[fic] Five Things Mike Taught Anakin Skywalker
"The thing you have to remember," Mike said, waving his glass vaguely, "the thing-- The things. The THINGS you have to remember is--"
"Are," corrected Anakin.
"Arrr," agreed Mike, then broke into giggles.
They were in a Cantina on some backwards planet, drinking something blue. It was rather more alcoholic than had been advertised and a great deal more than it tasted.
"Are you insulting my profession?" growled a man at a nearby table. "I have the death sentence on six systems!"
"Six? Pfft! Maybe if it was a dozen I'd be impressed," Mike said. "Six! Hah!"
The man reached for his blaster and then fell over, because Mike had clonked him over the head with the handle of Anakin's lightsaber.
"One," said Mike. "There's more than one way to use a lightsaber. Sabre? Saber."
"There are lots of ways," said Anakin. "You can slice and block and stab and jab and hack and--"
"In many respects, you are a very violent young man," Mike said. Blaster guy tried to get back up. Mike hit him over the head with a serving tray. "See, and, right, this is point, um. The next. Because people are a lot harder to knock out than you'd think. And the point is: better safe than sorry." He whacked the guy again. "But don't do it too much, or you'll have gone through safe and back into the sorry on the other side. It's important to maintain balance. That's not a new point, it's the same one. Same two. I think." He nudged the unconscious guy with his foot. "Still breathing!"
"Still breathing!" cried Anakin, throwing back his drink.
"That wasn't a toast," Mike complained.
"Oh," said Anakin. He looked at his glass sadly. "But now I have no drink, Mike."
"Then we must get more!" Mike bounded to his feet, said, "whoa!" and toppled over onto the unconscious guy. "Point the thirdish: spinning is never a good trick."
"Yes, it is," said Anakin.
"No. No, it isn't," Mike insisted from the ground. "And that goes for you too, room!"
"Shall I attack it?"
"What?"
"The room!"
"No, man! You don't wanna be a hater! You wanna be a, a, a--"
"Jedi!"
"No! Wait, yes! Am I still on the floor?"
Anakin leaned over carefully to look. "Yes."
"Oh. Four my next point, um. No hate. Love, man. Love, right. Love is. Love, man. Yeah, love, love, love, love, love -- what was I talking about?"
"Flying?" asked Anakin.
"Exactly! By which I mean, not at all. Love! Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. And don't go around comparing things to sand, but that's just stupid."
"That, that was poetry, man," said Anakin. "That was really, really ... poetry."
"I totally stole it," Mike said. "Hey, this guy is pretty comfy."
"Guys are comfy, right." Anakin nodded. Lolled at any rate.
"That was no point!" Mike complained. "It was a moon!"
"...no it wasn't," said Anakin.
"Oh." Mike frowned. "Was it a space-station?"
"I don't think so. Do you get space-stations that look like moons? I could build one. I'm ever so good at building things."
"I make stuff sometimes," Mike said. "Like cooking. Or peace treaties. Or very small rocks out of very big rocks, by banging them together. Usually on giant robots or something. They don't work so often, though. Recipes, I mean, not robots, robots work all the time. Except when you get dust in them because of the rocks and then they gum up the works or whatever. There's always a small flaw. And death rays."
"Moon station, small flaw, death ray, got you," said Anakin, head slipping further down. "I'm gonna totally do that riiiiight. Now."
"And peace treaties," Mike added. Anakin's head hit the table. "Did you get that bit? Anakin? Anakin? Ani? No?"
Anakin started snoring.
"Oh well." Mike shrugged as best he could while lying on his back on a guy on the floor of a spinning Cantina. "You know, I can see right up your robes from down here..."
"Are," corrected Anakin.
"Arrr," agreed Mike, then broke into giggles.
They were in a Cantina on some backwards planet, drinking something blue. It was rather more alcoholic than had been advertised and a great deal more than it tasted.
"Are you insulting my profession?" growled a man at a nearby table. "I have the death sentence on six systems!"
"Six? Pfft! Maybe if it was a dozen I'd be impressed," Mike said. "Six! Hah!"
The man reached for his blaster and then fell over, because Mike had clonked him over the head with the handle of Anakin's lightsaber.
"One," said Mike. "There's more than one way to use a lightsaber. Sabre? Saber."
"There are lots of ways," said Anakin. "You can slice and block and stab and jab and hack and--"
"In many respects, you are a very violent young man," Mike said. Blaster guy tried to get back up. Mike hit him over the head with a serving tray. "See, and, right, this is point, um. The next. Because people are a lot harder to knock out than you'd think. And the point is: better safe than sorry." He whacked the guy again. "But don't do it too much, or you'll have gone through safe and back into the sorry on the other side. It's important to maintain balance. That's not a new point, it's the same one. Same two. I think." He nudged the unconscious guy with his foot. "Still breathing!"
"Still breathing!" cried Anakin, throwing back his drink.
"That wasn't a toast," Mike complained.
"Oh," said Anakin. He looked at his glass sadly. "But now I have no drink, Mike."
"Then we must get more!" Mike bounded to his feet, said, "whoa!" and toppled over onto the unconscious guy. "Point the thirdish: spinning is never a good trick."
"Yes, it is," said Anakin.
"No. No, it isn't," Mike insisted from the ground. "And that goes for you too, room!"
"Shall I attack it?"
"What?"
"The room!"
"No, man! You don't wanna be a hater! You wanna be a, a, a--"
"Jedi!"
"No! Wait, yes! Am I still on the floor?"
Anakin leaned over carefully to look. "Yes."
"Oh. Four my next point, um. No hate. Love, man. Love, right. Love is. Love, man. Yeah, love, love, love, love, love -- what was I talking about?"
"Flying?" asked Anakin.
"Exactly! By which I mean, not at all. Love! Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. And don't go around comparing things to sand, but that's just stupid."
"That, that was poetry, man," said Anakin. "That was really, really ... poetry."
"I totally stole it," Mike said. "Hey, this guy is pretty comfy."
"Guys are comfy, right." Anakin nodded. Lolled at any rate.
"That was no point!" Mike complained. "It was a moon!"
"...no it wasn't," said Anakin.
"Oh." Mike frowned. "Was it a space-station?"
"I don't think so. Do you get space-stations that look like moons? I could build one. I'm ever so good at building things."
"I make stuff sometimes," Mike said. "Like cooking. Or peace treaties. Or very small rocks out of very big rocks, by banging them together. Usually on giant robots or something. They don't work so often, though. Recipes, I mean, not robots, robots work all the time. Except when you get dust in them because of the rocks and then they gum up the works or whatever. There's always a small flaw. And death rays."
"Moon station, small flaw, death ray, got you," said Anakin, head slipping further down. "I'm gonna totally do that riiiiight. Now."
"And peace treaties," Mike added. Anakin's head hit the table. "Did you get that bit? Anakin? Anakin? Ani? No?"
Anakin started snoring.
"Oh well." Mike shrugged as best he could while lying on his back on a guy on the floor of a spinning Cantina. "You know, I can see right up your robes from down here..."