For disclaimers and that whatnot see first chapter.

Chapter 6: Of Basic Grammar and Purple Yodas

"Hello Master."

Qui-Gon stared down his nose at the padawan inadvertently groveling at his feet. A rogue twinge of satisfaction bubbled in his gut. He drowned it before it had a chance to seed - or for a certain green troll to be able to sense it, "So, Padawan, I see you've been hard at work. It isn't everyday that a student nearly succeeds in bringing down the Temple, or manages to get on so many people's black list."

He watched with shrouded amusement as Obi-Wan's face twisted into a grimace. The Jedi Master shifted his stance, not wishing to be welded to the floor as his padawan had been. His eyes broke from his padawan's forcing them to stare straight ahead stoically. If Coruscant had had a Gestapo, Qui-Gon would have been the poster boy, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Obi-Wan craned his neck, but found his braid waxed solidly to the floor, sufficiently tethering him. He wracked his brain for any possible explanation vaguely believable. Even the truth was painfully weak. In normal circumstances, he would throw himself on his face and beg for mercy. But as it was, he was already there, quite literally. "Um, I'm sorry?"

Qui-Gon quirked an brow at him, squaring his stance. "You're sorry, question mark? Or are you sorry, period."

"Er, period."

Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction, "Now that we have a basic element of grammar understood, I expect a thorough and truthful explanation."

"Can you un-stick me first?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.

"No."

Obi-Wan gulped meekly. "Uh, the polisher kind of ran away."

"That is rather obvious from the look of things, but wouldn't it be more accurate to say that you lost control of it?"

The apprentice shrugged as best as he could, "Not exactly. I just kind of got distracted," By the predatory gleam in his master's eyes, Obi-Wan surmised that the plea of distraction wouldn't quite cut it. Back to plan A. Beg, plead and grovel, "It was an accident really!"

"An accident, just like the accident this morning, and what about your argument with your teacher? Was that just a slip of tongue that lasted five minutes?"

"It wasn't an argument really. It was just a difference of opinion!" Obi- Wan cried.

"So that wasn't and accident?" Qui-Gon countered.

"Master stop! You're confusing me. This time it really was a mistake, just like the other times. Well, maybe not the Ki'mar thing, but it was the other times. Just like the time you got your hair stuck in the hair dryer and." Obi-Wan's jaw snapped shut suddenly, realizing his mistake too late.

Qui-Gon went suddenly pale, "You saw that?"

"Um, I didn't say that," he backpedaled.

Qui-Gon's expression changed abruptly from stark pale to blazing red, either out of anger or embarrassment, maybe both, but either way, it wasn't a shade that boded well.

"You were cursing like a spice smuggler! Obviously I'd be a bit curious why my revered master was using such vulgar language."

Qui-Gon glared at him, "Don't be cute."

There was a tight pause, Qui-Gon was obviously trying to figure a way to secure Obi-Wan's silence, other than death. The apprentice prayed.

"Though I would like to know how you managed that," Obi-Wan wondered aloud.

"It was an accident."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, "Oh, so, like how I caught the bathroom on fire?"

"No, this was a reasonable accident."

"Getting your hair caught in a blow dryer is more reasonable than catching the bathroom on fire?" Obi-Wan scoffed, "But how did you ever accomplish such a feat?"

"Actually it is, but besides that, I don't understand what you mean. It's perfectly understandable."

"Master! You got your hair stuck in a blow dryer! How is that understandable?" Obi-Wan nearly choked.

"You're making no sense Padawan. It was an accident!"

Obi-Wan goggled at his nervous mentor, "Master, that doesn't explain anything, you got your hair stuck in blow dryer, you get that? A blow dryer, blow dryers do precisely that, blow. They do not suck!"

Another pregnant pause.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon started, "I have a deal for you." He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was his master bargaining with him? Had Banthas started to fly?

"If you promise, on pain of your braid being pulled out and your body being thrown to a Sarlac, not to tell a soul about that.incident, I'll get you out of writing that essay Ki'mar gave you. And I'll, just maybe, forgive you for all the other disasters you've caused today."

