Master Darth Warious: Heh heh heh... pain in the neck... I know that one well. You know why dragons are extinct? They got the hicups. And NOW... I finally update! Snrk.

Audreidi: Bwhaha... yes, you'll get your cameo as Janorum... and others. (cackles) And, of course, you knew I was updating...

Mousewolf: Yes, it was odd. (snrk) It was suppose to be odd...

Hadriel: I'm not a physics major... I was just copy and pasting that. (shrugs) If I get bored, I'll edit it, but for now... TO ALL READERS, MY QUADRATIC FORUMULA WAS WRONG. Tify-Wan needs to learn that it is x (-b +- (b2-4ac)0.5) / 2a. Anyway. Thank you for your choice to call it genius... I'm touched. (grins)

Chapter Two:

As you probably would like some randomly irrelevant background information by this point, the Isenation Federation was an evil Federation ran by several annoying creatures that had been aliens in Lucas's original interpretation of the galaxy far, far away, but in the narrator's mind became random rips of random evils from various other movies and books. Because she was lazy to come up with anything better than having Sauron, Morgoth, Agent Smith, Dracula, and several other random evils make cameo and potentially important appearances in the story. And because she couldn't think of anyone she knew to rip names from.

Their original goal had been to subdue the people of Naboo-Shire with overdue library book charges and gradually rule their people through subliminal messages within the text of every single book or datapad they borrowed or lent out.

No, I don't know how they did it. Invisible ink. I don't know! I'm just the narrator! The characters have to figure it all out later anyway.

They were funded by an evil Dark Lord known as only one name (as the Imperial March swelled): The Dark Lord. Otherwise known as Sauron, but that was completely beside the point. He had also forged the One Ring To Rule Them All, and had an incredibly evil plot to rule the universe alongside of his brother-in-law, Darth Sidious.

Oops.

That was a bit ahead of things.

Nevertheless, if you were curious as to the fate of the ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL, it was in Naboo-Shire. Obviously. Where else would it be? Unfortunately, as Naboo-Shire was, at the moment, under the control of a library book blockade, it was relatively useless to mention it.

Nah.

There was a point. I'm just not going to tell you.

Needless to say, aboard the evil and sinister looking ship that floated in space to complete and utter silence and visibility of really cool lights completely lacking because they were in vacuum, there was a Dark Lord. Sauron, of course, as he happened to be the stupider one. And because the narrator felt like it.

Even though he wasn't suppose to be there.

Within the ship, of course, the cool music that couldn't be heard in vacuum because... oh, go find your own science lesson. Ah. Anyway, the cool music COULD be heard. And, of course, it was the Imperial March. Several Tattle Droids were marching around and tattling on each other in time to the Imperial March.

A small, sleek shuttle flew in and landed. Unfortunately, as not all carbon based lifeforms decided it would be smarter to wait out of the airlock, they were disintegrated, and the Tattle Droids ran off to tattle on the ship being the demise of several unseemingly tall people.

The ship landed with a silent hiss that was only implicated through text for the sake of melodrama, and folded upwards. The airlock was sealed off, and the hum of shut down sequencing could be heard.

A little astromech droid wheeled in to clean up the dead lifeforms and was struck by lightning.

He blew up, but it turned out the dead life forms weren't particularly dead yet. They stood up and hit their heads on the roof, falling unconscious.

Five minutes later, two black robed and hooded figures disembarked from the ship with much melodramatic theme music stirring in the distance, and causing the Dark Lords within to shiver. Even though there was only one.

How come I never get theme music? he mentally complained.

Because you already have the Imperial March. Don't think I like you that much yet.

He folded his arms and sulked.

Skywalker.

Needless to say, within the airlock, the two dark robed figures were led to a waiting room by a shiny silver elf. Half elf.

"Quarter elf, and I'll be happy. If he has curly hair," the slightly taller of the two robed figured murmured.

The elf gave her an odd look, but unfortunately he didn't fit the specs that the slightly taller (one inch) than the other robed figure wanted. Namingly, dark curly hair, dark brown eyes, pointy ears, and tall. Because that character didn't even fit into this timeline, let alone plot.

The elf left them with a couple random plants, and wandered off to do his job. Particularly, get the Jedi alcoholic drinks so that they could be convinced to leave without trouble and then apprehended for drunk driving.

