Of Grunts and Padawans (Pre Ep 1 - Humor, Parts 1,2,3 and 4..)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction Stories--Classic JC Board (Reply-Only)' started by JediPony, May 7, 2002.

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  1. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    So here's my contribution,

    Title: Of Grunts and Padawans
    Category: Humor (age 15?)
    Summary: Just a little diddle into a day in the life of - yes, everyone?s favorite padawan - Obi-Wan Kenobi. Following some of the disasters and strange little happenings.
    Rating: PG?


  2. Kathryn Jedi Padawan

    Member Since:
    May 1, 2002
    star 4
    Sounds great. Humour is always good, especially with our favourite Padawan, of course. I look forward to the first post.
  3. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    Okay I decided to do it this way instead of links like a previously did since I guess there was some confusion. I've got 4 parts so far soon 5...I hope. Let me know what you think.

    Chapter 1: Of Volcanic Padawans and Derivatives of ?Eh?





    A muted rumble issued from beneath the mount of bed covers. Qui-Gon reached forward and shook the brooding bump. "Obi-Wan! Wake up." A louder more menacing grumble. The mound shook threateningly.

    The Jedi Master rolled his eyes, "Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, I have no need of a volcanic performance every morning. I know you?re awake and I expect you to respond intelligibly when you?re addressed."

    Beneath the layers of warm blankets Obi-Wan planned his next move. He moaned pitifully, trying to sound as ill and persecuted as possible. He had tried to bide his time with silence but he knew that the use of his full title was never a good sign. He?s on to me, he thought, it was time to commence plan B.

    Qui-Gon sighed, Commence plan B. He took a step closer to the lair of the problematic padawan.

    Meanwhile inside the dormant volcano, the apprentice was slowly inching his hands up to grasp the edges of his comforter. He reminded himself if he moved too fast or too jerky it would blow his cover, quite literally. He knew that if that happened, or if Qui-Gon was assured of his awareness then his next move would be brutal.

    Qui-Gon was positioned and ready, but it was all a matter of surprise, if he let Obi-Wan have to much time, then he would be ready for his next move. In one swift strong motion he swept the blanket of the apprentice. It didn?t budge. Apparently his timing had been a little off, and had given Obi-Wan too much time to prepare.

    He frowned in frustration, it was time to bring out the big blasters. "Obi-Wan," His voice grew in velocity, "Let go of the blanket and get up right now or you?ll be doing essays till there?s nothing left to report."

    He watched with hands akimbo as the bushy head of his padawan peaked out from under the covers, "Not fair," Ah, the first distinguishable words of the day, he thought with a mental chuckle.

    "Up, now."

    Obi-Wan was stubborn, but he knew when he had lost. That force behind that tone was not a force to be reckoned with.

    "Don?t make me start counting Padawan."

    That was enough of a threat to submit into obedience even the most temperamental crèche baby.


    Before Qui-Gon could develop the 2 on his lips and send it from his brain to his vocal cords, Obi-Wan had gathered his tunic - wadded in a corner between a pile of books and various other articles of clothing - and was closing the ?fresher door behind him.

    The Jedi Master could not stifle the smug, smirk of triumph at defeating his padawan at this little skirmish. Just another tally mark on his board and a few credits in his pocket, kindly supplied by a certain council member by the name of Mace Windu. He checked his chrono, knowing with clear certainty that he had made his goal for the day. 5 minutes and 48 seconds

    He had broken a new record.


    (30 minutes later?)

    Qui-Gon watched his padawan shuffle over to the small kitchen unit and tug open the ?fridge?s door?and tug, and tug again.

    "Obi-Wan, are you having trouble?"


    "Is that a no?"


    "Alright then."

    Finally, Obi-Wan managed to pry the door open with his lightsaber hilt, but not without much cringing and grimacing on his master?s part. After lugging a gallon of milk from the fridge (A/N: How could the galaxy exist without milk?they had to have milk right?) he routed around in the cupboard looking for some kind of suitable food. Qui-Gon couldn?t help but notice that he looked much like a womp rat, shifting through a garbage disposal unit. The dignified master coughed into his hand to hide the snort of laughter at the uncanny picture.

    "What time is your class today?" He asked from his overstuffed armchair, or ?Qui-Gon?s Throne? as Obi-Wan had dubbed it the day the
  4. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    GAH! stupid little '?' things!!!! Sorry about that, but I'm copy pasting from another link, I'll try to edit this one out...

    Chapter 2: Of Smoldering Towels and Wrong Numbers


    Breath in. Breath out. Sigh. Did the Council really need a report of every action that they had engaged while on a mission? Force! He hadn't become a Jedi to be babysat by the Council. Qui-Gon leaned his chin on the palm of his right hand, while running his left fingers in a thumping rhythm. He groaned, I wonder if I should instigate a new rule where the padawan must write the mission reports. It was a fleeting thought but a pleasant one none the less.

    Lost in thought he didn't notice the smoky smell which was slowly permeating the room.

