Darth Maul Does the Classics
by Red Sith
[Read The Red Sith's author bio]
George owns them, Siubhan gave us the playground, the other writers left behind some toys -thanks to you all. I'm just having a little fun.
Special thanks to jedimom for the beta, Siubhan for the suggestions, and my twin for a wonderful line.
Sidious flung open the door to Maul's apartment, resplendent in his senatorial Palpatine garb, as he took the opportunity to practice another dramatic entrance: number 77 if he recalled correctly.
Unfortunately, the only witness to his nailing yet another perfect pose was My Apprentice and she was not impressed. She was too busy concentrating on shedding as much fur as possible without going bald. She wasn't about to let feral boy outdo her in the shed department--it was a matter of personal pride.
Sidious walked into his slovenly apprentice's living room, kicking up clouds of cat fur, which promptly coated his robes. Everything appeared normal. Shiny, brand-new PlayStation, check. Dirty clothes, check. Petrified, half-eaten slices of pizza, check, check, and check. But no apprentice.
Sidious cast a suspicious eye at the wall separating Maul's apartment from Obi-Wan's. What with the upcoming election he'd been neglecting Maul's training somewhat of late, which had left his young apprentice with way too much time on his hands. Time he was apparently spending with his padawan neighbor.
Although the two of them had occasionally proved quite entertaining. Sidious chuckled at the memory of their recent trip to Hoth. Unsolved Mysteries had paid handsomely for the tape. He could hardly wait for his apprentice's reaction when the segment aired next week.
Still...with the amount of time Maul and his idiot son spent together, you'd think they had a relationship.
And Sith do not do relationships, he thought, purple lightning crackling at his fingertips. Especially not with Jedi. And most especially not when they should be training to some day rise up and slay said Jedi.
The Sith Handbook flapped its pages in agreement, but when Sidious glared in its direction, it closed its covers and slunk quietly into a corner. The Handbook knew better than attract attention when the Sith Master was in a bad mood.
Thinking up new rage-honing tasks for his missing apprentice, Sidious was about to leave when he heard it: a snort, a grunt, and then a sound roughly like a broken tailpipe on a rebuilt Republic cruiser. Snoring, incredibly loud snoring, coming from Maul's bedroom.
He found Maul sprawled on his back in bed, sound asleep, clad only in black silk boxers, his black bed sheets kicked off into a pile on the floor. Sidious allowed himself a moment to admire the view, but then the smell assaulted him and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. His apprentice reeked with the stale scent of alcohol.
Hung over, are we? Sidious rubbed his hands together. This was going to be fun.
He leaned in close to Maul's ear, being careful to leave enough distance between himself and those wicked (deliciously, erotically wicked) horns. "MAUL!" he bellowed.
The result was everything he could have hoped for. Maul's eyes snapped open and he shot straight off the bed. Straight up off the bed. Sidious heard screeching from the upstairs neighbors as Maul's horns and claws embedded themselves in the ceiling and his feet kicked new holes in their floor.
Sidious blissfully soaked in Maul's distress, not to mention the fear from his neighbors who were now busily packing, having had it with the weird things that happened in this building, low rent or not. Life is good, Sidious thought, then carefully concealed his glee behind a scowl.
"Come down from there at once," Sidious snapped at his apprentice who was still hanging from the ceiling.
"Yes, master," Maul replied. He lowered himself back to the bed, dusting plaster off himself and picking pieces of drywall off his horns. He'd only recently noted how low the ceilings were in these apartments. Seeing the scowl on his Master's face dashed any hope that this was merely another Perkium flashback. Besides, he'd left the pogo stick at Obi-Wan's.
Maul started to shake his head to clear it, but thought better of it since the inside of his skull felt like a clan of Wookiee highland dancers had set up permanent residence. His Master was no doubt reveling in his pain. Someday I will rise up and slay you, you sadistic bastard. Someday soon. If his horns ever stopped vibrating and his ears quit ringing, that is.
"Good, good, I can feel your rage," Sidious purred. "I was beginning to worry you were losing your edge, my apprentice."
