Transcriptionist's disclaimers: Yes, Lucas owns...one...two...actually, virtually all the characters here. Lucky dog. Um, let's see...Pan-Galactic-Gargle-Blaster belong to Douglas Adams, appearing here as a tribute to the gods of satire, and the Hamster Death Gulps ain't mine either. Thanks to Rae for editing, browbeating, and her dubious support. Feedback welcomed.
Hmm...frisky I am tonight
<<Syntax Correction Program Enabled>>
It was one of those nights. You know, one of those nights when you have that feeling, that feeling of insatiability. It was my turn to choose the bar, so I put one my favorite corset and a blue, low cut evening gown, and went out to party at the Grey Side, a wonderful bar that always turns up the most unusual specimens. Especially if you liked Gungans. That night when I went in, I could feel something in the air. I knew it would be a night to remember.
So Mace and I and chose a table, ignoring the early birds pecking hopefully for worms, determined to get something good. Sometime around two in the morning, in stalked a tattooed being, perfect in an incredibly masculine kind of way. This curious horned being sat down at the bar, and was just ordering a drink when I sidled tactfully over to him, overcome by physical curiosity.
"Hello, big boy." I pursed coral lips, and fluffed my boa. The horned man just glared down at me for a moment before turning back to his drink. I blinked. He must have had a hard time hearing me over the music. I tried again. "Feeling lucky?"
"No." Hmm. Never had I heard such discouragement in one word before. He must be depressed. I scooted closer, gleefully noting Maceís jealous eyes from across the room. The tattooed manís yellow eyes lit on me once more. He half stood up, growling in an amazingly erotic manner: "I am going to drop-kick your little green ass through that wall over there, you undersized toad." He shifted his weight as if to carry out his threat when the particularly formidable bartender caught his eye. The horned man glared for another minute then slowly sank back into his seat. "Damn Sidious for this one. 'The first one who crosses your path'...that whore-crossed slime of hell."
I smiled. This man was quite good indeed, rousing me up like that with just a hint of violence. "So," I continued. "My place or yours?"
The man looked up at me again, his eyes filled with hate. "Listen to me very carefully, you insignificant little piece of Jedi scum. I am not, nor would I ever be, interested in you," he purred in that stimulating voice of his. "So why donít you just..."
"Here, man," said the bartender, breaking in. The yellow eyes slid from my face to the tender's. "Try this. On the house."
The horned one grabbed the drink with a snarl, and proceeded to drain it in one gulp. The bartender smiled. "I call it a Pan-Galactic-Gargle-Blaster."
The jagged face twisted in something very like horror before those yellow eyes glazed over. "Good stuff."
The bartender's smile widened. "I knew you'd like it. Enjoy yourself."
The horned one grinned insanely. "I most assuredly will."
He turned back to me, a maniacal gleam in his eye. I, attempting to recover my quickly receding heart rate, smiled suggestively. He nodded, and I grabbed his hand, allowing him to drag me to a back room that I had so carefully booked ahead of time. The night was looking up.
I awoke the next morning with a rather sticky and entirely naked body draped over me. I smiled hazily, ignoring my pounding headache as I wriggled out from under the red and black mass. Ooh, what a night. I had had one too many Hamster Death Gulps; the night was a fuzzy, but most enjoyable haze. I glanced over fondly at the empty tubes of Wookiemint, the pile of drained bottles of chocolate sauce, and the ruined set of hand puppets and spiderbeing suit. Truly a night to remember. I picked up my evening gown and corset and wandered home. As I reached the door, I realized that the tattooed man would be waking about now. I smiled reminiscently, wondering what heíd be thinking.
Wait, what was that? I thought I heard a million voices suddenly crying out in anguish...or at least one very displeased voice strong in the Force...No, simply the hangover talking.
I wonder where Mace and I will be going tonight...
<<Syntax Correction Program Disengaged>>
The end it is not. Meet this horned being again I will. The way of the Force, it is...