Rating: PG. For "Star Wars" goofiness.
Feedback: Very, very much appreciated.
Distribution: If you want it, by all means. . . Just let me know first, I'd like to know where my work goes so I can brag
about it.
Spoilers: That would be a no.
Disclaimer: Joss. What can I say? He owns every damn thing related to Buffy and gang. And George Lucas owns every
single, tiny iota even remotely associated with "Star Wars," the lucky cad.
Author's Note: Okay, okay. . . I know you all absolutely *need* to know who I'm placing as Luke (especially you, Kathy). Herein lies your answer.
*****
We enter this chapter to find our two bumbling heroes in a dark room inside a giant Sandcrawler. Dawn is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, praying to whoever would listen that this enormous headache would go away. Willow, at the moment, is nowhere to be found in the room filled with droids and scraps of.
"This place is about as lively as a trash heap," the brunette said.
"Dawn?" a panicked voice called out into the gloom. A redheaded female entered Dawn's field of vision. "Dawn! It is you!" The young one was scooped into a large hug.
"Glad to see you, too, Will," Dawn managed to say while her face was being buried into Willow's shoulder.
"Where in the blazes are we?"
"Inside the belly of a massive metal beast?" Willow gave the younger droid a puzzled look. "I don't know. That's what I'm guessing." Dawn eyed the room once more, noticing the scrap metal scattered around. "And you said there weren't any droid-eating monsters in the Star Wars genre."
There aren't. You weren't eaten.
"Then where are we?"
If I told you, then it would ruin the plot.
"Okay. . ." Dawn's pout was interrupted by an abrupt halt that sent the droids inside the Crawler to topple forward in a cacophony of metal. "What was that?"
"Looks like we've stopped," Willow observed as the miniature Jawas hustled and bustled about the interior. A tremendous bright light emblazoned the room as the main hatch the Crawler opened. "Ever get the feeling that we've gotten ourselves caught between a rock and a hard place?"
"In other words," Dawn replied, "we're screwed."
"Something like that." Willow looked nervously at the desert landscape. "Do you think they'll melt us down?"
"Me. . . No. You. . . Definitely."
One of the teeny Jawas stepped in front of the two girls wielding an even teenier blaster. "Is it me or are we made to suffer?"
"It's just you, Will." The older droid sighed as she stood up, hands above her head in a surrender fashion.
"Oh yeah."
*****
"Just when I thought things were going to *so* get better. . ."
"Oh, shut up," the older droid snapped.
The giant Sandcrawler, devoid of its droid prisoners, was parked in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, if it hadn't been for the low-level homestead surrounded by moisture vaporator towers. The droids were being lined up for sale.
"Well. . . It could be worse. . ."
The redhead glared at her companion. "And how might that be?"
"We could be dead."
"And that's worse than being trapped on a desolate desert about to be sold to a strange farmer of moisture *how*?"
Dawn pondered this a moment. "I see your point."
Out from the hole in the ground where the local farmer and his family lived appeared a dust covered and rugged man, moisture farmer Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and his boyish looking teenage nephew. One of the Jawas ran up to the farmer and began talking in some sort of gibberish language that made the robed being sound like something straight from a car commercial.
Off in the distance, the teen boy's name was called. He immediately ran back to the large hole in the center of the courtyard where he finds his aunt Fred looking up into the bright blue Sunnydale sky.
"Tell your uncle that if he gets a translator droid to be sure it speaks Fyarl."
The boy looked back his uncle's way. "Doesn't look like we have much of a choice, but I'll remind him." He returned his uncle's way, just as the man stepped in front of a strange, human looking, redheaded droid.
"I have no need for protocol. . ." Wesley stated to the robed creature.
Willow had been frightened at this sudden attention she was receiving. She stumbled over her words. "Well, you see. . . uh. . . Not around these parts, I wouldn't think. . . Now that I mention it, what parts are these? It looks like a cross between the middle of nowhere and the *really* middle of nowhere. . . heh, heh, he-" No answer. "Never mind. As I, um, mention it. . . I have been pro-programmed for many, many different funct-" Wesley held up his hand to shut her up and she willingly complied.
"What I really need is a droid who can understand the binary language of moisture vaporators."
"Uh. . ." Willow was trying to think of a really believable lie as quickly as possible to save both her and Dawn's droid behinds. "Vaporators! I-I've worked wi-with bi-binary load lift-lifters. . . very similar to vaporators. . . I think." She added the last part under her breath, hoping the farmer didn't hear.