This was too good to just pass up without his share of bargaining. If his master was this desperate. "I don't know if you've heard yet, but I've also been ordered to do laundry for the crèche wing. Now the essay, is such a small thing," Qui-Gon coughed, "Okay then, maybe not that small, but small enough. Now maybe we could arrange something if you include that in your list to, erase."

Qui-Gon guffawed, "Of course, I don't think so."

"Oh come on! I've done more than my share today. I was only supposed to scrub the floors of the kitchen and the laundry and the essay. But then Commander Tar over there," thrusting his head at the Chagrian standing across the room with Abdor, since his arms were incapacitated, "decides to be Mr. Boot Camp and makes me do the whole Temple's floors and the dishes! It's either essay and laundry or I blab."

Qui-Gon coughed, "It was hardly the whole temple, and it was just in place of the kitchens, and anyway, the dishes needed to be done."

"But the droids could have done it in half the time I took!" Obi-Wan whined.

The master leaned over, "Well then," he said quietly in a tone that hinted malice quite strongly, "You're just out of practice. Maybe we should hone your skill."

Qui-Gon straightened, "Besides that, you don't even know what your punishment will be for this transgression. I think you should take whatever grace you are given. And you hardly look like you're in any position to bargain with me," He paused, "Unless you would like to write that essay as well."

Oh, how he hated it when his master was smarter than him.

"Now, here's my final offer. I'll pardon you of the essay, forgive you of your past," He quoted with his fingers twice, "mistakes, and let you keep your life - if you can - since you've almost twice brought the temple down on your own, and everyone else's heads. How's that." Obi-Wan wasn't that suicidal.

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Obi-Wan's master was a just man, but he was still human with a nature of sin and desire for a little personal satisfaction. Too bad that personal satisfaction had to involve a lightsaber. Qui-Gon was not overly careful or worried about the means of prying his apprentice from the floor, when asked if he'd like to melt the wax carefully with a specific tool, he declined, opting for his lightsaber. Obi-Wan had seen more care taken in the cutting of Bantha ribs.

Rather singed and bedraggled of clothing, Obi-Wan was finally removed from the hard wax. With hardly enough time to pick a flake of crusted wax off his arm, Abdor was taking him by the front of his tunic and demanding a groveling apology. But at this point, Obi-Wan guessed that the only thing that would appease the furious creature, would be to offer his head on a plate. After he thought about it, he figured that it probably hadn't helped much when he had muttered, "No skin off my nose."

Abdor, who had quite easily heard every word, squeaked madly that it would be, and would have lunged at him if Qui-Gon hadn't stepped between them. Being the master of diplomatic situations, Qui-Gon soothed Abdor's ridged nerves to the point where he was able to drag his apprentice away without the docent trying to strangle the boy. Personally, Qui-Gon would have liked to have done himself.

Hardly after ten steps, Qui-Gon's com buzzed. It didn't take a ion scientist to figure out who it was from, or what it was about.

They had been summoned by the council, and they had no choice to obey.

Blast that meddling, green troll.

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He hated heaters; he hated mission reports; he hated paint; he hated his teacher; he hated dishes; he hated dirty floors; he hated polishers; he hated this day, and most of all, he hated that he wasn't allowed to hate!



Obi-Wan sat glumly outside the Council Chambers on a hard bench that made his backside numb. The path of his life lay inside those doors, being debated at this very moment. That thought was a frightening one; his only hope was his master, as it seemed to be so painfully often.





His eyes caught the display clock on the secretary's pristine desk, it read 3:30 pm. When did time slow to such a sickening rate? Would this cursed day never end? From one minute to the next the seconds dragged themselves to the next, ticking painfully away.

Laying his head on the palm of his hand, he closed his eyes, hoping that just maybe he might be blessed with the grace of unconsciousness. His mind drifted to odd things, ideas and thoughts. Yodas in pink robes jumping over fences. One Yoda, two Yoda, three Yoda.

A heavy hand fell on his slouched shoulder. He jerked upright, not realizing that his brain had drifted off on another tangent. He was going crazy.

"The Council wishes to speak with you."

Obi-Wan looked up at his master, "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Sighing, the padawan pulled himself to his feet, it was time to face some unpleasant music.

