Title:  A Birthday Present for Qui-Gon (or A Trip to the Market of Walls)
Author: Lilith Sedai (lilith_sedai@hotmail.com)
Archive:  master_apprentice, and anyone who wants it
Category:  Humor/parody
Rating:  PG-13 (implicit slash)
Warnings:  shopping at the Market of Walls may be addictive.
Spoilers:  very minor spoilers for the early JA series novels.
Summary:  Obi-Wan and the Brothers Derida search for a birthday present for Qui-Gon.
Acknowledgments:  To Kerby and The Emu, for valuable information.  To Sam
Walton, for a lifetime of cheap convenient shopping. To the new Super
Wal-Mart just down the road, for the inspiration.  To Inez and Brent, for
being Inez and Brent.  To George Lucas and Jude Watson, for the boys and
the birthdays.
Disclaimer: any similarity between persons and events is entirely intentional.
Feedback: yes, please, any comments welcome.

*****

"Friend Obawan, you seem depressed.  So?"  Paxxi narrowed his eye at his
brother Guerra.

"So," Guerra responded affirmatively.  "We are glad that you have returned
to Phindar to visit us after so many years, but today you are not good
company."

Obi-Wan nodded despondently.  Yoda had just contacted him via
interplanetary comm transmission and reminded him that tomorrow was
Qui-Gon's birthday-a momentous event that happened only once every six
standard Coruscant years, as Qui-Gon was from a planet with a very lengthy
solar orbit.  Obi-Wan had to admit: he was stumped.  *I could always get
him a rock...*

"Share your problem with us, friend Obawan!"  Paxxi encouraged him.

"Yes, we are ready to help you!"  Guerra beamed.

*I have a bad feeling about this,* Obi-Wan thought morosely, and spilled
the beans.  "Qui-Gon's birthday is tomorrow, and I haven't found a present
for him yet."

"Terrible this is, Obawan," Guerra's face melted with misery.  "Jedi-Gon
will be very disappointed."

"I know," Obi-Wan sighed heavily.  "I don't suppose there's anywhere we
could go shopping?"  He looked skeptically at the Derida brothers. 

"There are no good bazaars or markets on Phindar," Paxxi looked at him
mournfully.  "Not so, I lie!"  He brightened immediately.  "Offworld
Marketing has just built a new market, a very big market, in the hills
outside town!"

"Yes!"  Guerra slapped his hands together gleefully.  "Come, friend Obawan!
We will take you to the Market of Walls."

***** 

They were greeted at the entrance to the market by a tough-looking little
old lady with a roll of smiling face stickers on her arm.  Obi-Wan took one
look in her steely blue eyes and winced, wondering if he'd remembered to
put on clean underwear that morning.  He'd been in some pretty rough
situations in his lifetime, fighting smugglers and pirates and draigons and
trying to negotiate his way past bar-bouncers, but this old bird took the
cake.  She was wearing a shapeless blue smock flaunting a name tag that
said "Inez" and had a pricing gun on her hip-- or was that a blaster?

"Good morning and welcome to the Market of Walls!"  She bared yellowed
snaggle teeth at him in an ingratiating smile, and Obi-Wan gulped. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded politely, aware that Paxxi and Guerra were
cowering behind him, trying to hide their faces.  Obi-Wan suddenly
remembered that they had a reputation for casual thievery.  Inez peered at
them with myopic suspicion.

"Would your daughters like a smiley sticker?" she asked Obi-Wan sharply.

"No thank you, ma'am," he hedged, and shoved the Derida brothers into the
store.

Once inside, they relaxed considerably and began insistently tugging
Obi-Wan toward stacks of gaudily packaged toys.  Obi-Wan stared into the
rictus grin of a stuffed tauntaun for a moment with morbid fascination,
ignoring the excited clamor of his friends.

"Oh, Jedi heroes collection!"  Paxxi was jumping up and down.  "Look, a
rare unhooded Mace Windu variant."

"Yes, Obawan, you must buy an action figure for Jedi-Gon's birthday!"
Guerra snatched up a packet and Obi-Wan was appalled to see that it
contained a malevolent-looking little thug with a padawan braid, encased in
contoured plastic. 

"Um, he already has the life-sized anatomically correct interactive
variant," Obi-Wan mumbled, re-shelving the little hoodlum.

