Title: “Karaeoke is Japanese for Tone Deaf, you
know....”
Author: ShellyFett
Rating: PG-13, a few suggestions.
Summary: An impromptu Karaeoke night happens at the
Blue Lemon, thanks to two drunken Jedi and
one potential Sith.

Disclaimer: All things Star Wars but Kiraan are Darth
George’s, I only play with the pieces he’s not
using. Babylon 5, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica,
Gundam Wing, Dragonball, Pokemon, Lexx, Blade
Runner, and the various other Sci-fi universes stuck
in the Metaverse blender belong to those respective. 
Don’t sue me, I’ll put them back when I’m done playing
with them.
---------------------

(NOTE: this story takes place in a night club called
The Blue Lemon. The club is the focal point of a
spatial rift that causes a parallel universe called
the Metaverse to exist within the walls of the club. 
Fictional characters can exist in real form, including
deceased characters and cartoon/comic characters. 
Occasionally, an internet fanfic character or two ends
up in the mix. Somehow, through it all, the
universe holds just enough sanity and reality together
to return everyone to their proper universes at the
end of the day. Occasionally, some don’t want to go
home...
And one can't.)

----------------
“I will tell you when I’ve had enough to drink, my
good man. Now, refill this glass, and keep it filled
until my eyes turn to diamonds or I fall lifeless to
the floor!” Londo Mollari proclaimed in his usual
rolling accent. G’kar shook his head, ‘tsk’ing at the
ambassador. Londo shook his head, “Humans! Why
must they judge a Centauri’s drinking ability by their
own standards? Sure there’s a vague resemblance,
but we have twice the stamina!” He said the last part
a little louder than necessary, aiming it at the
Twi’lek dancing girl and her flame-haired friend with
the hooves. They giggled, and the Twi’lek
twitched a head-tail at him.
Londo raised an eyebrow, looking toward her. He
leaned closer to G’kar. “Ayh, I wonder what
she could do with those,” he whispered, half-leering,
half-ogling her while he spoke. 
G’kar snorted, “With any luck, she could strangle you
in your sleep, and her companion could
dance across your corpse with her hooves,” he
responded. Londo glared. “I imagine she’d leave
quite a
lovely set of indentations on your bruised and
bloodied being,” G’kar taunted, smirking and lifting
his
glass.
“Down boys, don’t make me go get Garibaldi off
door-duty again,” Zek teased, stealthily setting a
paper coaster under Londo’s drink as he set it down. 
The two grumbled, casting imagined daggers with
looks at each other, but settling to silence. “He
started it,” Londo defended in a childish tone. G’kar
immediately took offense. “Why you....you... pompous,
incon...” 
Zek stopped listening, rolling his eyes and walking
away down the bar toward his next patron. 
“Name your death-drink of choice,” he said, setting a
coaster down on the bar in front of the man. 
“Anything non-alcoholic,” he said, flipping a small
braid over his shoulder and studying the arguing
aliens a few seats down. Zek sighed, “Don’t worry,
they’re Diplomats, they can’t kill each other, at
least
not tonight,” he said, adding a smirk. The newcomer
smiled, then sighed. 
“You’re from the Star Wars crowd, right? A Jedi?”
Zek asked, setting an empty glass down in
front of him. He smiled awkwardly, glancing around
nervously. “Ahhhh,” Zek said, assuming an
all-knowing tone. “Snuck off?” he said, lifting an
eyebrow. The Jedi nodded. “I have just the drink for
you then,” Zek said, reaching under the bar counter. 
He set a can on the bar next to the empty glass, and
the Jedi frowned. “Sorry, you looked like a
Guinness man,” Zek said, then bust out laughing. 
“Sorry, couldn’t help it. You know, Obi-wan, Alec
Guinness? sorry, bad joke,” he chuckled, replacing the
can into the cooler. Obi-wan frowned again, then
caught the joke. “Oh, I keep forgetting, they told me
about... the movies, but I keep, well,” he shrugged,
“it seems so bizarre,” he added. 
Zek nodded, “You think that’s bad? Try suddenly
finding out you have a universal other-self
who lives in a parallel universe and accidentally
opened a dimensional rift trying to find you. Then
of
course he ruins your nightclub business, because the
only patrons that can get within a block of the place
are from alternate realities and other dimensions. 
And worse than that, most of them are fictional
characters.” 
Obi-wan shook his head, “Okay, your problem wins,” he
joked, picking up the fruit drink Zek
had replaced the beer can with. 
“Padawan....” a sharp voice said from behind him
disapprovingly. Obi choked, “Shi... oh, um, I
mean hi master,” Obi-wan caught himself quickly. Zek
lifted his eyebrows in a ‘Busted!’ expression and
moved along to the next patron. “That had better not
have alcohol in it...” Qui-gon warned. “No, master!
of course not!” Obi-wan answered quickly. Qui-gon’s
face dropped a degree sterner, “You aren’t even
going to ask how I found you?” Obi-wan paused,
scanning the room behind Qui-gon quickly. “Umm,”
was his only reply. 
Qui-gon sighed, “Master Yoda followed you, and I
followed him.” Obi-wan sighed deeply,
hiding his face in his hand and fighting off a curse. 
“Just how long were you planning to keep it a secret
that you’d found an interdimensional gateway in your
bedroom closet?” Qui-gon demanded. “Until you
asked to borrow a set of robes?” Obi-wan tried feebly
to joke. The elder master’s face hardened. 
“Padawan...” he began.
A Quadraan walked past, brushing Qui-gon’s backside
suggestively with a hand, two others
holding a drink tray, and the fourth tugging on
Obi-wan’s braid with a smirk. Qui-gon took a moment
to
compose himself after she’d passed down the bar. 
“Ahem, now, as I was saying...” he trailed off, then
sighed, noticing the ‘begging puppy-dog’ look on his
apprentice’s face. “Oh, nevermind, the council’s
already mad at me once today, a little night out won’t
kill us.”
Obi-wan fought off a grin, “Yes, master,” he just
barely contained the grin of triumph. Just
barely.

