bloody minute. Stop the blog!"
Jo Jo looks to Dooku in shock. "You, you can't do that!"
"Yes, I bloody well can, my good man." He turns to face you, the reader, his dark eyebrows quirked, pointing a finger in your direction. "Listen! I think I've been a rather good sport through all of this, but even I have my limits. There are puns that are just far too awful, and that, my dear friends, is one of them. I am a man of honour. I've had a part in every major Spacepearean production of Sorenno, for Sith sakes!"
Jo Jo tries as he might to settle Dooku, waving his hands and making shushing noises. "It could be worse. Things could be all serious again."
"I don't understand that at all. Everyone has a level of humour in their blogs, and things around these parts have gone from occasionally funny to drab and depressing. When the author returned from hiatus, suddenly, things were serious, as if we had gone from casual blogging to angst competition fan fiction overnight. I think that my part in Qui-Gon's Survivor dream was powerful and well written. As of now, I am playing bit parts to a man in a can."
The box taps.
Jo Jo smiles, nodding.
"That Survivor thing was really good. But, hoo hoo, you have to take into account that, for the writer, that piece of writing was so good that any attempts past that seem flat."
Dooku nods, rubbing his beard. "Have you noticed," he says, turning to Jo Jo, "that Qui-Gon's blog has gone from a narrative style to a novella approach?"
"I like it," the ghost says, smiling. "It's more detailed. Shows more stuff, you know? Ha ha?"
Dooku shakes his head. "Yes, but, the writer runs sentences on too long. They just try to cram too much in."
Sudden obnoxious tapping is loud, bouncing the container on the bed.
"Yes, yes," says the Elder, "we hear you." He sighs. "Do I really have to do this? I mean, I'm running without a script here and I haven't a clue what my motivation is." He dramatically rubs his forehead.
Jo Jo gives Dooku a toothy smile.
"Like I said, hoo hoo, just follow my lead, I've read the script. I know what I am doing. Just trust me, bwauth."

"Count Dooku, please take the stand." Jo Jo had summoned the prisoner.
The trial thus far was very straightforward, giving the abstract of record, stating what was common knowledge. The confiscated spice was shown as evidence, and no-one had found any records of a permit for said spice.
Dooku heeded the call, and sat before the court, the lights shining off the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Jo Jo approached the bench, holding out a book, the Separatist Code, written by Dooku himself.
The prisoner laid his left and on the book and rose his right.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Force?" Jo Jo's manner was very professional, and it came as an empowering shock to the Sith.
"I do."
"Please be seated."
Dooku did so.
"Please state your name for the court." Jo Jo held a file in one hand.
"Count Dooku of Serenno."
The ghost looked at the file and back at the man before him. "You're missing something there. Please state your full and complete name."
He sighed. "Count Jard Dooku."
Subtle snickering could be heard in the audience.
"Okay, Jard," Jo Jo began...
Dooku interrupted the monkey-boy, raising his hand.
"Please call me Darth Tyranus."
"No-one calls you Darth Tyranus, Jard. Hoo hoo." After the giggles in the audience had subsisted, Jo Jo continued. He held up a picture of a Ithorian female. "Do you know who this is?"
He pointed, saying, "That's Rhonda."
"And how is it that you know her?"
"I met her at Watto's when we were on Tatooine with Survivor in its early days. She was trying to seduce this rich old git to get his money. He had spurned her advances, but it was such a display of greed and lack of concern for others well-being, that I was just drawn to her. We chatted casually, yet parted when I had to leave to rejoin the cast. Later, when I came to stay with JawaJuice, I found that she had wed him whilst he was inebriated. I had foiled her little game and soon after, the two divorced."
Jo Jo rubbed his stuffed spectral hands together. "Sounds like they didn't leave on good terms."
Jard shook his head. "They did not," he said.
Jo Jo looked at his paperwork again. "It says here that you phoned Frick and Frack for assistance. What did you talk to them about?"
"We spoke about acquiring JawaJuice's copy of the spice permit."
Jo Jo nodded, looking surprised. He turned round to the audience, gazing at the two F.O.O.F.ers. "Frick and Frack, will you please bring the permit up here?"
The light of hope sparked in Dooku's eyes, as the two F.O.O.F'ers made their way up to stand before the Judge. Frick's hands here cupped together, obviously holding something.
He emptied a hand full of ash onto the Judge's desk.
Scowling, the Judge adjusted his spectacles, closely observing the pile of charred mess on his pristine banc. He jabbed at it with the end of his gavel.
Fear flashed in Jo Jo's spectral eyes.
"What happened, guys?"
"Arrgh! I'm a pirate!" Frack said, flexing his non-existent muscles and squinting.
"Well, we started to..." Frick began.
He was interrupted by Frack.
"Speak not! We can no understand you! You must speak... Like Fluke! As a pirate!"
The Judge's eyes widened and his face went red. He extended his right index finger and rose it, unblinking. He inhaled. "Do you realise that this is a court of law, counsel?" His tone stoked and blazed like a roaring fire. "If you do not cease and desist this freak show, I will hold you all in contempt! My decree will send your client to the lowest levels of the Coruscanti Detention Centre and his ethereal friend to an exorcist! The plaintiff has shown preponderance of evidence, as they have 18 kilos of unprocessed spice and you have given us a pile of ash." His glare bounced around to those before the court. "Carry on."