"My edge is just fine at the moment," Maul growled. He sat down on the side of the bed and regarded Sidious with bloodshot eyes. "What is your bidding, my master?"
"You and I shall be making a public appearance tonight, young Sith."
Maul's eyes lit up. "At last, we will reveal ourselves..."
"No, no, no, not that appearance," Sidious interrupted impatiently. "The good Senator Palpatine and his slightly odd ward will be attending the Coruscant Symphony Orchestra." Sidious stopped, leering at him. "His odd, but incredibly well-endowed ward," he added, licking his lips.
Maul's stomach lurched and he grabbed a pillow and popped it on his lap. Damn boxer gap.
Sidious sighed. Sometimes his apprentice could be such a prude. "It's an election year..."
How could I forget?
I heard that. "...and as you know, it's good for my image to be seen supporting the arts. I know the guest conductor, so you shall be on your best behavior." Sidious turned on his heel, heading for the door. "And wear something appropriate, Maul," he threw over his shoulder.
As Maul glared at his Master's retreating form, he saw the cat fur on the back of his robe rearrange itself to spell "kick me."
Good one, Maul thought, impressed.
You owe me, My Apprentice smirked.
Maul's momentary good mood shattered as his Master's words finally sunk in through the haze in his head. The orchestra. The freaking symphony orchestra! All those strings, the lilting, uplifting, soothing music, it was enough to turn any Sith's stomach. It was going to be worse than listening to twelve straight hours of the Backdoor Bantha Boys, and he was going to have to go formal! And act like he enjoyed it!
Maul held his aching head in his hands. Life hates me, he thought.
Coffee. He needed coffee. Strong, hot, black coffee. Maybe that would clear up the ringing in his ears. His Master's voice was still bouncing around inside his skull, competing with the dancing Wookiees for space, and his horns felt funny, too.
This was one hell of a hangover.
Halfway to the kitchen Maul's bladder put in an urgent call to his brain and he detoured to the bathroom. Head pounding, he looked longingly at the shower and thought about hot water cascading over his aching body.
Shower, he needed a shower. Shower first, then coffee.
My Apprentice sauntered into the bathroom and hopped up on the back of the toilet. You know, you look like something even I wouldn't drag in.
Maul snarled at her.
She sat down and waved a paw at him.
Maul stepped into the shower, ignoring the vision of tuna that popped into his brain. His head hurt too much for her whammy to work.
My Apprentice flicked her tail in annoyance. So much for owing her. She levitated his black towel off the rack and over to the back of the toilet, and immediately began rolling around on it, shed rate set to high. She'd deal with the bald spots later. Maul closed his eyes and let the hot water run over him. He'd never had a hangover like this. His horns actually felt like they were thrumming. Of course, he'd never exactly imbibed like he had last night either. As least he didn't think he had, but he really couldn't remember everything he'd done last night, so it was possible he'd done something like that before and just didn't know...
Argh! He was starting to sound like Obi-Wan on medication! Maybe this was a Perkium flashback. He turned around and let the hot water hit the back of his neck.
It had all started out as just another normal Thursday night. Obi-Wan had gone to a seminar at the Jedi Temple at Qui-Gon's insistence, which was just fine with Maul. A new episode of Friends was coming on and he couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next with Ross and Rachel. He'd plopped down on the sofa, scarfed down half a pizza and two bottles of Pete's Wicked Ale, and then his evening had started to unravel.
"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program for this special report..."
Maul had glared at the screen in disbelief. They were interrupting Friends for a special report about the rescue of a baby Ewok from a well! The news media needed to get a serious clue about exactly what constituted news. When the Sith rose up and ruled, Maul vowed, nothing short of a news report about a salacious sex scandal involving the highest levels of power would interrupt a broadcast of Friends. At least that would be interesting.
Somewhere a receptionist opened a well-worn book and made an entry, giggling and blushing over the details and making a mental note to take in her dry cleaning.
Maul ate another piece of pepperoni pizza, savagely wishing he'd ordered the Heartless Carnivore special with extra Ewok instead, and waited, hoping the report wouldn't take up the whole half-hour.
...and he waited...