------------

“And there we were, the great Centauri Republic, with
a fleet so large it nearly eclipsed the
sun!...” Londo was telling the Twi’lek, who was now
drunk enough to consider a man with six genitals
worthy of experimenting. 

Starbuck had assumed his usual ‘poor woman’s Han
Solo’ position, leaning against a pillar with
a lop-sided grin on his face. Apollo sighed as
someone finally took the bait, asking if he was as
cocky as
he acted. 
“Dammit, it’s not fair,” Apollo growled quietly, “He
gets the girls and I get the bad tag-lines. 
It’s just not fair.” He took another deep swig of his
drink, glaring at his friend. “Once, just once I
wanna
be the one that gets the girl. I wanna play the
bad-boy, not some damn whiner-law-abider who sits in
the
corner and acts pure,” he snarled, downing the last
contents of the glass. 
“Better than being a Love-Slave,” Zev whispered
playfully in passing, patting him on the head
like a little kid. Apollo watched her leave with her
usual man-in-black with the bad hair. “Even the dead
guy’s getting laid,” he grumbled, waiving a server
over for a refill. “Dammit, I wanna get laid too!” he
complained a little too loudly thanks to the amount of
alcohol in him already. A few people glanced over
and either stared or snickered.
“You’re starting to sound desperate,” a scantily clad
green humanoid said, sitting down next to
him. Apollo blinked in surprise, then in stupor. -A
girl just sat down next to me?- he slowly registered. 
She smiled, noticing his awkward stare of shock. “My
name’s Oola,” she said, curling a Lekku around
her shoulder. “And you really do look desperate,” she
said, reaching out and pushing Apollo’s mouth
shut by the chin. 