Once the tall, blond haired, and pointy-eared elf had left, the two Jedi pushed their hoods back simultaneously. Unfortunately, someone had waxed the floor, and Tify-Wan fell over and into one of the flower pots.

Cry-Gon spaired a moment to help her one-inch taller Padawan back to her feet, and left her to brush purple dirt off of her robes.

No, I don't know why it was purple either.

"Master, I have a bad feeling about this," Tify-Wan said, finally taking off her robe and setting fire to it. She was amused to watch it go up in smoke and flames, leaving a trail of char on the floor.

Cry-Gon sighed. "Stop saying that. Something bad will happen."

Her burning robe exploded and threw them both across the room.

A few moments later, the short Jedi Master stood back up. "As I said!" she exclaimed.

"But it's elsewhere! Elusive!"

"Do not tempt fate!" Cry-Gon ordered, brushing herself off.

A spair thread of the robe that hadn't burned yet exploded, and threw Cry-Gon into a flower pot.

"Gah..." Tify-Wan sighed, and offered her Master a hand.

The flower decided it was hungry, and swallowed Cry-Gon's robe whole.

"Gah," Tify-Wan repeated for good measure.

Cry-Gon pulled her staff out of her pocket and proceeded to beat some sense into the robe-eating flower, sending purple colored liquid splattering across the room in strangely symmetrical patterns that looked remarkably like Ewoks.

Then the flower exploded, and sent the Jedi Master-Wizard flying across the room once again, this time in slow motion, allowing her hair and robes to flicker around her and strange screaming noises to be drawn out painfully as the narrator mused about why her Padawan aged characters always seemed to have a Jedi Master-Istari Master.

Oh, yeah.

Cry-Gon hit the wall, and fell back to the ground, leaving a Jedi Master shaped dint in the wall, and a wizard shaped dint in the floor. No clue how that works, of course. She stood up and shook her head.

"Look at it this way," Tify-Wan supplied helpfully. "If we get into a duel with a random evil lightsaber wielding dude, we won't have to disrobe before we attack them." She ran her fingers through her hair and sat down.

Cry-Gon reached up to fix her hair which was, at present, trickling purple smoke.

Tify-Wan snickered.

The extensively random elf walked back in with a tray of extensively dangerous and possibly poisonous looking beverages, ignoring the violet colored smoke dissipating from the remarkably short yet not hobbitish Jedi Master's head.

"No, thank you," the Jedi Master politely declined, passing off the oddly colored drink.

Tify-Wan took a deep breath. "Do you have ale? You know that the chemical properties of the variations of otherwise alcoholic and potentially chemically strained to the point of possible implosion on behalf of the purpleness of the strange smokes that emit from them when brought to the point of suffocation can possibly bring around detrimental and otherwise decimation of carbon based lifeforms when faced with the inopportune moment to injest or possibly be forced into accepting into their blood streams and thus bring about the doom of human kind!"

The elf stared at her with eyes the size of dinner plates.

"You can have my drink," she said helpfully.

"Ooh!" he finally said, and grabbed both of them, guzzling them back.

Five hours later...

The elf in mention was collapsed in a flower bed, mumbling about overdue library books, a quest to decimate mankind, and purple CD cases with yellow polka-dots.

"Do you really think that was a good idea, Padawan?" Cry-Gon inquired of her Padawan, the mentioned Padawan who was running around with a Sharpie marker writing her name on the wall in weird looking cursive writing and drawing cartoonish looking pictures of the Dark Lord Sauron with an arrow through his head and crossed eyes.

Cry-Gon stared at the graffiti for a moment before removing the pen from her Padawan's possession.

Tify-Wan sulked.

"Padawan, that is not becoming of you."

Tify-Wan continued sulking.

The Jedi Master ignored her, and carried on. "Is it really in their nature to make us wait this long?"

"I guess so." Tify-Wan pulled another marker out of a conveniently appearing cupboard and wandered off to write more insulting litanies on the wall that would more likely become her epitaph in a few days if the evils in mention got a good look at them, and figured out who had been the one to draw the obviously unappealing images.

The Jedi Master sighed, and sat down to meditate, or whatever it is Jedi do when bored.

Fifty-eight years later...

Cry-Gon died of old age, and Tify-Wan Munobi wondered if she should get her haircut.

Unfortunately, as they were our two main characters, we have to rewind time and ignore the above statement.

So. Fifty-seven years, 11 months, 30 days, and 20 hours earlier...

"I get the oddest feeling that this is going to be the death of me," Tify-Wan commented.