And finally, a dirty, furry bundle was lifted from the well to the general celebration of the entire damn Ewok tribe, and the special report ended.
Just in time for the closing credits.
Maul's fury knew no bounds. He briefly considered lightsaber practice with his television as the target, or at the very least throwing it off the balcony, but then he'd have no way to save Darth Lara Croft when she really needed him, and damn it all, he'd just replaced the last PlayStation Sidious had fried. Then he considered taking out his fury on Obi-Wan's television, but for reasons he didn't want to consider the idea of tormenting the padawan just didn't have the appeal it used to.
He'd settled for pulling on his cleanest black jeans (they had fought him only briefly, knowing they were no match for Maul when he was well and truly pissed off) and his least holey Sith Lords Kick Ass t-shirt and heading out to the Grey Side of the Force for as many hamster death gulps as he could drink.
Which, as it turned out, had been quite a lot.
He vaguely remembered being groped by Mace Windu sometime after his tenth drink, while a despondent Qui-Gon looked on from a corner table. Maul had taken serious offense at the grope and sent Mace flying. He'd landed on his ass in the middle of the dance floor to the general delight of the Grey Side denizens who'd thought it was the latest dance craze. Soon they'd all ended up on their butts on the dance floor trying to do the Windoohoohoo.
Sometime after his twelfth drink Yoda had offered to give him a lap dance. He'd nearly sent the little green muppet into orbit. After that his memory got kind of fuzzy. He wasn't even sure how he'd made it home, out of his clothes and into bed.
But he was sure of one thing. He'd been on the receiving end of so many propositions he could have gotten laid until his horns fell off, but he'd turned them all down.
All because of Kenobi.
Because they were exclusive.
Shit, shit, shit!
Exclusive! What the hell had he been thinking? Sith don't do exclusive.
In the living room the Handbook riffled its pages in approval, adding the entry as a subrule under "Sith Don't Do Relationships."
Maul turned back around, bent his head and let the spray run over his horns and down the back of his neck. He knew why he'd agreed. Sex. Great sex. Incredible, lust-filled, Force driven, drive him right out of his Dark Side mind sex. No one came close to the padawan when it came to sex. But it was just sex, dammit.
Deniiiaaal, My Apprentice thought at him.
Wet cat, Maul shot back. She jumped off the back of the toilet, triggering the handle with a paw on her way down. Maul howled as the shower turned icy. He flung a string of obscenities at her as his head pounded.
He hadn't heard her laugh that loud since Halloween.
When the temperature finally got back to normal, Maul stepped under the hot water and shut his eyes. He tried not to think of anything, hoping it would ease the pain in his head, but now that he'd thought about Obi-Wan and sex, his libido wouldn't let the subject drop.
The padawan had incredible hands, and he certainly knew what to do with them. Not to mention that hot mouth. Maul could just imagine Kenobi's hands groping him, pinching and stroking, and he could almost feel his mouth on the back of his neck, trailing hot kisses and bites over his skin. Maul groaned as his libido took a rising interest in this train of thought.
"Hey, neighbor," Obi-Wan whispered in his ear.
Maul's eyes flew open and he spun around, coming face to face with a naked, wet, grinning Obi-Wan.
How'd you do that???
Obi-Wan's grin got wider. Trade secret.
Maul glowered at him.
"Relax," Obi said. "I won't make a habit of it. I just wanted to see how you were doing after last night."
"Last night?" Maul had a sick feeling there was a whole lot about last night he didn't remember.
"You got pretty plastered. The bartender called and told me I'd better come pick up my boyfriend."
I'm not your...
Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before. Obi-Wan leaned in and kissed him, then pulled away to give him a critical once-over. "Your eyes are redder than normal."
"I'm hung over."
"I don't doubt it. The bartender said you were actually pretty fun after your fourteenth hamster death gulp, but I really wish you hadn't told him about that trick you do with maraschino cherries, cocktail umbrellas, and a microphone stand."
Oh, Force, he hadn't really told anyone about that, had he? Note to self: thirteen hamster death gulps is your limit.
Kenobi was grinning at him again. Gotcha!
Damn Jedi. Maul growled and threw a punch at him, but his head still hurt and his concentration was off, and Obi-Wan had no trouble blocking the blow.