"Then how about this one?  Electronic, talking, twelve inches!"

Obi-Wan critically examined the packaged replica of Qui-Gon.  "What's the
matter with his expression?  Did he sit on a sand-burr?" he murmured.   *At
least they're right about the twelve inches...*

Already distracted, the Deridas were moving down the aisle, eyes fixed
gleefully on a new objective.  "Gungan submarine construction kit..." Paxxi
mused.  "Jedi-Gon could put it together himself!  There is a cute little
Obawan inside.  It's the only kit that has one."

"FORTY-EIGHT REPUBLIC DATARIS?"  Obi-Wan yelped, reading the price sticker.
"Uh, I don't think so, guys."  He set the kit aside carefully.  "How about
the next section of the market?"

They moved on down the aisle, and a strange acrid aroma teased Obi-Wan's
nostrils.  "Ah, yes, friend Obawan," Guerra beamed.  "The automatic-motive
section.  Just the place to find a gift for Jedi-Gon.  They sell many
rubber rings and much lubricant here."

Rubber rings?  Lubricant?  Obi-Wan perked with interest and ventured down
an aisle, poking his nose here and there.  At last he fetched up in front
of a counter festooned with huge black rubber rings, as promised.
Frowning, he gazed up.  Rubber rings, yes... but though Qui-Gon was quite
impressively sized, these things looked like they were made to fit a
Rancor!

"Do you have anything a bit smaller?"  Obi-Wan nervously inquired of a
shady-looking being who lounged nearby, wearing a smock that matched
Inez's.

"What diameter do ya need?"  The being replied lazily, shifting a quid of
something nasty to his other jaw.

"Um..." Obi-Wan blushed.  "About so big."  He opened his mouth as wide as
it would go.

The being, whose name tag identified him only as 'Brent,' gave Obi-Wan a
jaundiced look.  "You tryin' to be funny?"

Obi-Wan shook his head with embarrassment and decided that a cock-ring
might not be the best idea after all.  He slunk off to look for Paxxi and
Guerra.

They were standing in front of a display of black plastic bottles.  "Look,
Obawan.  Lubricant!"

This was more like it.  Obi-Wan picked up a bottle and read the label.
'Heavy duty.'  Well, that certainly sounded promising.  'Maximum
viscosity.'  Even better.  "What weight do you think would be best for..."
Obi-Wan realized what he was saying and let his sentence trail off into a
mumble.  20-W-50... hmmm.  A tap at his shoulder.  He glanced back,
startled to find Brent staring at him.

"What did you say you were going to use that for?"

Obi-Wan crimsoned.  "What would you use it for?" he hedged.

"That's heavy engine oil, there."  Brent shifted his chaw of... whatever...
again. 

"Do you have it in bigger containers?"

"Naw.  A gallon's the biggest we got."

A gallon?  They'd go through that in a week.  Obi-Wan set down the bottle.
"Thank you, Brent," he essayed politely.  "I don't think I'll be needing
any lube today."

"Suit yerself."  Brent shrugged.  "But if ya change yer mind, we got a shop
in the back of the store.  We can give ya a whole lube job while ya shop,
real cheap.  We can change or rotate yer rubber rings fer ya, too."

Obi-Wan paled and backpedaled away from Brent.  "Um, thanks," he ventured,
and turning a corner, he fled. 

Grabbing Paxxi and Guerra by the scruff of the neck, Obi-Wan hauled them
away from that section of the market quickly.  "Let's look at something
else," he put a touch of Force behind the words.

Looking around, he realized that they were surrounded by shoes.  He relaxed
quickly.  Shoes were such nice, neutral things.  Surely they couldn't get
in trouble here.

"Maybe Jedi-Gon would like a nice pair of slippers," he told Paxxi, who
nodded. 

Ten minutes later, Obi-Wan indecisively held a pair of warm slippers in his
hand.  They were shaped like faces, with the mouth ready to devour the foot
that would be inserted.  Somehow, he simply couldn't picture Qui-Gon
wearing them.  And the boots he had selected as a possibility... green with
a rubbery yellow sole, they might well be waterproof, but they hardly
seemed warm.  And he suspected they wouldn't offer the best traction,
either.  He set the slippers aside mournfully, wondering where Paxxi and
Guerra had gotten to.  In trouble, probably.