"Padawan, if you keep drawing Sauron madly in love with Arwen, it will be."

"Master, that's Agent Smith."

"Whatever." Cry-Gon closed her eyes again.

"Master, aren't I suppose to be mindful of the future?"

Cry-Gon opened her eyes to peer at her Padawan with icy blue eyes. "Wherever did that come from? Of course you should, but not at the expense of the moment. The future can distract."

"Are you thinking about the now?"

"Yes."

"You might want to think about the future, Master."

Cry-Gon gave her a suspicious glance. "What are you up to, Padawan?"

"Nothing, but there's a bomb behind you set to blow up in three... two... one..."

"WhaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...!" She was cut off by the ticking explosive sequence of DOOM! Cry-Gon jumped out of the way a second too late, and was thrown across the room in a brilliant shower of purple and green sparks.

SPLAT!

(Just envision it about 28 times larger than that, and purple)

Her hair started smoking yet again.

Tify-Wan folded her arms. "A message to all readers. Smoking can cause lung cancer, and you will cough a lot. Thank you, that is all." She bowed suprisingly gracefully, and the screen went blank for 0.11111111112 seconds.

Then it came back on and Cry-Gon's hair was still smoking with violet smoke, and standing up on end.

Tify-Wan started laughing, and the Jedi Master sighed. This was going to be a long mission...

Until Tify-Wan suddenly exclaimed, "Gah! It's a conspiracy!"

"Padawan?"

"I HAD A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS!" she yelled, and caused all inhabitants of the ship within a radius of 28 meters to wake up and wonder who was screaming.

"I am aware of that."

"THEY TRIED TO KILL US!" she yelled.

"So...?"

"THEY'LL DO IT AGAIN!"

The two suddenly looked around warily, hands on their weapons.

In the meantime...

"Surely they must be dead by now," Grand Moff Tarkin said in all his overpowerfulness.

Darth Vader breathed menacingly.

"Eat. Dead Jedi, good stew," an orc grunted appreciatively.

Another orc agreed loudly that Jedi feet tasted far better than droid-flesh and maggoty bread. Several more echoed this opinion, and they all looked expectantly at Darth Vader. The mentioned Dark Lord in question fled.

For some strange reason, the room in which the two Jedi were in suddenly billowed up with smoke. The orcs watched expectantly, hands on their weapons. As a footfall suddenly sounded (mindless of the fact that five minutes ago a lot of screaming and explosive sounds had happened.) the orcs drew their vibroswords expectantly...

And a drunken elf stumbled out of the room, a purple rum bottle in hand. "(hic) But... (hic) It came in pints... (hic)..." He fell over and knocked over an unfortunate droid who had been standing too close to the door. The droid fell apart, and Grand Moff Tarkin started weeping about his mother.

The orcs shrugged, took up their swords, and walked into the foreshadowing mists of all evil and DOOMINESS! Two glowing blades appeared within the mist, slashing outwards to incapacitate all the unfortunate creatures.

"DECAPITATE!" an extensively randomly convenient grammatically correct wizard who had been randomly conveniently nearby yelled. She vanished in a puff of orange smoke and powdered juice.

The narrator admitted to having read Jandalf's Insanity Prevailing for inspiration and pleaded guilty to the momentary insertion of a character most certainly not her own. She also wondered why the strange appearing insertation didn't think they would've been incapacitated AND decapitated. Certainly they would've been both, considering things...

The two Jedi, who had somehow managed to come up with new robes extinquished their lightsabers, spairing the despairing Grand Moff not a glance as they ran off to wonder why they had even came in the first place if they weren't going to get to debate and ambassador things like they had been hired to do.

"WAAAAIIIIITTTTTT!" Lord Sauron cried, running up to them, huffing and puffing.

Tify-Wan hid her straw house.

Cry-Gon blinked yet again. "Yes?"

"You can't leave now!" he exclaimed. "Not yet! We haven't even had a nice discussion about this blockade of ours! And you have to stay for tea! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE ON MY OWN! It's just not FAIR!"

Tify-Wan stared at him, dumbfounded, for a second, and reached out to pull his helmet off.

"Hey!"

"Luke!"

He vanished in a sudden poof of green smoke and random insane cackling.'

Tify-Wan sighed.