-----

Aliya stared at the penny on the table, willing it to
move. She stared harder. Nothing. She
sighed, “Kiraan, it’s not going to work. The Force
only works for you here because you’re a Fanfic
character,” Aliya grumbled, sitting back in her chair.
“I just don’t have the patience to re-learn
everything you taught my double,” she sighed. 
The ancient Jedi master sighed, a deep rumble like
distant a storm. “Aliya, I did not choose you
because you were patient enough to learn, I chose you
because the Force led me to you, and I sense
potential that should not be wasted.” 
Aliya almost swore she’d seen the pictures on the
wall rumble from the vibration of his liquid,
almost feline near-bass voice. Even after a year,
that voice still made her flutter inside. Like
ominous
doom and an impending storm in the same breath. 
Distant thunder on a clear day, the deep rumble of
nature’s workings itself drawn into a solid form and
given a name. And pointed ears, and fangs, and
scars, and most importantly, enough power to knock her
through a wall, and claws that could slash
through steel or be as gentle as soft-filed
fingernails in a caress.
Oh crap.
She fought off the image of Kiraan trailing the
backs of his claws down her arms, then up along
her neck, barely touching the skin.
Not now.

She managed to fight away the image before Kiraan
picked up of it, but the flip-flop of her
stomach as he began speaking again threatened to bring
it back with a vengeance. 
“We need to work on your T.K. skills, but later. 
Right now,” he paused, looking out of the
one-way office window at the crowd below. “Right now,
I think your brother is going to need help with
those Klingons coming out of the vortex.” Aliya
groaned in dismay, remembering the last time a batch
of
Klingons showed up while the Hutts were here. 
Especially with the full entourage of their dancing
girls. 
What Klingons saw in women with green skin and
head-tails she didn’t want to know, but the Twi’lek’s
interest in men with big ridges all over their
foreheads was something she even less wanted to think
about.
Aliya heard the sudden sucking in-breath before she
saw Kiraan stiffen in surprise, placing a
hand against the glass, almost as if to touch someone
outside. “Kiraan? what...” she began. “Qui-gon,”
he said bluntly, sounding hollow, as if he’d just been
punched in the gut.
Aliya stood, walking over and looking down through
the glass where Kiraan’s topaz-gold gaze
was locked. There stood Qui-gon Jinn, alive and well,
talking to his Padawan. “Obi-wan promised not to
bring him, so did Yoda.” Kiraan’s sudden snort of
derision at Yoda's name made Aliya take a step back. 
“Oh, right. 
Banished,” she said, remembering the full-on bar brawl
the two of them had gotten into the first time
Yoda had seen Kiraan. Massive bad blood there, almost
worse than his beef with Vade....
Her thought stopped in mid-word, the growl from
Kiraan was enough. No even thinking of
Vader in his presence. Aliya quietly faked a whistle
of innocence, backing toward the door. “Um, I think,
um, Zek’s going to need my help,” she rambled, then
bolted for the door.
Jedi master with a grudge is one thing. Rogue Jedi
master with a blood-oath of hate and
vengeance is another thing entirely. Trelari rogue
with above-said blood-oath is quite another all
together, and a lot more dangerous. Aliya could
almost hear the door vibrate from the low-level growl
Kiraan made after she was gone.
“One of these days, he’s gonna start an earthquake
with that growl,” she muttered, descending
the stairs to the club floor.

--------------------

The Klingons were already loading up the flagons
they’d brought and getting into the mood by taking
over a corner booth. -Well, this is going to be a
wonderful night,- Aliya mused mentally, then saw her
brother pick up on it with a grimace. -Stupid
identical twin link thing,- she growled to herself,
closing
out her brother. 
That was how they’d gotten into this mess in the
first place. Kiraan’s current apprentices had
been their doubles in his universe. Somehow, Zek’s
twin had managed to breach the dimensional barrier
by tapping into his double’s telepathic link to Aliya.
After that, things went downhill. 
Somewhere between the Sith assassins, the
Stormtroopers, T.S.A agents everywhere trying to fix
the fabric of space-time, Kiraan’s becoming trapped
and their Twin-Doubles dying, everything had gotten
really, really, REALLY complicated in their lives.
Despite the fact that she could out-snarl Kiraan when
she was on PMS, Aliya was pretty-much
terrified of the big alien deep down. Well, he really
wasn’t that big, he just looked it thanks to that
stupid
force-illusion he uses to make people pay attention. 
Force illusion or not, he still looked hot in Jedi
robes...
NO! Bad apprentice! Bad girl! do NOT think about
Kiraan sexually, NO, NO, NO! she snapped
at herself, resisting the urge to bolt for the kitchen
and hide in the closet again. 
With her luck, she’d probably find Marcus and Susan
making out in the pantry again, and that
was NOT a chance she wanted to take. The poor boy was
destined to die a virgin in season five anyway, it
wasn’t fair to accidentally help fate along by
interrupting him and Ivanova.
What she wouldn’t give to end up in a broom closet
with Kiraan though...