Further investigation revealed that they were both lounging next to a desk
marked "Lay Of Way" near the back of the store, attempting to chat up a
bored, gum-snapping female Phindian merchant clad in the ever-present blue
smock that marked employees of the market.

"The deposit is ten percent of the item's purchase price," she told Guerra.
"Now, do you have it, or not?"

"So!" Guerra scrabbled in his pockets frantically.

"Not so," Paxxi snickered. 

Obi-Wan dragged them both off before security could arrive, reshelving the
pack of gum Guerra had been attempting to give the market employee.  "No
lay, no way," Guerra mourned, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

"She wasn't that pretty anyway, Guerra."

"But she has a good family health benefit plan and gets an employee
discount."

"Whatever."  Obi-Wan dragged the Phindian brothers through a display of
bedding and bathroom linens, hardly bothering to look.  While he and
Qui-Gon could always use new and unstained bedlinens, all the 200-count
cotton percales were festooned with gaudy flowers, and somehow he suspected
Qui-Gon would not look kindly on losing even more face with the Temple
Laundry personnel.

They wound up in a tunnel of hideous fake greenery with even more gaudy
blossoms bursting color on every side.  Obi-Wan looked around cautiously,
prepared for attack, as they negotiated the small avenue.  "How about this,
Obawan?"  Guerra looked hopeful, holding out a handful of dismally designed
plastic posies.  "Jedi-Gon likes plants and living things..."

"Guerra, do you honestly mean to imply that there is *anything* inside
these things that was *ever* alive?"  Obi-Wan lifted one limp polyethylene
leaf gingerly.

"So!" Guerra nodded enthusiastically.

"Not so!" Obi-Wan and Paxxi both chorused emphatically.

"Well there *is* the Garden Center, friend Obawan."

"Closed for the winter," Paxxi huffed. 

"Grass cutting machines are sold year-round, Obawan," Guerra retaliated.

"We don't have a lawn," Obi-Wan murmured, letting himself be dragged away
from the Aisle of Hideous Fake Greenery.

"Perhaps clothes then."  Paxxi snatched Obi-Wan's hand and after a
momentary tug-of-war with Guerra, who was apparently interested in a bin of
inflatable Gungans, dragged Obi-Wan into yet another sector of the market.
"Men's Wear as far as the eye can see," he proclaimed proudly.

"So," Obi-Wan agreed, staring around dazedly at the racks and racks of
clothing.  "But the Temple provides all our robes and Jedi Code prohibits
using bodies as billboards for the advertisement of sporting franchises."
He picked up a jacket emblazoned with the logo of the Coruscant Cows,
eyeing it dubiously.

"It is a problem, Obawan," Paxxi nodded mournfully.  "How about naughty
underwear?"

"They have that here?"  Obi-Wan brightened.  Things were finally looking
up!

"They have *everything* here."  Paxxi tugged him around a corner, and
Obi-Wan stepped into an aisle festooned with wildly colored bikini briefs.
Guerra was waiting, experimentally holding up a pair of Gungan-spotted
boxers against his skinny frame.

Obi-Wan reached out at random and snared a pair of tiger-striped briefs.
He stretched them dubiously over his fingers.  Qui-Gon certainly wouldn't
like those... unless maybe Obi-Wan was wearing them.  Hmmm.

"Here, Obawan!  Perfect for Jedi-Gon."  Paxxi posed with a pair of fluffy
fake-fur red briefs held against him.  Obi-Wan blinked.  No, he wouldn't be
able to get the image of his friend posing in the underwear out of his head
no matter how good Qui-Gon might look in the things.

"How about these?"  Paxxi held up a pair of boxers helpfully.

Obi-Wan studied them carefully before shaking his head.  "The yellow bird
is cute and all, but it has a speech impediment," he pointed out.  "Anyhow,
what the hell is a 'puddy tat?'"

"We do not know, Obawan, but it is very hungry."  Paxxi and Guerra nodded
solemnly.

Obi-Wan sighed, defeated.  "I'll try these on," he dangled the
tiger-striped briefs from one finger.  "Maybe he'd like to see me in them."