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The Council Chambers were impressive, bathed in natural light unlike most of the Temple. Usually, comforting warmth seeped through the glass of the windows, now Obi-Wan felt like he was being roasted alive.

As was customary, he stood behind his master a step back and to the right before he was addressed. The ranking members sat before them in their costume made seats silently. They seemed to stare at him more than usual. He was unused to being the center of attention when it was usually placed upon his venerable master. Their stare was different than the courteous gaze directed always towards his master. Their eyes - or eye in some individuals cases - wider than usual and a look as if staring at a carrier of some mortal plague. They looked half-ready to see the place burst into flame at his mere presence.

"Wonder I do," Yoda began, "How one padawan, so unfortunate, can be," the revered master's sleepy eyes blinked languidly. His knobby fingers grasping his cane flexed slowly.

"Whether it be misfortune or carelessness is what we need to know," Master Mace Windu said bluntly, "Do you understand what you've done, and the ill light we are looking at you in now?"

Obi-Wan shriveled in Master Windu's sharp stare. He nodded dumbly.

"The damage which was inflicted by your hand will be extremely costly, and- ."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but cut in, "Well, it wasn't exactly by my hand," he stammered unwisely, "The polisher did it."

Master Windu glared darkly at him, "Your hand," he restated. The master sighed, "Is there truly anything we can do to cure you of this alleged clumsy streak, before you destroy the Temple? Your elders have given you disciplines for your, disrespect, and yet with each one you somehow manage to only gain yourself more. You are almost unsafe to be in the company of!"

The statement was followed by a series of open-eyed stares of unease from the other members.

For the first time, Obi-Wan wisely remained mute.

The dark skinned master shook his head dismally passing his hand in front of him dismissively, "What are we to do with you Padawan Kenobi?"

That was a very good question, actually Obi-Wan had been hoping that Master Windu would tell him that. If it was up to him and what he would like, he'd just wish to get off pain free and that he would be allowed to go home and sleep for the next semester. But as to what he deserved.

To that, he quaked in his boots to know.

Yoda smiled slowly, and abnormally warming look on his droopish face, "Seems to be the question, it is. What shall we do?"

A/N: You know, I'm really starting to hate this story, but I've convinced myself that I'll finish it no matter how pathetic it is. Now whether that's a good thing.that's up to your personal opinion. I've made so many plot changes, grammar switches, spelling errors, that if an editor ever saw this, his eyes would roll back in his head and would throw himself into Mount Doom. My sketchy outline pretty much stops here, I think it's dragging on and becoming quite bland, and I'm not sure whether I should bind it up in a short last chapter, or should I finish with one (or two) last torture for our poor young friend. I hate this insipid story, so I'd say scrap it, but the other side of me tells me that I have to finish it. Blast. So to the amazing people who actually have read this story.any clues for me?

Thank you to ALL the people that have reviewed, I've been a terrible writer and don't deserve it in the least.

Padawan Jess Kenobi - I'm SO glad you liked it, this last, very weak chapter must have disappointed you terribly, so sorry! Thank you!

Missy - Aren't horses wonderful things? Thanks for the review!

Jenn - Yes we authors are rather cruel to him aren't we? Poor, poor muses. Thanks!

Jedi Ha'Li - Oh gosh, I hate to hear what you're going to say if you thought my last break between post was long! Trust me, I am thinking about your idea of Qui-Gon getting in trouble as well, I'm hoping to tie that in during the next chapter. So what else should I do in the next chapter? Continue Obi-Wan's 'discipline'? I can't thank you enough for giving me some wonderful ideas.

Jedi Elf - Love your nick! I came on this story very skeptical too! I actually got the idea while sitting in church. I wrote the first part on a sermon note section. Why do I always get my inspiration there? I can't believe how you could actually think this to be one of the funniest SW fics, but it's a nice stroke for my deflated ego. ;) Thank you so much!

Lighted eagle - LOL I loved your comment about Jedi House Work! Made my gut hurt from laughing at the thought of Jedi in maid outfits. Scary. Thank you so much for the kind words. Let me know what I should do to him next!

Thanks again!