And carry on they did. Hours of amazing testimony and rebuttals. Some of the finest courtroom drama this droid has ever seen.
However, you just have to believe me on this, as we are getting close to time, and Pimp My Droid is coming up next.
The final court decision, you ask? Well, of course, Qui-Gon and Dooku were exculpated. Things would get rather boring around here if Qui-Gon were to remain tinned. However, Dooku in a saucy story of surviving day to day in a prison. A harrowing tale of him holding onto the soap.
* * *
Oh my! It seems that the ratings did a bit of a slump there. I assure you that, as he has been freed, there will be no disturbing bathing scenes of Dooku on the airwaves any time soon.
How did Jo Jo win the case, you ask. Simple, my friends. All of this was a premeditated attempt at revenge by Rhonda, JawaJuice's ex-wife. She was looking to have both JJ and Dooku imprisoned, yet, she did not take into account that JJ had gone on to do the Big Brother programme and that Qui-Gon was nabbed as well. She had gone through the trouble of getting a job at the Coruscanti Legal Records facility. There, she disposed of the original documentation for the Spice Permit and proceeded to tip off the local authorities about the occupation of the Brownie moguls. She didn't take into account that there was another copy of the permit that JJ carried with him.
'Jard' Dooku contacted the F.O.O.F.ers and had the attempt to recover the document. They destroyed it, but there was a single copy made when Qui-Gon and JJ went to Kessel, which was kept on file at Yatta the Hutt's place of business.
With this, Jo Jo cleared our favourite hippie and posh Sith gentleman.
We were able to catch up with them after the trial and Dooku had this to say, "It feels wonderful to be free of the Force restricting manacles." *rubs his wrists, slowly clenching a fist* "I do hope that there will be very little repercussions from our litigation. I feel that people will hold true and not follow the slander that has so recently been published about my incarceration. Mostly, I do hope that Rhonda lives long and prospers."
Sadly, Rhonda le'Bitka died, soon after the trial let out, of asphyxiation. It was believed that she had inhaled a hard piece of candy and choked, but no evidence was found. She was 37.
We were fortunate enough to be there when ethereal master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was released from the 'Ghost Trap' by Egon Spangler, heartthrob of the Ghostbusters fame.