Guerra and Paxxi traded dubious looks, but followed Obi-Wan into the
changing room.  Obi-Wan sighed at the lack of privacy and quickly skinned
out of his Jedi attire and into the scandalously skimpy underwear.  Qui-Gon
might like it, but Obi-Wan just couldn't handle the thought of running into
Councilor Yoda while wearing the damned things.  He'd never been sure if
"See through you we can" included being able to spy on his selection of
underwear or not...

Over his own shoulder in the mirror, he could see Guerra surreptitiously
stuffing the Gungan-spotted boxers in his jacket pocket.

"Guerra!"  His voice held a tone of warning.  "That security goon at the
entrance may have been handing out smiley faces but I don't think you want
to mess with her."  He offered a sympathetic smile.  "Besides... see that
sign?"  They all looked at the poster on the wall of the changing cubicle.
It read: SHOPLIFTING IS A CRIME!  SHOPLIFTERS WILL BE PUNISHED TO THE
FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW!

"Yes, friend Obawan."  Desolately, Guerra unpocketed the underwear.  "You
are right."

"You know I am," Obi-Wan nodded upward at the mirrored half-dome stuck to
the ceiling above the open top of the cubicles.  "And they have a camera in
there, or I'm not a Jedi padawan."

Hastily Guerra dropped the Gungan-spotted underwear.  "Just bringing them
in here for my friend Obawan to try on," he mumbled.

Obi-Wan took pity on him and tried on the boxers, shoving them back down
his hips with a hasty shudder.  "The day my master takes up with a Gungan
will be the day he dies," he muttered, kicking them into a corner and
hastily wriggling back into his own clothes.  Somewhere in the afterworld,
a harassed reception clerk made a note in her appointment book.

They emerged into the store again, downcast.

"There is meat in the foodstuffs sector," Paxxi suggested.

"Yes, meat is always a good gift," Guerra agreed.

"Not for Qui-Gon.  He's a vegetarian-- he won't put meat in his mouth."
*With... certain significant exceptions.*  Obi-Wan blushed again.

"A toaster?"

"Nah."

"Matched oven mitt and dish-towels?"

"Nah."

They moved through the remainder of the store, the Deridas listing items
that Obi-Wan promptly vetoed.

"Generic tupperware?  Cologne?  Candy?  Poster of Pamela Anderson Lee?
Trashy romance novel?  Biker magazine?  Soh-Nee Walkman?  Potato peeler?
Casserole dish?  Muffin tin?  Non-stick cookware?"

"Nah."

"Ironing board, lemon-scented cleanser, paper towels, Magic Mushroom, spray
disinfectant, styling mousse, tampons, Samz Choice cola?"

"Nah."

Discouraged, they sat down in the cafeteria at the front of the store and
ordered absurdly expensive fountain drinks.  The Deridas continued listing
items helpfully.

"Guppy, gerbil, parakeet, flea shampoo, cedar chips, squeaky-toy?"

"Nah."

"Grass-seed, flower-pot, garden hose, batteries, lawn-gnome?"

"Nah-- wait.  What was that again?"

"Grass-seed..."

Obi-Wan brightened suddenly, his eyes fixed on a point in the far distance.
"Never mind."  He hastened to the customer service counter, beckoning
happily to his friends.  "One more thing after this, and then we're out of
here."

*****

THE NEXT DAY...

Qui-Gon awakened grumpily and stomped out into the common room of the
quarters he was sharing with Obi-Wan.  On his breakfast plate sat a small
cake in a paper cup, heaped high with unnaturally blue frosting.  He
blinked at it warily, wondering where his tea was.  Obi-Wan bustled in from
the kitchenette, beaming.

"Happy birthday, Master!"  Obi-Wan trilled in an obscenely cheerful voice.

Qui-Gon grumped and sat down in front of the clearly inedible cake, shoving
it aside.  He frowned as a piece of paper that had been stuck under the
plate crinkled.

"A gift certificate?"  Qui-Gon squinted suspiciously.

"To the Market of Walls," Obi-Wan warbled.  "They have *everything!*"

Qui-Gon considered for a moment, then his expression brightened.  "We *are*
almost out of lube.  And I could use some lawn-gnomes..."  He picked up the
scrap of paper and shouldered eagerly into his robe.  "I'll be back by
lunchtime."

"Say hello to Brent for me!"

*end*