    He was back home on a camping trip with his brother, who was setting up an old beaten shelter. He was just about to light the campfire, the fresh forest smell was lilting up his senses. He glanced down at the forest floor, and then down again. Smoke? Around his feet? The forest floor morphed back into the carpeted floor of his apartment. But the smoke was still there. His senses came alive, the dusty smell of smoke was filling the air.

    He lurched to his feet, "Obi-Wan!" he yelled as he charged out into the main room. Why hadn't his padawan noticed the obvious smoke yet?

    He quickly located the problem spot by the noxious fumes wafting from beneath the 'fresher's door. Why was the door closed unless?

    Palming the door open he was met by a vision that would stick in his mind for years to come. Obi-Wan nestled in a pile of once neatly folded towels a heater full blast fast asleep, incoherent of the towel behind him kindling into flame.

    In a stunned state he stumbled forward and jerked his padawan upward by the collar. Tossing the simi-concious apprentice into the main room he ripped the heater's cord from the wall, forgetting every rule he had been taught as a boy about electric shock.

    He soon had the smoldering towels in a tub of water and a very cowed padawan by the ear.

    "What were you doing! I would at least think that you, at 15 would know the fundamentals of heat and fire that a 5 year old would. But I guess I was wrong in assuming that you would posses any grain of common sense. And sneaking naps in the bathroom? That in itself would be forgivable, but when you nearly succeed in burning down half of the housing section of the Temple. Well that's a hard one, what were you thinking! I would like to imagine that having the blessing of the Force you would at least have noticed the danger that you were in. But I was wrong there as well, I doubt you even realize that your braid is smoldering."

    He only felt the breeze and the heard the squeak of surprise as Obi-Wan darted to the kitchen sink.



    Obi-Wan was mortified, and that was at the least of his emotions. One moment he had been 'lightly dozing', and the next, he was being thrown into the main living area by a frantic master.

    After dousing his entire head under the running faucet, and checking that no other articles of his person where flaming or otherwise aflame in anyway, he crept back into the living area, hoping that perhaps he could escape before.


    He guessed that it would be against the will of the Force to allow him such luck.

    Qui-Gon yanked hard on his charred braid. "Come."

    He followed, or more accurately, was led, to the couch. "Sit." Qui-Gon pointed a finger to the seat. Obi-Wan didn't argue. He watched with growing concern as his master disappeared into his study. This was it, he was getting the blaster that he knew must be hidden under his master's mattress, and he was going to end his pitiful existence here and now.

    Obi-Wan had been so caught up in wallowing in thoughts of his own sad demise, he didn?t see the datapad that was tossed at him for him to catch till it hit him in the face.


    Looking down, with tremulous anticipation, he half expected to see a form for his will, or what he wanted for his funeral, that wa
  5. Falcon Chosen One

    Member Since:
    Feb 7, 2002
    star 10
    Hmmm, good start. Just one suggestion, don?t, you might want to go and check over your work and remove the question marks. You want to replace them with ' when it calls for it, instead of don?t, the appropriate expression is don't. I am not trying to run you down or anything.

    force be with you

  6. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    *nervous chuckle* yeah I noticed that Falcon, I tried to go through the second chapter and edit those blasted '?' out. I'm copy pasting from another location, so the formating is getting messed up. Sorry 'bout that.
  7. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    Chapter 3: Of Turpentine and Cafeteria Discussions

    Apparently it had been a horrible misconception to assume that teaching an art class wouldn't be too difficult. No wonder the holopicture was more widely used instead of the pencil and the brush.

    "It's broken," A short, rotund Calamarian, with huge bulbous black eyes, thrust a horribly mangled paintbrush into his hands.

    With a long-suffering sigh, he drew another brush from a box he had found in the storage closet in the back of the room, "Huri, I told you five times already, you can't press so hard on the brush! It breaks the bristles."

    The child waddled back to his desk, nodding vigorously just as he had done the past five times.

    "O-B!" squealed a distraught human girl, butchering the first syllable of his name and converting it to easier speech, "O-B, da bwush exp'oded."

    Grabbing a napkin, he hurried over to the student. Before he had a chance to clean up the new mess, a shriek of either displeasure or sheer delight made him whirl around to check on whoever stapled his/hers/ or its, hand/appendage to the canvas this time. Seeing that everything was well (as well as a room full of 5 year-olds with staining fluid could be) and in fact it had been the squeal of a Bothan who had finally got the lid of a bottle off a paint, he turned back to the girl, but ended up unintentionally ramming his right eye into a purple clotted paintbrush.


    The little girl lurched back, dropping the oily brush from where she had held it up at eye-level for Obi-Wan's more convenient inspection.

    Obi-Wan yelped in pain, clutching at his wounded eyeball. The oily paint, stung horribly. The one thought in his mind and the first order of business was, Get water! Heavenly to his blurred sight was a small bottle sitting within his close reach on the girls desk. Unfortunately, truly good things were out of his reach today.

    The little initiate watched curiously as the new teacher hoped about the room then grabbed the small bottle of turpentine on her desk.

    Down the hall, and then to the right and up a level, in room number thirty-eight, twelve bewildered, mentor-less nine-year-old history students heard a second agonized howl.



    "Gween pwease."