"I'm sorry," the padawan said, sounding anything but. "That's what you get for going out and having a good time without me."
Since when do all my good times have to include Kenobi? Maul grumbled to himself. "So you brought me home?" he asked, changing the subject.
Obi-Wan nodded. "You'd passed out by the time I got you here, so I just put you to bed and left." The padawan moved closer and kissed him again, a longer, slower, more sensuous kiss. Maul's libido kicked into high gear and he forgot about being angry and kissed Obi-Wan back, ignoring the Wookiees in his head as they started a new dance number.
Kenobi finally broke the kiss. "It was pretty hard leaving you alone last night," Obi said. "You know how I like those black silk boxers of yours." He picked up the soap and sank slowly down in front of Maul. "And what's under them," the padawan added with a wicked grin.
He wasn't really going to do that, was he? Not with the soap?!? Okay, so maybe they slathered hummus all over each other from time to time, but at least you were supposed to eat that!
And then Obi-Wan's hands were on him, and it felt slippery and wet and wonderful, and he forgot all about his hangover and his master and the upcoming symphony.
Life loves me, Maul thought. Then as Obi-Wan continued to work his magic, Maul stopped thinking of anything at all.
Maul finally got his coffee. He sat on his couch with his hands wrapped around a steaming hot mug trying to shake the last remnants of his hangover. Obi-Wan had actually helped. After they'd finished what they started in the shower, the padawan had turned his healing skills loose on Maul's aching head. Kenobi had evicted the Wookiees, but he had to leave for class before he could do anything about Maul's horns.
They still felt weird. They itched, they thrummed, they'd vibrated right down to his skull when Maul had turned on his stereo. He'd never felt anything quite like it. It wasn't even the right season for horn shedding, although his recent trip to Hoth might have seriously screwed with his system.
But problems or not, he was going to find something appropriate to wear to the symphony if he wanted to avoid his Master's ire. He'd burned the suit he'd worn to Mary Sue's wedding, and the suit he'd had made for Velveeta's wedding had disappeared sometime after Cynthia had spiked the punch with tainted hallucinogenics.
Maul shuddered, trying to banish the memories of that particular outing from his mind. Bad enough he'd earned the ire of his own personal Jabba's Witnesses death cult, he didn't want to remember all the things he'd actually done to make them that mad.
Considering the previous state of his sex life, maybe being exclusive with Obi-Wan wasn't such a bad thing.
The Sith Handbook flapped its pages at him, highlighting the latest entry Sith Don't Do Exclu...
"Oh, shut up," Maul growled at it.
...kor-ah... voices whispered in his head.
Maul glared at the Handbook. "Did you say something?"
The Handbook shut its covers with a snap.
Maul's horns vibrated. ...rah-tah-mah... the voices chanted.
He glared at My Apprentice, who was busy washing after having finished off the tuna Kenobi'd set out for her. Don't look at me, horn boy.
...kor-ah... the voices hissed. ...rah-tah-mah...
Maul's eyes narrowed as the voices kept repeating the same thing, over and over...and over and over and over. He remembered the padawan from the 37th floor Obi-Wan had told him about, the one whose fillings picked up the All Jedi All Opera station. What if he'd rammed his head into the ceiling one too many times and now his horns were doing the same thing? He had no desire to go through life as Radio Free Maul.
Hoping another blow would turn whatever the hell it was off, Maul slammed his head into the coffee table, horns leaving new gouge marks.
He slammed his head backwards into the wall.
Damn! He stood up on the couch, bent down low, and then launched himself at the ceiling.
Yanking his horns out of the ceiling, he flopped back down on the couch.
Frustrated, Maul picked up the mug of coffee and hurled it at the wall. The mug shattered, drenching the pizza box civilization in the corner, whose scientists immediately issued dire warnings to the general population about the hazards of acid rain.
He couldn't take it anymore. Banging his head into things had invited the Wookiees back. And this time they'd brought their relatives. And a cheering section. And bagpipes.
Maul glared at the ceiling. It was as good a place as any.
"Would you just SHUT the FUCK UP!!!" he roared.