She quickly b-slapped that part of her brain into
submissive silence, faking a smile as she
approached the Klingons with a drink tray and an order
pad. 
“Welcome to the Blue Lemon, I’d just like to remind
you that we don’t like mopping blood off
the floor, gentlemen, so no fights,” she said. They
roared in laughter. “Okay, let me rephrase that. No
fights, or I bring in the big guy with the glowing
gold eyes,” she said menacingly. Nearly every face at
the table dropped, and the Klingons looked at each
other uncertainly, then back up to the mirrored
one-way office windows.
One who was apparently the leader spoke up. “We do
not wish to..” he paused, eyes on the
windows, “Offend, the great warrior,” he grumbled out.
“Good, then enjoy your evening, gentlemen,”
Aliya said, turning to walk away.

One of the Klingons who had not been present at the
first ‘main event’ bar fight with Kiraan as
Bouncer spoke up. “[Why do you fear
this...otherworlder so?]” he asked near a whisper. 
The leader
growled, sitting straighter in his seat. “[Fear this
one, young warrior. Legends will be written of him
some day, if they have not already.....]” he said
softly, reverently. Kiraan in a blood-rage was enough
to
take the fight out of event he most battle-hardened
Klingon Warrior.

--------

“TRELARI!” the cry came, shrill and short-sounding,
answered by an instinctive defensive roar
like a Godzilla-sized Lion. “Oh crap,” Aliya
muttered, rushing to damage-control with Yoda already.

Luckily, Qui-gon had disappeared, but Obi-wan spit his
drink- definitely not fruit punch- halfway across
the bar. 
Aliya rounded the pillar, and saw Yoda up on a
barstool, with something that was definitely not
his cane threatening Kiraan. “How in the...” she
began. How Yoda had managed to smuggle a
mini-lightsaber in here, she didn’t want to know. All
she wanted now was to get it off him before he
hacked her master and business partner into pieces. 
Hoping Kiraan had been right in even attempting to
teach her T.K., she hastily forced herself to focus on
the little weapon in the ticked-off Jedi’s hands. 
It moved, and Yoda and Kiraan both flinched in
surprise. The little lightsaber did a short hop
out of his hands, falling to the floor, sounding like
a toy flashlight when it hit. Aliya was momentarily
terrified that she’d just blown any chance she had of
a normal life, when a hand on her shoulder passed a
telepathic message. 
(Don’t say anything, they’ll think it was me.) 
Obi-wan’s voice was clear in her mind and
sounded slightly impressed. Aliya kept her mouth shut
as the enraged little Jedi spun his barstool around
to face Obi-wan. “Insult me, you do, padawan Kenobi. 
My fight this is. Keep your pasty human nose out
of it you will!” the normally calm and focused Yoda
snarled.
“Master Yoda, this isn’t...” Obi-wan began, but
Kiraan opened his smart mouth. “You always
were the short-tempered one,” he rumbled. Of course,
that set Yoda off in a hundred different degrees of
pissed. “Trelari filth! Killed you the day you were
brought to the temple, I should have. Personally!”
Yoda screeched. Kiraan snarled, not the polite snarl
that said ‘Shut up’, but the snarl that said ‘Shut up
before I kill you with your own intestines tied around
your scrawny throat’.
Uh-oh.
This was progressing beyond Damage Control.
This was close to War.