    "I need yellow!"

    "Can I have some red?"

    Obi-Wan had never heard so many colors yelled at him or anybody in the course of 3 seconds. He couldn't imagine how he had survived nearly and hour of this torture. But then again, neither had he ever worn quite so colorful raiment. His tunic had, this morning when he had donned it, been a clean (at least for him) sand hued color. Now it was a myriad of shades of reds, blues, yellows, greens and an assortment of other mixed colors. Much to his chagrin, not only was his clothing stained, but any exposed skin, including his face and hair.

    All things considered, it could have been worse. Yet he had restrained himself from thinking too much of that, lest he jinx his marginal good luck. So far, the only marginally major mishap was the turpentine incident. That's all, but that is if you would be only to consider nearly having an eye poked out by a five year old, and then pouring toxic fluids into it.

    Besides that, all the other occurrences would only be those that could be expected in a situation such as this. That is, minus the Sullistan boy's thumb (A/N: Sullistan's DO have thumbs don't they?) getting stuck in the blue paint bottle, then having to break the jar open with the hilt of his lightsaber, resulting in a swollen thumb and an unwanted trip to the healers. Of course they had asked why his right eye was irritated to an extreme red with a vibrant rim of purple. He had answered by explaining that he had an allergy to some of the students shampoos. He was finding out, by the sneezing, that it wasn't far from the truth, except he suspected it was more a reaction to the turpentine.

    The earlier deafening clamor of the initiates had lulled down to a low murmur as they had become completely engrossed in the
  8. JediPony Jedi Youngling

    Member Since:
    May 5, 2002
    star 1
    Chapter 4: Of Big Brained Biths

    Have you ever watched a funeral procession? Not the after funeral party, or gathering where people could care less about the deceased due to all the food, but the actual procession? Well, if you have, then you would be led to think that there was a grand funeral about to begin in Room 35 in the Jedi Temple. To some of the students, it didn't seem to be far from the truth.

    Obi-Wan and Bant were apart of the procession and were just about to enter Master Ki'mar's lair. They could have sworn that the room glowed with a sithly red. It was always a mad rush to get as far to the back as possible, but somehow, do to a few well timed threats and/or promises, Obi-Wan and Bant were fortunate enough to wrestle themselves into two seats three rows from the back.

    Suddenly there was a chilling hush, Master Ki'mar had entered the room. He walked to the front of the room, set a datapad on the desk and then turned his empty gaze on the padawans before him.

    One of the many frightening things about him was his abnormally (even for a Bith) huge, glassy black eyes. Unlike a human or most humanoids, you couldn't see any iris or pupil. His eyes were entirely black and the light would cast off of them as they roved, yet one could never tell on whom or what they were focusing.

    "Turn to section 5.7 in your text," Master Ki'mar never started with a "Hello, how are you all today," or even, "Good day."

    Not a word was uttered as the cowed apprentices flipped through their material. No one even dared to sneeze or itch.

    "Start reading from the top of the section to the end of the second paragraph. Put your pads down when you are finished."

    The next ten minutes went quietly and without any life lost. It was obvious that many of the apprentices read each paragraph twice, buying as much time as possible. Finally, once they could spare no more time lest they be caught in their devious act, the students simultaneously set there pads on their desks and waited for the next command.

    "As you read in your text, the Senate was first established in?" Master Ki'mar's voice droned on and on. It seemed an age but in reality only eleven minutes later that he suddenly stopped his 'jawing' and stood rigid at the head of his carefully organized desk.

    No one had ever dared to pass a note or commit the horror of talking in one of Master Ki'mar's classes. The consequences which blossomed in young minds could easily make a Council member have nightmares for a week. But as a wise sentient once said, "There's always a first time."

    There was a collective gasp as a long snore cut through the thick silence of the room. There, hunched over his desk, a cheek pressed against a limp arm with a puddle of drool quickly accumulating on his text, was Obi-Wan Kenobi fast asleep and snoring to his death. Bant was already composing a farewell speech for his funeral.

    "Padawan Kenobi," Ki'mar said in a level neutral tone. The padawan in question did not respond. His fellows watched in aghast horror as Master Ki'mar made his way down the luckless apprentice's isle, the students in his row melting in quaking fear in Ki'mar's wake.

    "Padawan Kenobi," Ki'mar came to a stiff halt at Obi-Wan's desk. He stood rigid, seemingly staring blankly at the opposing wall but that would be too much good fortune on Obi-Wan's behalf.

    Obi-Wan in question had been sleeping soundly since Ki'mar had reached his second sentence, happily dreaming about giant dinner plates and pillows. Not long after he had finished his sixth plate, he was startled awake when a pale knobby hand slammed down in front of his face.

    With a yelp of surprise he toppled out of his chair and landed with his legs tangled with the chair and the desk while the rest of his body became wedged between his seat and Bant's.

    There he sat, blinking in bewilderment at his unexpected relocation, oblivious of his impending doom which presented itself in the form of a big brained Bith.

    "Padawan Kenobi, were you sleeping?" Ki'mar asked civilly.

    Obi-Wan blinked, hard,
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