Maul held his breath.
Silence. Sithly, wonderful silence.
Except for the screams of his upstairs neighbors who'd decided to abandon their belongings in favor of their sanity and were fleeing with half-packed suitcases.
Maul soaked up his neighbors' (correction, ex-neighbors') fear, letting all that Dark Side energy flow through him until the Wookiees and their entourage were a distant memory. He grabbed a cold bottle of Pete's and fired up Jedi Roadkill XXXIII. With any luck he'd be able to rack up a new high score before he had to go search for formal attire.
Maybe something in black leather.
The voices came back while he was at the tailor's. The prissy little Rodian had kept his measurements on file, which was good because Maul was in no mood to put up with anyone measuring his in-seam again, much less trying to determine on which side he dressed.
He'd already decided not to get a tux. Good things never happened to him when he was in one of those damn monkey suits. Maybe Sidious wouldn't fry him if he showed up in something tasteful. Something Sithly. Something he could keep on hand for occasions like this, since wasting his afternoon at the tailor shop, while high on the rage-honing scale, was not a way Maul liked to spend his time.
The Rodian and his staff had finally found something Maul actually liked. He was twisting and turning in front of the mirrors, admiring the way the cut of the suit accentuated his shoulders, when his horns started thrumming.
His horns started itching.
...kor-ah... the voices hissed.
Maul ground his teeth.
...rah-tah-mah... the voices chanted.
"Does the gentleman like the suit?" the simpering Rodian asked.
"I'll take it."
Maul handed the Rodian Qui-Gon's Alderaanian Express credit card. The Rodian in turn handed the card to an assistant who'd been hovering nearby, and that's when Maul saw it. A pendant shaped like a golden cat turd, hung on a chain around the assistant's neck.
The assistant was a Jabba's Witness.
"YOU!" Maul bellowed, lunging for the assistant. "You're doing this to me!"
The assistant saw the fires of brimstone burning in Maul's furious eyes as Maul grabbed for his throat. He shrieked and fled toward the nearest exit, babbling at the top of his lungs that the devil was snapping at his heels, trying to steal his soul.
Maul took off after him, ignoring the one small voice--the only one that normally resided in his head--that told him the chanting didn't exactly sound like Huttese. At this point he didn't care, it just felt so damn good to have something solid to vent his rage on.
He'd just about reached the man when the voices rose to a crescendo.
"Augh!" Maul cried, crashing into a rack of expensive leather dusters as he held his reverberating skull.
The assistant threw Qui-Gon's credit card over his shoulder and ran screaming out the door of the tailor shop, where he was promptly trampled underfoot by the Billion Being March for Religious Freedom and Unlimited Local Cable Access as it wound its way toward the Galactic Senate.
And suddenly all was blissfully silent. Again.
Maul picked himself up off the pile of ruined leather outerwear. Wait, that one looked okay, and it was his size. And black.
The last of the vibrations working their way through his horns, Maul retrieved the credit card, grabbed the duster, and stalked back to the Rodian.
The prissy tailor's mustache twitched as he looked from the card, to Maul, to the suit, to the coat, to Maul, to the ruined display, and back at Maul again. He fingered his own pendant of the holy one which was thankfully hidden under his shirt. No doubt this was the Dark Horned Devil spoken of in the divine teachings, the destroyer of holy icons and defiler of unfortunate priests. And he had invited him in to his store! There was only one way now to save his soul.
"No charge," the tailor said with a tremor in his voice. "And may I suggest that next time the gentleman try Shimerman's down the street. I hear they have a wonderful selection."
Sidious had only raised an eyebrow at Maul's brand new black suit, black silk no collar, high button shirt, and black leather boots. Make that brand new free black suit, shirt, boots, and black leather duster.
I am hot shit, Maul thought.
Of course, it probably helped that the suit accentuated Maul's shoulders and hugged his muscular body in all the right places, but he was trying hard not to think about that, especially not in conjunction with his Master.
He also squelched a momentary vision of Obi-Wan helping him out of his brand new, kick-ass suit. His libido stirred again at the thought of sex, the padawan, and sex and the padawan. Maul resolutely beat it into submission, although it only agreed to lie down and be good when Maul promised it later.