“If my species hadn’t brought your over in the
Crossing, you wouldn’t even exist, Vagrant slime
of a Hutt’s A..” Kiraan stopped, glancing at Aliya,
“Rear,” he finished. One thing, he did hate to swear
in
front of ladies. Yoda launched into a tirade in two
different languages, and Kiraan snarled disgusted
rebuke. “Your people were scavengers in our galaxy! 
We should have flushed you with the rest of the
garbage when we arrived in the galaxy!” 
Yoda launched into another string of insults as old
as he was, then lunged off the chair at Kiraan
with a growl. Obi-wan managed to catch him in
mid-air, temporarily defusing the situation. “Trelari
filth!” Yoda continued to yell as he was dragged
across the room and towards the vortex. “No! No, no,
no, NO!” he cried, trying to wriggle out of Obi-wan’s
arms. He managed to snag a pillar, and held on for
dear life.
“No! behave I will! No more Tequila! Stay I wish
to! No!” he whined. Kiraan purred from the
corner, moving forward slowly, the little topaz glint
that meant mischief in his eyes. “Begging sounds so
good coming from your end for once, _Master_ Yoda,” he
rumbled, a very un-Jedi tone to his voice. “I
think I will let you stay,” he purred, and Obi-wan
turned to look at Kiraan strangely. “On one
condition,”
the ancient master chuckled, watching Yoda’s uneasy
look. “Door Duty.”
“NOOOOooooOooOOOOOoooOoOOoooooOOOOOOO!” the little
green being cried as Obi-wan
carried him over and deposited him into the booth next
to the door with more sadistic joy than a Jedi
should have. Kiraan force-locked him into the room,
and the little Jedi master beat on the door
desperately. 
“NO! door duty, beneath me it is! Deceive me,
everyone will try to! Padawans with Sith-made
Fake Ids, this is not for a Jedi master!” he whined. 
Kiraan stood with a malicious smirk longer than he
should have, enjoying the intoxicated Jedi’s whining. 
“By the Force, I’ve waited a lifetime to hear that!”
he said, almost cackling with glee. The room returned
to its own business after Yoda quieted down.
“Free drinks, do employees get?” a timid voice asked
from the box. “Least you can do, after such
great embarrassment.”

-------

Aliya pressed the cool glass of ice against her
forehead. No drinks, no matter how bad she
needed one for her nerves. A pair of soft hands on
her shoulders, and her headache lessened. She
half-turned, seeing Obi-wan rubbing her shoulders. 
She felt the urge to ‘Hmmm,’ at the contact, but
suppressed it. She was in no mood to be pleasant for
any reason to anyone. A gentle warm feeling along
the back of her skull told her he wasn’t just using
his hands. 
Aliya casually shoved his hands off her shoulders
with a shrug. “Better?” he asked. “A little,
Thanks, at least until the next crisis threatens to
kill, maim, destroy or eat the club, or Kiraan, or
Both,”
she said, then sighed, pressing the glass to her
forehead again. Obi-wan smiled gently, “You know, I
could probably work on that headache a little better
someplace a little more quiet."
Aliya had to back-slap a few segments of her brain
into going over the words again. Then the
inflections. Then the little warm nudge on the back
of her mind that was coupled with a gentle hand on
her shoulder. 
Oh crap.
Did Obi-wan Kenobi just hit on me?

She looked over in disbelief, but there he sat,
awkward look and curious eyes, waiting for her
response. Obi-wan Kenobi just hit on her.
She shook her head, clearing away the thought. Come
on, anything, anything to get rid of that
thought. Get rid of the feel of his hand on my arm. 
Get rid of that little flutter I usually only feel
around
Kiraan...
Oh crap.
Kiraan.

The brief image of Kiraan’s hand in Obi-wan’s place,
rested on her shoulder. Wait, correct that. 
She felt him gently and experimentally caress the back
of his fingers along the side of her throat. Uh-oh. 
She frantically tried to replace the feeling with
everyone from Darth Maul to Mickey Mouse. 
This is not working.