Pan out, showing outside of Court-house, crowd parted and retained by navy robed Senate Guards. Dooku and Jo Jo standing on left side, looking on. Egon with blinking trap.
Pan in. Egon setting out trap. Hitting button. Flash of light. Focus on box. Lid open, empty.
Pan up. Qui-Gon, in ethereal spirit form, standing. Focus on face, dazed and confused. Jo Jo and Dooku at Qui-Gon's side.
Dooku: How are you, Padawan?
Jo Jo: How ya' doin', bwauth?
Qui-Gon: Psst. Hey Guido. It's all clear to me now.
Dooku: What is clear?
Qui-Gon: You are the keeper of the cheese... And I am the lemon merchant! Get it?
Jo Jo: Hoo hoo?
Qui-Gon: *leaning close to the two, pointing to Egon* And he knows it. That's why he's going to kill us. So we have to beat it. Yeah.
Jo Jo: Do you know what 'non compos mentis' means?
Qui-Gon: Before he sets loose the marmosets on us!
Dooku: Not of sound mind. Yes. I will agree with you on that.
Qui-Gon: Don't worry, little missy! I'll save you! *floats off and fades from view*

Isn't that great! Everyone is freed and though Qui-Gon is spouting nonsensical rubbish, it's better than hearing that stupid Banana Phone song again.
Update on the brownies, and the current lack there of. Since the actual documentation for the spice permit was destroyed, Uncle Jinn and JJ's Brownies can't use spice in their product. Worse off is that they cannot apply for a new permit without JawaJuice being present. So, no brownies for a while, my C! Snack Junkies! The prices for the remaining baked goods have skyrocketed on cBay, pulling nearly 100 credits a packet!
Well, my friends, this has been C-3P0 for Cybertainment Holovision, bringing you the Trial of the Time Period!

Cybertainment Holovision (C) XXMLXXCXX This has been a Ren Hoëk Production. Presented in Hoëkvision. Thanks to our sponsors, Wizzleteats Music, Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen Women's Apparel and Eveningwear, and new Jedi LOG, with real lightsabre action!

22 February, 2006


It had been over a ten-day since he had arrived. Hope fled as the days drudged on. The constant dehumanising activities, such as 'Wig-making for Dummies,' 'Learning Safety Words in 50 Different Languages,' 'Rehabilitative Brainwashing,' 'Achieving the Perfect Clean with a Fire Hose and Soap-On-A-Rope,' and 'It's Not a Sweat-Shop if you're Imprisoned,' were meant to break his spirit. However, he was a man of Darkness. He had known, first hand, the incredible usefulness of torture. He knew that one whose soul had been crushed was easier to manipulate. As he was forced into participation of these pathetic acts, his most comforting thought was that of the terror he would reek the moment his Force inhibitor collar came off. He dreamt of Sith lightning arcing through victims, cooking them from the inside. He imagined the cool weight of his lightsabre in his palm, and the hum as it hissed through soft bodies with ease. Were he free, he would rewrite the mind of the psycho-hypno-therapist, leaving her in a drooling, babbling stupor. These thoughts brought a smile to his face during the worst of the tasks.
However, when he returned to his cell, reality crashed down on him. The tiny mirror above his foul sink showed the truth of his state. The vibrant orange jump-suit, smeared with stains that he endured as the other inmates harassed him at the group lunch, glared loudly in his reflected gaze. Large dark rings hung under his glossy, red eyes, yet this was the least of the effects of the accumulating lack of sleep. Years back, he had developed a mild tremor, easily calmed by the Force, but here, the shake was distracting. He wondered if it were simply his fear manifesting outward. His hair was greasy, as it had been far too long since he had been able to clean it properly.
He sighed and sat heavily on the edge of his cot. Waking nightmares played in his head. He saw that of weeks turning to years, and a fuzzy vague image of an ancient and crude implement called a Guillotine. Hands and head gone. Life a lie.
His mind reeling, his eyes slipped closed. A light tinny tapping sound broke him free of the terror which gripped him. A smile crossed his sweaty face as he stepped over to the metallic box on the floor.

"Thank you for getting my attention, Padawan," he said, letting two fingers rest on the cold metal lid. The tapping sound had weakened in days past. Dooku worried that the small enclosure prohibited Qui-Gon his powerful connection with the Force. Being that he was a Force Ghost, this could not have been a good thing.
Dooku sat there, deep in a lack of thought, for an indeterminate amount of time.
He was startled awake by the harsh crack of wood on metal.