"Will," Dawn spoke up. "You've never worked wit-" Willow clasped her hand over the smaller one's mouth and gave a fake laugh.
"Her memory circuits need to be reworked. . ." The redhead glared at Dawn. "Shut up," she whispered through clenched teeth.
"Do you speak Fyarl?" Wesley asked, becoming a bit suspicious of the droids' actions.
"Yes!" Willow responded immediately before Dawn could. "It's, um, like a second language to me. . . I'm about as fluent in Fyarl as. . ."
"All right, shut up," Wesley interrupted the ranting lie, much to the redhead's relief.
"Shutting up, sir," Willow complied as she took a breath of relieving air.
Wesley pointed at Willow and a strange looking red droid that was not Dawn. "All right, I'll take these two," he said to one of the scurrying Jawas.
Dawn's jaw dropped to the floor. "Narrator!"
Yessum.
"What the hell's going on? Why wasn't I chosen with Willow?"
Just be patient, young Padawan. . . I mean droid. Fate has a way of correcting itself.
"And by fate, you mean you."
Um. . . Yes. I mean no! This is what's supposed to happen, so just shut up and stand there like a good trash can-shaped piece of machinery.
"Whatever."
"Connor, take those two droids over to the garage, will you? I want them both cleaned up before dinner."
"Hold it."
What is it, Conny?
"I'm Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight?"
Luke, yes. Jedi Knight, no. Right now, you're just an ordinary farmboy named Connor Skywalker.
"Sweet! I'm the main character!" A goofy-looking grin appeared on his face. "I'm the main character! I'm the main character!"
Quit the cockiness or I'll demote you to Wookiee. Now just keep on talking with your uncle.
"Fine." The boy turned to his farmer uncle.
"Who were you talking to?" Wesley confusedly asked.
"No one, Uncle Wes. What were you saying?"
"I want you to take those two droids over to the garage and have them cleaned up before dinner," Wesley reiterated.
The look of "I don't wanna" came over Connor's face. "But I was going to the Bronze station to pick up some power converters. . ."
Wesley crossed his arms. "You can hang out with your friends once you finished your chores."
Connor sighed the defeated sigh. "All right. . . C'mon." He gestured to Willow. "And you too, red. Let's move. I don't got all day."
Dawn began to call out as Willow walked away. "Willow! Willow! Come back, Will!" The brunette jumped up and down madly to get her friend's attention, but was zapped by a remote in a Jawa's hand and immediately froze.
The red one started its movement from the Sandcrawler. A few steps of a droid later, the red one's motivator snapped, crackled and popped, much like that delicious cereal.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. . . Uncle Wes. . ."
"Yeah?"
"This droid's all messed up. Look!"
The older man slapped the Jawa upside the head. "Just what are you trying to pull?"
Willow thought this would be a good time to bring in her droid companion.
". . ."
I *said*, Willow thought this would be a good time to bring in her droid companion. Hey redhead! I'm talking to you.
"No, no. I'm liking this. I've finally got that little brat off my tail and I'm lovin' it."
I'm warning you. Tell the boy about Dawn.
"Nuh-uh. She insults me, I dump her. It's simple."
Willow, this is your final warning. I have extreme narrator power. You do *not* want to mess with it.
"Fine! Fine, I'll suggest." Willow tapped Connor's shoulder to get his attention. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Hm?"
"But, um. . . That Dawn-too unit over there is in prime condition. As fresh as a spring chicken. . . I don't really think you have many of those out here, I'd wager."
"Uncle Wes?!" Connor yelled, taking up the redhead's offer.
"Yeah?"
Connor pointed toward the brunette droid by the Sandcrawler. "What about that one?"
Moments of squabbling with the tiny Jawa and Dawn was now in the possession of one Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and family. See Dawn, I told you I'd work myself out.
"Only after threatening Will. . . Wait, why am I complaining?"
The droid girl started strutting Connor and Willow's direction. Once the three were together, Connor led them the house's way. "C'mon, you two. Let's go."
Willow sighed as Dawn walked along side her. "Sometimes I swear. . . Why I even stick up for you I will *never* forgive myself for. . ."
"Oh, you know you love me," Dawn teased. She was promptly whacked upside the head for that last little comment.
"No. . . I tolerate you. It's completely different."
"Testy. . ." Dawn sarcastically admonished.
Connor rested his palm on his forehead as he kept walking. "Why do I get the feeling I've started a war?"
