Three hours later, Obi-Wan had, much to Qui-Gon's relief, choked down the Spam and learnt the all important lesson of "Yes, Your Master *Will* Make You Sit There Until You Finish *All* Of It, Just Like Your Mother Did With The Womp Rat Liver and Onions." He looked none too pleased for having achieved this wisdom.
"It *was* nasty."
"But you weren't to know that until you actually tried it," Qui-Gon reminded him, his calm returning now that he had, in a sense, won. "It might have tasted like the pie of an orange fruit."
"Yeah, but really it tasted like sh--" Before he could finish the sentence, Qui-Gon mentally cut him off with a sharp reprimand.
Jedi do not curse.
"Well, then, you need to go talk to Master Four-Flags-Over-Flushing," the padawan retorted. "He was cursing up a storm last night after he broke his leg trying to fix Master Yoda's lightbulb."
Qui-Gon's mouth became a thin line. "That is no excuse for your own behavior."
"Yeah, yeah, do as I say, not as I do," Obi-Wan retorted, sounding bored and put out. The Spam was not sitting well with him. "Besides, I think he was quite entitled. He cut his own nose off with his lightsaber."
"Yes, I had heard. That is unfortunate, but he will get a prosthetic replacement."
"And when he fell off the ladder, the energy bulb exploded and took off both his legs."
"Indeed." Qui-Gon nodded absently, not really concerned. Four Flags had been a rival of his ever since he'd become a Jedi. Healthy competition, of course, but that didn't mean that Qui-Gon also wasn't secretly very smug and glad that the accident had happened. That'd teach that stuck up little four-namer. "And how did Master Yoda take it?"
Obi-Wan sniggered. "Haven't you heard?"
"If I had heard, young padawan, I would hardly be asking."
Before he could get a reply, however, the door to the dining chamber swung open, and a small green blob with a streak of pink dashed in and leaped on top of the table. "Antisyntax Man am I!" it declared proudly. "Here to save you, I am!"
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon looked with disbelief upon the figure of one of the most venerable masters on the council. It was clearly Yoda. He was clearly wearing pink shorts and a pink towel was tied around his neck. It was very, very frightening.
"Away! Away, away and up!" he hollered, launching himself off of the table and into Obi-Wan's lap. The padawan, unprepared for such an assault, shrieked like a girl and relfexively flung Yoda away from him.
Yoda recovered brilliantly, as befitted a Jedi, and turned to glare at the shame-stricken Obi-Wan. "Enemy of mine you are! Working for the man surely! Repressor and baby-eater you are! Vengeance mine is!"
Before he could renew his assault, Qui-Gon snuck up behind him and quickly stuffed him into a burlap bag that doubled as an overcloak (always be prepared, he thought, and always be able to get your clothes off in a hurry). Yoda wriggled in the bag and cursed them both grandly.
"There, that takes care of that," Qui-Gon said with a sigh of relief. "I guess he's getting too old to take that kind of shock."
"Mother-loving pigs you both are! Show you my age I will! Illegitamate sons of farm animals and by ewoks raised! Brains of a Gungan you have! Eaters of other people's refuse and wipers of the rears of pack animals!"
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at his master. "I thought Jedi weren't supposed to swear."
"You're right," his master agreed. He opened the nearest window and ceremoniously drop-kicked the foul-mouthed burlap bag out of it. "And if you do it one more time, I will not hesitate to do the same to you."
The padawan's eyes grew as big as saucers. "Yessir," he squeaked.
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