"Wake up, you maggot!" a squat guard called, standing directly outside of the cell. He was dressed in the flowing blue robes of the Senate guards, however, his were ill-fitting, his large belly made the fabric tight. The centurion face-guard was pushed up, revealing a pock-mark covered scowl.
Dooku blinked up at the man. He could not hide his revulsion and his face wrinkled in disgust.

"What're you lookin' at, Jedi scum?"
"I am Sith, my good man," the Count said, with his usual air of grace, "And, simply, I am looking at a pathetic little creature that will never achieve his dreams of being the Human Cannonball at the Bumbling Brothers Circus." He grazed his finger tips over the metal container, his lips quirking up into a smirk.
With a grunt of rage, the diminutive guard keyed the lock and threw the door open, stalking in and grabbing the front of Dooku's shirt, hauling him to his feet.
"Big laughs, old man. If you didn't have the be upstairs right now, I'd bust up your head!"
The elder stifled a laugh. "'Bust up my head'? Dear me, you didn't pass the Coruscanti Police test, did you, Prison Guard, sir?"
The strike was fast and hard, knocking Dooku to his knees. Blazing white pain arced up the right side of his face, robbing him of his breath and sight. He held the back of hand to his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
"Do you..." Dooku cleared his throat, rising, slowly to his feet. "Do you feel big, hitting an unarmed man?"
The guard smiled, shaking his head. "Naw," he said, "I feel big when I'm taking home my pay cheque for it." He grabbed the edge to the metal box, and dragged it toward him, scraping it along the floor.
"What are you doing?" Dooku said, absently reaching out for the container.
The guard scowled. "Never you mind, Jedi freak. Just follow me and shut up."
Dooku was uncomfortable with the lout holding the box. He wondered for a moment if Qui-Gon could feel the motions inside.
With a tug of Dooku's chains, the two started down the hallway. Both men were silent, only the sound of the footfalls echoed through the durasteel cavern of cages.
The elder thought long and hard on the situation and where he and Qui-Gon were going. Fear came in waves as his mind jumped to a vision of an electric chair warmed up and waiting for him.
He dared to speak.
"Where are we going?"
The guard's baton butted Dooku in the gut, making him gasp in pain. The small man said nothing, keeping up his pace.
Finally, the two reached the showers. The guard removed soap, a short stained towel, and a clean orange jump-suit from a large locker. He forced the items into Dooku's arms.
"Shower and git dressed. You got 10 minutes of hot water." He turned away, pulling a folded magazine from his pocket. He sat on one of the cold metal benches and began to read, ignoring Dooku.
This was the first shower that the elder had the pleasure of taking alone since his arrival. This was also the first with the exquisite sin of hot water. He showered quickly, though spending extra time to wash his hair. Within 15 minutes, he was clean, dried and dressed.
From there, the two went to an elevator and travelled upward 12 floors.
The guard elbowed the elder in the arm.
"Don't say nothin'."
When the doors hissed open, bright flashing lights blinded Dooku. He held his chained hands up, covering his eyes. With a sharp tug, he was lead forward into a crowd.
When his eyes focussed, he saw a sea of news reporters. The cacophony of shouted questions bombarded his ears, unable to make out a single word. He was pulled through, mutely. The guard lead him into a grand courtroom, with marble floors and sturdy wood benches. Dozens of people filled the seats, all turned to gaze at him. The jury section held ten. There were several armed Senate Guards posted at the doorways.
Dooku was paraded in front of the court and before the judge. He sat tall, looking down on the elder, contempt clear in his eyes. His face was old and wrinkled, but lacked the lines of mirth, but instead was craggy with the sharp cuts of disgust. He wore a white curled wig, as all of the local judges did.
The guard dropped the container down, on the table before the judge, hard, the harsh echoing clang ricocheted through the noisy room.
All of this had been happening too fast for Dooku. A lost look was on his still face as he gazed down at the box.

