A/n: This is not Vader/Jix, at all, but I found it among the material on my old comp and thought that its spirit would fit in here quite well. It is a very old drabble from the times when we did not know that Piett's first name was Firmus.
What's in a name
You may be young, tall, muscular and extremely good-looking, and girls may be swarming after you; you may be above average in your mental abilities and a star graduate of the Imperial Academy; you may be wearing your new freshly-pressed uniform with shiny buttons and polished knee-high boots that still bear the sensual aroma of leather; but it all comes to naught when the first of them asks your name and you don't have anything decent to answer.
That was exactly what happened to Piett. It was his graduation night, he already had his commission to one of the Imperial Star Destroyers in his chest pocket, a drink or two under the belt, and a girl hanging around his neck. And then it struck.
"Hun, you never said what your first name was."
"Er." Piett blushed. "Khm. Wdrdblbummmk."
"I didn't quite catch that." The girl bit her lower lip in an innocent way and peered relentlessly up to him. Piett blushed.
"Look, I'd really prefer if you called me Piett. Just Piett."
"Aww. Come on, it can't be that bad." She kissed his cheek. "I promise I won't laugh."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Piett sighed. "Okay. It's Nabuchodonosor Harlequin Billybob."
"Wh---?" The girl pressed her palms over her mouth. A little squeak still came through. Piett did not think it very funny; in fact, he was glaring at her sullenly.
"It's not my fault!" he insisted.
"Eeep!"
"You promised!"
But the girl was already rushing out, her face beet-red from holding back a laugh that could have shaken rocks.
Piett sighed again and ordered another whiskey. A little later, as he perceived sidelong glances directed at him, accompanied by giggles, he decided to write the evening off as a lost cause.
fin