After all, it was Friday night.
Maul grinned. Now that he had something to look forward to, maybe he could get through this evening's ordeal without hurling on the string section.
The good feeling lasted until his Master's limo pulled into the Jedi Temple parking lot. "I thought we were going to the symphony," Maul said.
"We are, my app...my ward," Sidious hastily corrected himself, lest he need dispose of yet another limo driver due to a careless error on his part. He didn't want to make the senatorial motor pool suspicious. "This is a benefit concert to raise money to complete the last of the repairs necessary to the temple after that unfortunate fireworks incident last summer."
Maul gritted his teeth as the limo pulled into a reserved space. "You're dragging me to a symphony concert to benefit the Jedi?!?"
Sidious beamed his most innocuous, apple-cheeked Palpatine smile at Maul as they got out of the limo, but Maul could detect just the slightest hint of purple lightning in his eyes. He got the message. Behave himself, right. Enjoy this shit, right. Maul plastered as pleasant an expression as possible on his face and marched beside his Master into the temple's largest auditorium.
The Jedi were out in force, as was half the Senate. Maul could see most of the Jedi council members seated up front. Mace Windu and Jon-Tra Vol-Ta walked by on their way to their seats, Mace studiously ignoring Maul.
Just then a barrage of incredibly filthy images assaulted his mind, and he glanced toward the front of the auditorium to find Obi-Wan stifling a grin.
You are so going to get it, Kenobi.
Promises, promises, the padawan shot back, an innocent look on his face.
Maul grinned evilly and sent Obi-Wan an exceedingly graphic mental porno flick featuring himself and the padawan. Kenobi gulped and blushed to the roots of his hair, then sat down quickly next to Qui-Gon, crossing his legs.
Soon the lights dimmed and the orchestra filed out on stage, followed by the guest conductor, Jaw' Ne Willemz, according to the program. Maul frowned. Something about the conductor looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Thirty minutes into the program, Maul knew he had been wrong. This wasn't worse than twelve straight hours of the Backdoor Bantha Boys. Or even the Kessel Spice Girls. Oh, no.
This was worse than twelve straight hours of John Tesh!!
The sickeningly sweet, insipid music was making his teeth ache, and the good, positive feelings emanating from the beings around him was turning his stomach. The Jedi were practically glowing with Light Sided wholesomeness, and now the whole damn audience was swaying back in forth in time to the music. Even his Master was moving his head slightly to the beat.
Maul scowled and fought the urge to sway along. Sith don't sway.
In his apartment, the Handbook made the appropriate notation.
The latest number finally came to an end to the thunderous applause of everyone, everyone except Maul. "Wonderful, isn't it?" Sidious gushed.
Maul looked at his Master like he'd sprouted his own set of horns. His Master thought this was wonderful??
"Cousin Jaw' Ne always did have a way with music," Sidious sighed.
Cousin. Maul looked from his Master to the guest conductor. Same general build, same red-apple cheeks, same glint in the eyes. He should have seen it earlier. No wonder everyone was swaying. Cousin Jaw' Ne was whammying the whole damn audience.
Except me, Maul thought with pride.
As the applause died down, the curtained backdrop behind the orchestra rose, revealing riser upon riser filled with beings in choir robes. Behind them another curtained backdrop depicted a vast starfield. And a very oddly shaped space station--round, with a circular indentation on one side. Maul frowned at it, getting an odd sense of deja-vu.
Cousin Jaw' Ne stood on his toes, his arms stretched high over his head. With a sudden movement he stabbed his baton at the orchestra and the entire brass section blared out a fanfare. The audience jumped, even Sidious twitched, and a slow grin spread over Maul's face. It might not be Nine Inch Nails or Depeche Mode, but this selection was definitely a vast improvement over the insipid elevator music he'd just sat through.
As the number went on, Maul could almost see vast armies marching into battle, innocent Ewoks and Gungans being slaughtered, planets being decimated, the Sith reigning supreme. This was wonderful. This was Sithly. This was music!