"Order," the Judge said, his huge voice booming.
Silence reigned.

"You," he pointed out a twisted bony finger at Dooku, "Do you know why you are here?" He spoke with an accent much like that of Dooku himself, but the voice lacked compassion. It was as cold as his ice blue eyes.
He touched the corner of the box.
"Yes, your honour."
"Where is your counsel?"
Dooku froze as his hope sank. As he knew of nothing, he assumed that Frick and Frack had failed. He was not prepared in the least. He shook his head. "We haven't a barrister, your honour."
The judge scoffed. "Haven't a barrister?" He slipped on a pair of tiny reading spectacles he wore around his neck on a chain. Leafing through papers, his thin lips curled in a wicked smile. "Well, 'Count,'" he said, mockingly, "we will provide you with a Solicitor. Free of charge." He waved his emaciated hand. "Send in the Solicitor."
A guard bowed and disappeared into a connecting hall.
Moments later he returned, with the barrister in tow.
The Count's jaw dropped. He blinked in disbelief.

"Since one of your party is also dead, I felt that this gentleman would understand your needs and serve you best."
The words of the Judge were soundless to Dooku. He was in shock.
"We will reconvene tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred sharp to allow the counsel to commune with his clients. Dismissed!"
The barrister turned to the elder, smiling. "How ya' doin' bwauth?"

14 February, 2006

Coded Messages

A light tapping sound echoed from the darkest corner of the cell. It was in near unison with a red blinking light that seemed to bring an eerie glow with every flash.
Dooku shifted on his thin cot, sucking in a long snore. The light from a cosmos of stars shone in the barred window, casting pale illumination on the sleeping man. He had drawn his stained grey wool blanket over his shoulders, leaving his socked feet uncovered.
The rhythmic tapping intensified, sounding much like rain hitting a metal roof.
The elder groaned, gathering the tattered blanket around his ears.
A sudden jolting noise of metal impacting with a hard surface ripped through the air.
Dooku sat erect in bed, immediately, throwing a glare to the shadowed corner.
"Yes, yes," he said, his voice deep with residual sleep, "I hear you, old chap." He yawned, hugely, stretching out his arms above his head, the cuffs around his wrists clinking together.
The tapping resumed, very faintly.
The old man wrapped the cover around his shoulders like a cloak. He exhaled a short sigh, swinging his long legs over the side of the cot. He sucked in a hiss, as his feet touched the freezing floor, stepping toward the sound.
Observing the blinking metal box, the Dark Master noted that it was on its side. He set it upright and laid a gentle hand on the lid.

"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon," he said, sitting on the frigid durasteel, leaning his back against the solid wall.
The tapping resumed. The sounds were different than before, though. The taps grew in length at times, others were short. There was no even pattern, but there was something very familiar in the presentation.