Cry-Gon pulled out a copy of the script. "Don't worry, Padawan, we weren't suppose to have any negotiations take place anyway. We're suppose to stow away on a ship and get down to the surface of Naboo-Shire where we meet up with a conveniently annoying Gungan named Zak Zak who'll actually be human to further the plot, but mainly because the narrator doesn't feel like writing an alien creature at the moment."

Tify-Wan blinked. "And you blame me for runon sentencing?"

"Yes. I do."

Tify-Wan sighed.

A Tattle droid ran up behind them. "You can't do that! I'm going to tell my daddy about that! He'll SIT on you! DADD..."

He was cut off by a green energy blade through his internal programing chips. This, of course, served quite nicely to shut him up with no side effects beyond a pile of scrap metal. Cry-Gon debated for a moment whether this would work on her Padawan, but decided a pile of dead humanoid bones wouldn't particularly service as well as scrap metal.

She extinquished her blade, and, holding that and her staff on hand, wandered off to locate a good enough place to hide.

Tify-Wan shrugged, and followed after her, seeing nothing else of merit to do besides scribble graffiti on the walls concerning Darth Vader's father.

She debated this for a moment, and decided that was more worthwhile than risking her life by facing an army of Tattle Droids, pulled out a green Sharpie marker, and began scribbling graffiti about Darth Vader's heritage on the wall.

Cry-Gon Aninn ran back and dragged Tify-Wan off to much distressed wailing about how Padawans no longer had any rights. Strangely, no one heard them, even though Tify-Wan managed to pass the decibel level of a small jet plane.


Of course, they didn't go completely unnoticed. (though, strangely, the screaming did)

A droid of the protocol make strolled into the bridge. "There is graffiti on the walls," the droid reported, getting a bucket of water and soap to take care of the Sharpie marker. The Dark Lord Sauron and his cosort of the moment-- Legolas-- set up a vidlink to check out the graffiti.

Sauron stared in horror at the graffiti. "I'm not in love with Arwen!" he exclaimed.

"I believe that's Lord Elrond," Legolas mused. "But that's wrong..."

"No, that's Agent Smith," Sauron murmured thoughfully, and glanced at the drawing of him with an arrow through the head. "What is that! What in blazes is going on down there?"

The protocol droid's washing was cut off by a glowing green blade. The two glanced at each other.

"Have you ever encountered a Middle-earthian before?" Legolas inquired.

"Well, aren't we both Middle-earthia..."

"No, I mean a Middle-earthian."

Sauron gaped. "A what?"

Legolas sighed. "An agent of the crossover continuum."

"What?"

"A person who exists as an operator within a crossover universe in which canon is destroyed and a parody is formed as well as paradoxes."

"Huh!" Sauron, by this point, was staring with eyes as wide as pancakes. Big pancakes. Not the little ones made out of the little tiny bits of batter that you and your younger siblings always demand, even though they're too small to fill anything bigger than a mouse... of course, you couldn't tell underneath his helmet that this was the case.

Legolas sighed. "Have you ever dealt with a Jedi Knight?"

"Well, no, they don't exist in Middle-earth..."

"Exactly."

Sauron stared down at the blond elf with a rather dark gleam in his eyes, and found panic suddenly swept over every inch of his being. "Seal off the bridge!" he ordered to the nearest droids.

"That will not be enough," Legolas said grimly.

Sauron shivered as the doors slammed shut before them: a swift sweeping hiss, and the blast doors were sealed shut.

"I want destroyer droids up here at once! None of those tattle-tail tattle droids!"

"I'm going to tell my daddy!" the nearest tattle-droid whined, and ran off, hitting the wall with a sudden thud, and falling apart, legs still kicking and screaming.

"Whose idea was it to use that slave boy's personality for a generator anyway?" Legolas growled.

Sauron backed off into a nearby closet but jumped out upon discovering Dracula hanging from the coat rack within, grinning with gleaming teeth. He wondered how often he brushed. "Uhh..."

"We will not survive this," Legolas said darkly. "It is our destiny." The blond elf gazed at the sealed off doors.

"When did you become a pessimist?"

"When I learned that I was doomed from the start."

"Close the rest of the blast doors!" Sauron commanded, and all the nearby attendents scurried to obey the tall and kitchen blender armored Dark Lord of Middle-earth. There was a slow growing hiss as the doors obeyed the command mindlessly. Doors weren't sentient, of course, and had no fear of the fact that they would be cut in half in a few moments by lightsabers.

Of course, no one ever asked them whether they minded either.