Maul was just really getting into it when the music tapered off and Jaw' Ne pointed his baton at the choir.
Kor-ah, mah-tah, the choir sang.
Maul frowned. It sounded almost like...
It was! The damn voices he'd been hearing!
"This must be the new number he told me about," Sidious chuckled under his breath. "Apparently he's had to rehearse it all day to get it just right." Sidious glanced at Maul out of the corner of his eye. "It is catchy, don't you think?"
Maul glared at his Master. He knew, somehow the sadistic bastard knew. Maybe he'd even set the whole thing up. And no doubt he'd enjoyed every minute of it.
Maul sat back in his seat fuming as the orchestra played the fast-paced tune, the choir silent for now. He was so preoccupied with plotting new ways to rise up against his Master that it took him a few moments to realize the music was having an interesting effect on the rest of the audience.
The Jedi were no longer radiating Light Sided good will. Obi-Wan was frowning at Qui-Gon, who had draped his arm around Obi's shoulder. Jon-Tra was standing on his seat doing some strange dance number which apparently involved pointing at the ceiling with one hand and doing pelvic thrusts. Maul wondered how he'd managed to sneak in the mirror ball he had levitated over his seat. Yoda had shed his formal Jedi wear and was scurrying up and down the aisle in a black corset crying "Frank Oz, reveal yourself, you will! Hide from me, you cannot!" and Mace was running after him yelling, "Now is not the time for this, you little green pervert!"
But the Jedi weren't the only ones affected. Wookiees--real Wookiees this time, and part of the Senatorial delegation by the look of them--were having a heated argument with a delegation of Neimoidians. The argument erupted into a brawl when one Wookiee grabbed the Neimoidian senator's elaborate headdress and started jumping up and down on it. The Neimoidian retaliated by ripping off said Wookiee's ceremonial sash. The Wookiee vaulted over the back of his seat and started jumping up and down on the Neimoidian.
Maul shuddered and turned away. Even he knew it wasn't wise to upset a Wookiee.
Four rows back the same thought occurred to Gustav Solo. He paused in the act of stealing a purse belonging to the fat Twi'lek senator's second wife, who was busy trying to yank the head tails off of the fat Twi'lek senator's first wife, and thought about his son. Little Hansel was already getting into fights. Gustav made a note to educate him in the ways of Wookiees. You never knew when something like that might come in handy.
Maul looked around the auditorium in amazement. His Master had told him to be on his best behavior, but as far as he could tell the two Sith were the only ones in the audience who were behaving themselves. Fights were breaking out all around him. Bejeweled matrons were thumping their muscular boy toy escorts with sequined handbags. The escorts were taking away the sequined handbags and thumping back. And the Senators were acting worse than the patrons at the Grey Side that night the karaoke machine broke down in the middle of the Sid Vicious Look Alike Contest.
Chancellor Valorum went running down the aisle chased by a haggard, irate woman holding a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans. Blue robes flying out behind him, he cried "yes, dear, I know they're not supposed to have sugar, but it was Halloween!"
By the time the choir began singing again, a group of padawans seated at stage right had descended en masse on the refreshment booth. Chanting "granola sucks!" they rained healthy snacks out over the audience in their quest for ring pops.
Maul growled as a granola bar hit him in the head. It was becoming harder and harder to sit still. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to whip out his lightsaber, reveal himself to the Jedi, and...and...and...force throw a droid head at a blast door control panel.
Huh?? Where the hell had that last part come from? Maul shook his head. Damn music whammy.
Sidious surveyed the scene with glee. When he'd suggested to Cousin Jaw' Ne that he write something a little more intense for a change, he'd thought the results might be interesting, but this was turning out even better than he could have hoped for. Jaw' Ne's sweet, wholesome music had always produced such a disgustingly good whammy, it was gratifying to know that with the right music, the whammy could stir up the Dark Side as well.
But the best thing by far was that the debut of the dark music whammy was taking place at the Jedi Temple. Under Cousin Jaw' Ne's influence the audience was ripping the place to shreds. It was going to take another benefit concert just to repair the damage from this one.
Poor Jedi, he smirked.
