See first chapter for disclaimers etc…

Chapter 2: Of Smoldering Towels and Wrong Numbers

Sigh.

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? 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.

Sigh.

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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…

"Ow!"

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.

"Write."

Looking down, with tremulous anticipation, he half expected to see a form for his will, or what he wanted for his funeral, that was, if his master left any remains to bury. But it was neither, in bold print at the top of the screen was written "Mission Statement Form".

Qui-Gon pointed again, "Write, now."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but it clicked shut when he was on the receiving end of a glance that would melt dura-steel.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan wrote.

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Obi-Wan glanced nervously at the clock, ticking above the kitchen sink, it was well past 8:30 and creeping up with unnerving speed on 9:00.

He was hardly half done with the tedious statement, but he had to be ready to teach that class at 9:30. There was no question in his mind that Qui-Gon would not be willing to exempt him from the duty or let him go until he was done with the report.

Obi-Wan tried to tether his fluttering thoughts and focus on the task at hand, but he found himself mentally kicking himself without mercy at every turn. Bruised minds don't write Mission Statements well. He was finding that out at a very bad time.

He toppled from his light perch on the side of the couch as the deep chime of the clock broke the stiflingly still milieu of the room, He shot a darting glance at his master who sat, staring at him intently, elbows resting on his knees, not making any sound or movement. He reminded Obi-Wan of the massive, cold stone statues that had been erected on the planet that they had just visited on there last mission. That also reminded him of the task at hand.

Finally, the chime hit it's ninth tone. It was only 9:00 am and he was already in way over his head. But then another notion presented itself, it was already 9:00 am and he only had half an hour to present himself in the classroom.

He was dead in the water, and it didn't look like the rescue crafts were coming to pick him up.

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As far as he could remember, he had never run this fast, force enhanced or not. Obi-Wan's feet fairly flew across the Temple hallway's floors. He dodged, he swerved, he ducked, he leapt. To anyone he passed he was a mere blur.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan skidded, literally skidded, to a stop. To his horror, he recalled that in his absentmindedness he had neglected to find out just which room he was supposed be.

Frantically he began to whip through the data on his pad, searching for some kind of room number or address. There! A number that had the resemblance of the format used for a room number. It was a guess but what he hoped to be an accurate guess. Room 12. Turning to his right, he saw it, standing there, like a haven of rest in a tumult of nightmares he saw…Room 12.

Sagging in sheer relief he palmed the door open. Even as he did this, the occupants of the room, ranging from what looked to be children from the ages of 5-7, grew eerily quite. He had thought he was teaching the 10 year olds. Shrugging it off as another bad occurrence in his already trashed day he…

…Was grabbed by the front of his tunic and hauled to the front of the room. He looked up, and up, and up some more into the very unpleasant face of a very, very, displeased Rodian female.

"Hi."

He was already dead meat, now the vultures where diving in for their meal.

"You're late," She proclaimed grumpily. Then swinging him around to face the expectant young faces of the initiates, she marched down the center isle, "Teach," she commanded before she swept herself out the door.

Why was everyone using one word phrases with him today?

Moving behind the Camura wood podium he set his pad on the flat top.

"Hello, some of you might know me, but for those of you who don't, I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Blank stares.

"I've been asked to come and talk to you about a subject which I find very interesting."

Someone coughed.

"It's a period in history in which the Republic first began."

A chair leg grated against the floor.

"Your regular teacher says that in your previous history lessons you have been learning the basics of the Senates procedures in passing a law."

Blink. Sneeze.

For the first time he noticed the colorful drawings and scribbles posted on the wall. Since when did History class draw pictures?

"Um, from early on the Republic has stood for a lot of things."

A kid in the front row wiggled a lose tooth.

"Things like, uh, good stuff."

Obi-Wan nearly melted in relief when a little human girl in the third row raised a marker stained hand. He nodded to her, motioning for her to ask her question.

"Wha kind 'a shtuff," she lisped through two missing front teeth.

"Well, justice and peace, things like what we stand for when we say the Code."

She looked down and fiddled with a red marker, glancing sheepishly at her fellow classmates, "Oh, we haven ta' been taught dat yet."

Obi-Wan looked baffled, "Huh? Ms. Hertia said that you had learned that a two months ago."

She shook her head, "Ms. Hert'a not our teacher. She teach da 'istory class."

Obi-Wan paled, "You're not the History class?"

She shook her head, her dirty blond hair churning about her.

If Obi-Wan could have chosen a time to die, this would have been it. "Then what are you?"

She bit her lower lip, as if she already knew that he obviously had come into the wrong room, "We," She spread her arms around, gesturing to the listless children around her, many of which had slumped into their seat, "We, art class."

"Oh," he croaked. "That would explain it." He was at a loss for words, could he really just leave them to sit in the room waiting for their real teacher? He hadn't been trained for this kind of situation!

"So…" A Bothan child ventured, "You gonna teach us dwa'ing?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess, think, could maybe." How had he gotten himself into this? Oh yeah, it had all started when he nearly burned the Temple apartment wing down. But really, could teaching a bunch of kindergartners how to scribble on a sheet of paper be all that hard? Maybe this wouldn't be all that bad. Maybe…he didn't dare hope.

"So what have you guys really been learning?"

The whole room lit up and cried in one squeaky voice, "Oil painting!"

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A/N: Well there you go, hope you liked it. Now who here as worked with oil? Well, if you haven't then just wait and see what I mean. The next part is in the works, but I think I should have it up soon, or somewhat soon. Don't forget to let me know what you think and give me some IDEAS. Thankee kindly!

Chapter 3: Of Oil and Cafeterias

(Title subject to change J )