Obi-Wan came from the Earth planet in this is a scandalous Xover between Moulin Rouge and Star Wars. Some AU. Don't like it? One word: FLAME.
Disclaimers: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas
Moulin Rouge belongs to 20th Century Fox, and its prospective writers
THIS IS A STORY ABOUT LOVE. THE WOMAN I LOVE IS DEAD.
Slowly I typed the letters, with near viciousness. Damn. I needed death. I needed to escape. Of anything. From anywhere. Sometimes I forgot how long I'd been sitting there, just staring at the blank page. I let the tears blur the ink. Sometimes I would shout in rage at a phantom, or cry because I thought I had seen her. Damn! I'm biting my lip again, tasting blood. I wish…what do I wish? Since I can't change history, and I don't really feel like condemning myself by taking my own life (a force tells me such a thing would ensue that I would not see her again), I guess I'll just tell our story, even though it won't make me feel any better.
TWO DAYS LATER...our story is finished and I am bored. 127 pages of meticulously typed work seems like too little.
Someone walks in…in my blur of loneliness, I only hear there is new "fanaticism" over a time machine.
Who cares about a time machine? But they want a guinea pig, and I am prime for that.
But I go...almost blindly I step on the platform. I only want to see Satine again, are my last thoughts as electricity shoots through my system. Then blackness.
I wake up in sand. I lift myself up and blink. Am I dead? I get up. Ow. That electrical shock must have hurt more than they said it would.
"Hey, stranger, are you hurt?" asks a voice. A middle-aged guy. Damn. His costume is weird-looking.
"No."
"You're not from around here are you?"
"I don't know. Am I dead?"
"You're talking to me. I do not think that you are dead."
"Oh." Great. I can't…frantically I try to remember her name. Damn! WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?
"Why don't you come with me, and I'll see what happened."
"You're a stranger."
"So are you."
I shrug. "I guess."
"Name's Qui-Gon, yours?" Chinese, I wonder?
"I…I…don't remember." I don't, now I'm starting to panic.
"Don't panic. Just come inside, get some rest. You'll be fine."
"How are you so sure?"
He smiles at me patiently. "It is as it shall be."
What he says puzzles me. Some flying contraption races past me.
"What's that?"
"Those…are pods. And there are ships, and vessels."
"That fly?" For some reason this isn't in my memory.
"Yes, boy. That fly. Tell me what you do remember."
"A girl. A really beautiful girl. I guess…" the horrible truth finally dawns. Being blinded by amnesia, or whatever it was, was far more comforting than this. "She's dead."
"And do you remember anything else?"
"Stepping into some time machine. I guess it was an experiment."
"Ah."
"What?"
"My friend. I am afraid I think I know from where your home planet is."
"Home…Planet?"
"You must be from the Milk System. They are many years behind ours in technology. In fact, they don't know we exist, and we would prefer to keep it that way."
"Why's that?"
"Too many wars for one planet. There's no other habitation in that galaxy and still they fight over petty little resources..."
Let me know if you want this to continue, my creative streak kinda ran out here...