Sidious was distracted from this train of thought as two Jedi Academy fitness instructors walked by, muscles bulging beneath their formal beige workout togs. One of them batted his eyelashes coyly at the good senator Palpatine. "I'm Hanz," he said.
"I'm Franz," said the other.
"And we want..." said the first.
"...to pump...you up!" they finished in unison, flexing perkily.
Sidious practically drooled on his shoes. "I'm sure you do," he said, smiling his most ingratiating smile. "Why, I've just been telling my ward that I could use a personal fitness instructor...or two, haven't I, Maul?"
"Yes, well...why don't we find someplace quieter to talk about how you two can whip me into shape?" And with that Sidious was gone, but not before he broadcast an image of himself and the two instructors. Luckily Maul was saved from that stomach-turning vision as he when he had to duck a seat flying by his head.
Cousin Jaw' Ne was apparently unaware of the carnage going on behind him. Focused entirely on the music, he kept gesturing wildly, jabbing his baton at the orchestra or choir in turn, urging them on.
And did they deliver. Red-faced horn players struggled to play even louder while fighting hypoxia, sweating violinists sawed wildly at their instruments as broken hairs from their bows flew around them, the tympani drummer beat wildly on his drums, knocking out the percussionist next to him with a vicious upswing of his drumstick. And the choir, straining their vocal cords to the limit, sang out as one...
Korah! Daanyah! Korah! Rahtahmah!
Maul's horns thrummed at this new onslaught, and his blood began to race in time with the music. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Qui-Gon rub his hand along the back of Obi-Wan's neck, deep in conversation with the padawan. Kenobi's discomfort at the contact would have been clear to a force-blind Toydarian, but Qui-Gon didn't seem to notice. A low growl started deep in Maul's chest.
Nyohah! Keelah! Korah! Rahtahmah!
Maul's fingers twitched, itching again for his lightsaber as he watched Qui-Gon, frustrated longing radiating from every pore, lean toward Kenobi. Obi-Wan tried to back away without making it obvious. Damn Jedi probably doesn't want to make a scene, Maul thought. Like anyone would notice in this melee.
Syadho! Keelah! Korah! Rahtahmah!
Maul's horns vibrated, and he snarled as he saw Qui-Gon tenderly touch the padawan's face. It didn't matter that Obi-Wan gently but firmly pushed Qui-Gon's hand away. The aging hippy still was clearly making a pass at the padawan.
At his padawan!
He'd had enough. Maul vaulted out of his seat and flew toward the Jedi as the music gathered toward the final crescendo.
The choir started singing again, but Maul no longer heard the words. Reaching Qui-Gon, Maul jerked him away from Obi-Wan and threw him on the floor. If he'd had his lightsaber, he would have run the man through.
Qui-Gon landed on his butt in the aisle. He looked up at Maul with a bemused expression on his face. "What's the deal, man?" he asked. "I was just..."
"I know exactly what you were just doing and I don't like it, and neither does he," Maul snarled. "So keep your aging hippy, free-love slut paws off my boyfriend."
Obi-Wan put his hand on Maul's arm. "Relax, Maul, nothing would have happened, I wouldn't have let it. Hey...did you just call me your boyfriend?"
Maul glared at Kenobi, realizing what he'd said. Damn music whammy.
Obi-Wan was grinning at him, his blue eyes twinkling. "I think I'd like to hear you say that again."
"Don't push your luck," Maul growled.
Obi-Wan leered at him. Wanna fuck?
Maul leered back. It's Friday, isn't it?
"Nice suit," Kenobi said aloud. "Wanna see my outfit?" And the padawan slowly lifted the hem of his Jedi robes to reveal the brand new kilt he wore underneath. Kilt. Sex. Now. he suggested.
Maul drooled as his kilt reflex kicked in, his libido reminding him that it was time to pay off on their deal. He slung Kenobi over his shoulder, and as the orchestra and chorus belted out the final notes of the song he marched out of the auditorium, headed home for a night of incredible, lust-filled, Force driven, drive him out of his dark side mind sex with his boyf...er, casual sex partner.
His. All his.
Maul slapped Obi-Wan's butt and grinned. Life loves me.
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