Title: Chewy, Darthy, Wally and Voldy. Over coffee and biscuits on a Sunday afternoon. About lunchtime.
Summary: Four incredibly influential characters from legends past, get together to discuss the meaning of life.
Pairings: None.
Notes/Warnings:This is completely ridiculous, and utterly stupid. It's a crackfic I wrote with my Dad while we were chewing the fat on Easter Sunday night. It's not supposed to have any plot, any sort of canon relevance nor any letigimacy. Just something we wrote for fun. Product of a bottle of Chandon and several Pure Blondes.
x
Chewbacca enters and takes a seat
Waiter asks for orders.
Chewbacca: Nyyeerrrhhgg errghghhh mnnnyeerr. (Mine will be a chardonnay.)
Wallace: Bring me the warm blood of an Englishman.
Voldemort: Harry Potter!
Darth Vader: I'll have my coffee bitter and black.
Chewbacca: Errgner. (Like your mother.)
Voldemort: I'll have a Half stength vanilla latte please. With biscotti on the side.
Waiter gives them a look akin to that of an Indian cricketer gazing at the English flag. And then leaves.
Chewbacca: EEERRRGGHHHHHRERRR. (Who farted?)
William Wallace: Every man should have freedom of his bowel movements.
Darth Vader: The force is strong in this one. Come to the dark side.
Voldemort: Anyone for iscream?
Darth Vader: I'm on a diet. Controlling the universe and formulating certain death upon the Rebel Alliance tends to raise ones bowel pressure. I'm suffering severe irritable bowel syndrome at the moment.
Chewbacca: Eererererrrrggghhhh. Nhyyerrrgghherrr. (Got any cookies and cream?)
William Wallace: Darthy Boy. May I borrow your girdle strap? I have an inkling I may need some protection in my next encounter with the poms.
Darth Vader: My what? Breathes heavily.
William Wallace: Or perhaps that breathing apparatus. Ock. They have a tendency to remove ones ability to breathe properly.
Voldemort: Who are you talking about? The British? I have them in the bag. Watch me fuck with this little bespectacled shithead, and I'll show you how to skin a rat.
Chewbacca: Errrhggnnerryy nyeerrrgghhhh. Mnnyeerrrggh. (Vader's breath stinks.)
William Wallace: Hey sod off. I haven't cleaned my teeth in thirty seven years. They don't have tooth brushes in medival England, you know.
Voldemort: I know a spell that will fix that. It's called SEVERING YOU HEAD AND REMOVING YOUR TEETH INDIVIDUALLY.
Darth Vader: Hm…a common theme. Show me your sabre.
Voldemort: My what?
Vader: Your sabre. The long thing you keep in your pants.
Voldemort: I thought you had a wife.
Chewbacca: Errryuynneerrrgghh Mnyewrrrrgghhhh hurrrdeerrrrrnnhhyeerrr. Mnyyeerrrrr. Hnyrr. Hur. (He does).
Voldemort: So what is this about showing you my sabre? This is starting to become dangerously close to a slash fic.
Wallace: Back in my day our swords were made of steel. None of this pussy magic light sabre bullshit.
Voldemort: What the?
Vader: Don't make me come over there. I sense a disturbance.
Chewbacca: heerrrrnnyyeer eerrgghhh errrrrr hurrrrr. Hhururrrrrheennnyerrr. (He farted again).
CB: Good lord. That's all i have to say about that. We'll probably go and edit this. We had a good laugh writing this.