"Talz code." In the dim light shining between the bars, Count Dooku smiled. He had used the primitive communication form several times in the past. Once, he recalled, he had to send emergency transmissions to the Council, without it being detected by a renegade faction stationed in his area. The lessons of the language were taught to all Padawans when he was training in the Crèche. Technology had left the code behind, but he had made sure to pass it on to his own Padawan.
He tapped out eight dots, signalling that he needed the message to be repeated.
The reply came.
"-- .- ... - . .-. ..--.." Master?
".--. .- -.. .- .-- .- -. .-.-.-" Padawan.
".- .-. . /  -.-- --- ..- /  .- .-.. .-.. /  .-. .. --. .... - ..--.." Are you all right?
Dooku sighed. Things were not well and he would not have considered himself all right. ".. /  .- -- /  ..-. .. -. . .-.-.- /  .- .-. . /  -.-- --- ..- ..--.." I am fine. Are you?
There was a pause. ".. /  -. . . -.. /  -.-- --- ..- /  - --- /  - . .-.. .-.. /  .--- .--- /  .-- .... .- - /  .... .- .--. .--. . -. . -.. .-.-.-" I need you to tell JJ what happened.
A trickle of fear ran through the elder. Qui-Gon had not answered his question. He tried to reach out with the Force, but the handcuffs inhibited his ability. He could sense nothing, the feeling left him empty.
More code began,
".... .- ...- . /  ... --- -- . --- -. . /  .-- .- - . .-. /  -- -.-- /  .--. .-.. .- -. - ... .-.-.-" Have someone water my plants.
".. /  .-- .. .-.. .-.. .-.-.-" I will.
"--. --- /  -... .- -.-. -.- /  - --- /  ... .-.. . . .--. /  .- -. -.. /  -.. --- -. .----. - /  .-- --- .-. .-. -.-- /  .- -... --- ..- - /  -- . .-.-.-" Go back to sleep and don't worry about me.
Dooku sighed and ran his finger over the cool metal of the box. For telling JawaJuice, he would do his best to inform the Jawa of the situation. As for the last part of the request, he knew that it was something that he could not heed.
He stood slowly and returned to his cot, wrapping the blanket around himself, suddenly feeling very cold. He stared, blankly, at the ceiling, until the purple light of dawn began to break through the bars.

06 February, 2006

Unexpected Visitors

The ghost and the Sith were finishing the last few touches on a new single they had collaborated on, Anakin's Rhapsody. The song was far different from most of their other work, incorporating elements of opera with rock. Dooku was not experienced in singing operatic vocals, but his voice had taken to the style well. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, had not only used opera, but had been known to yodel in his solo work.

This is the real life-
There is no fantasy-
It's been a long ride-
Your focus is reality-

Opened my eyes,
Looked to the skies to see-
I'm just a poor boy
A slave with no family-
Because it's
Easy come,
Easy go,
Little high,
Little low-

Anywhere Padme goes,
The only thing that matters to me,
To me-

Mama, I killed their clan,
Taking off each one's head-
Now my hands are stained blood red-
Mama, your life had just begun,
But I've gone and let you die that day-
Mama, ooo,
Didn't mean to let you die,
But you'll see what I'll be this time tomorrow-
Padawan, Padawan,
No I'm a Jedi Master-

Too late, his time has come-
Force Lightning down my spine-
Dooku took my hand this time-
Good-bye, my dear Padme,
I've got to go,
Got to leave you there behind
And face Dooku-
Mama, ooo-
You won't see me cry,
But at times I wish I'd never been born at all-

I know the ways that darkness taints a man
Anakin, Anakin, Wow, Mace just killed Jango
Dooku with Sith Lightning, very very frightening me
Anakin, oh, Anakin, oh-
Anakin, oh, Anakin, oh-
Anakin, oh, Just let go-
You must let go-
But I'm just a slave boy and no Jedi loves me-
He's just a slave boy without any family,
Spare him his life of these monstrosities-
Easy come, easy go-
Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Hey Yoda!
No! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Please don't go-
Hey Yoda! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Please don't go-
Hey Yoda! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Let me go-
No, no, no, no, no, no, no-
Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia,
I just don't know-
Darth Sidious has a co-op put aside for me-
For me-
For me!

So you think if you wound me that I'll start to cry-
So you think you can steal her and leave her to die-
Oh baby-
Can't do this to me, baby-
Won't talk this out-
You've got to get right out of here-

Only Padme matters-
I'm the only one to see-
Only Padme matters-
Only Padme matters, to me-

Wonder what the future holds...

They had gone through several dozen brownies and several dozen fun sized bags of Funyuns. The spiced treats had given them creativity, but not so much as to ruin their newest creation.
They had been recording when the first knock came. The sharp rapping echoed throughout the empty lower floor.
The recording light flicked off and the two returned to the mixing room. They were both giggling, brownie crumbs obvious in their beards.
The knock was sharper the second time.
Dooku stopped and held a hand out to stop his friend.
"Did you hear something, old chap?"
Qui-Gon laughed slowly. "Oh wow, man, yeah. You, like, said some words, or something."
A look of seriousness crossed the living elder's face. "No, Padawan. I heard something downstairs." He returned his black electric guitar to its stand. "Were you expecting visitors?"
Qui-Gon looked deep in thought for a moment. "Uh," he stammered, "I don't remember, man. Then again," he laughed absently, smiling, "I don't remember a lot of things when I eat brownies, man." He began to giggle.
The knock came again, yet this time it was followed by muffled shouting.
Dooku held out two fingers, stopping Qui-Gon's laughter with a touch of the Force.
"I know I've heard something this time, Padawan."
An acute look of distress broke through Qui-Gon's silent laughter. "You've muted me, man," he said, soundlessly.
The Count clenched his outstretched fingers into a fist.
"You're fine now. I do wish you'd take this situation seriously. Do you not feel the ripples in the Force? There is danger downstairs and you feel the need to giggle so loudly as to draw attention to us."
Qui-Gon scowled, silently. He turned away from the living man and phased through the door of the mixing room. Dooku exited soon after.
Both were startled by a smashing noise below them. Shouting came soon after.

"Whoa," Qui-Gon muttered, his face a mask of shock. "Who'd want to break in here, man?"
The Count glanced at the Titanium albums adorning the walls and the thousands of credits worth of musical equipment. He looked to his former student and shook his head. "I feel the more relevant question is, how shall we defend ourselves against the raiders?" He drew and lit his lightsabre, holding it fast in a defensive position.
There was thundering noise on the stairs, ascending upward. More calling followed.

"What did they, like, say?" Qui-Gon asked, absently fumbling for his ethereal weapon at his side. Once he had hold of it, the noise was in the conjoining room.
The shouting came clearer this time.

Both men faltered for a moment, not even daring to breathe.
The ghost began to shake.
"Oh wow, man," he said, repeating it again and again in rapid succession.
"Get a hold of yourself, Padawan!" Dooku reached out to slap the quaking spectre, but his hand drifted through the ethereal haze.
Very suddenly, the door flew open and several uniformed officers flooded the room. They took advantage of the incapacitating fear that gripped both the ghost and the master. Within seconds, Dooku was Force Inhibitor cuffed around his neck and with his wrists behind his back and read a chain of quickly spoken rights. His sheathed lightsabre clattered to the floor.
Qui-Gon, on the other hand, was intangible, thus the normal detaining methods were useless.
A familiar face flashed before the spectre seconds before the beam wrapped around him like a lasso.

"Amazing..." the Ghostbuster, Egon Spengler muttered to himself. He kept a firm hold on his engaged proton pack whilst he kicked out the rectangular containment box.
There was a very faint
"Bummer," that escaped from the ghost before he was sucked away. Smoke rolled off the closed box while a small red light on its lid turned red.
The Ghostbuster in glasses tugged the cord attached to the box toward him, skidding the still smoking container to him. He held it up, triumphantly.
"I regret to inform you, Mister Jinn, that you are under arrest for the possession of great quantities of unrefined Spice without a formal permit from the proper authorities."
Dooku looked at the uniformed scientist. "Possession of Spice? Then what, may I ask, am I under arrest for?"
An officer stepped in front of the elder, scoffing at him. "Possession of Spice is just the tip of the Sandcrawler, buddy. How about 'assault with a deadly weapon,' 'unauthorised limb removal,' 'prolonging the stereotype that all Counts are prim and proper,' 'selling addictive junk food to impressionable Younglings across the Galaxy,' 'attempted murder,' 'causing a shortage of top hat polish,' 'green riddle monkey abuse,' 'breaking wind in an elevator and blaming it on little old lady Vanderschmoot.."
Dooku's eyes widened. "You, you knew about that?"
The officer gave a quick smirk. "We know everything, Dooku." He led the prisoner away. "You're goin' downtown, you and your little undead brownie buddy. You got some questions to answer."
The Ghostbuster and the lit box followed.