Fingers laced around her hand, pulling away the glass
of ice and setting it down. She forced an
image of Greedo over Obi-wan, hoping to gross herself
out enough to dissuade herself from feeling that
annoying little flip-flop. He kissed her hand.
Ohhhhh crap.
He kissed my hand!!!
Somewhere, from the back of her mind, she knew this
was way more screwed-up than getting
turned on by a lethal Jedi master, but it felt less
screwed up than fantasizing about said ancient Jedi
master. At least Obi-wan was human. 
The cold spill of liquid across the bar saved Aliya. 
Zek looked at her sideways, mopping up the
mess as Obi-wan backed away, releasing her hand, the
mood broken. (Thanks,) she thought at her
brother. (Care to broadcast those hormones a little
louder? I don’t think they sensed you in Jersey,) Zek
thought back quietly, finishing cleaning up and
setting another empty glass of ice down for her. 
(Obi’s had a few beers and a shot of Jack, watch it,)
Zek warned. Aliya nodded slightly, pressing
the glass of ice to her forehead again. -Great
Obi-wan has beer-goggles on, and I just happen to be
the
only one not passed out in his field of view.- She
sighed. -Just great.-
“Oh, by the way,” Zek said aloud. Aliya looked up,
weary already before hearing it. “What
now?” Zek looked sheepish, “Somebody’s been spiking. 
Yoda got some, and from Londo and G’kar, I
think they got some too.” Aliya let her head hit the
bar with a thud, trying to knock some sense into it,
or
at least a shred of reality into the mayhem of the
Metaverse.
“Please, please, PLEASE tell me it’s not Sith
related,” she whined quietly to the bar-top. Zek
sighed, confirming it. “Not again....”

------------
(Flashback to fifteen minutes before.)

A figure dressed in black on a speederbike appeared
across the street outside the club in a flash of
blue lightning. He looked up at the neon sign above
the door, smiling slowly, the kind of sick, evil smile
only the Grinch could do better. He dismounted the
bike, grabbing a large, black, cube-shaped object
from the back.
“You can’t be a Sith, you’re only a Dark Jedi. Not
even Dark, just a fallen Jedi,” he imitated
Kun’s accent sourly. “I’ll show you bloody Sith Lords
what a REAL Darksider can do,” he grumbled
aloud, heading for the door. He banged on the door
roughly, and the sliding panel in the side wall
opened. 
“Password?” the Ferengi asked. “Open the damn door
or I’ll rip your bloody ears off,” the figure in
black snapped, pushing a long lock of dark hair back
under his hood. “Hmm, nope, wrong password,” the
Ferengi said, then slammed the little window shut. 
Xanatos sighed, resisting the urge to force-fry the
little crossover-accident. Ferengi responded well to
greed and mayhem, if he remembered correctly. 
“Hey, want to make a few extra credits?”
The little door opened so quick it seemed to have
dematerialized. “Federation or those Republic
Datarie things?” the alien asked suspiciously but
interested. “Neither, something more valuable than
both,” the dark figure said, smiling. The Ferengi was
hooked, “What you got in mind?” Xanatos
produced a small vial from the folds of his robe. 
“Slip some of this into Yoda’s drink. When the chaos
starts, I doubt anyone will be paying attention to
their wallets.”
The Ferengi gave a jagged, malicious grin. “You got
it! The little toad’s been traipsing around
here like the biggest thing on the planet. Anything
to embarrass that pointy-eared freak,” he said,
snatching the vial as Xanatos handed it though the
slot. “Have fun,” he mused aloud, walking back to his
bike and lounging against it, waiting for the fun to
start.

Several minutes later, the flood of despair and
anguish radiating from a certain Jedi master made
Xanatos chuckle. “Right on time,” he mused aloud,
picking up the cube by the handle and heading for the
door.

“Id, I need to see,” Yoda grumbled from behind the
door. “You don’t need my id, master Yoda,”
Xan said, smiling. Yoda blinked away the
alcohol-induced haze, frowning. “Xanatos?” he gasped,
barely
a hiss. “Dead, you are. Chaos, this universe truly
is in, if truly you are alive.” Xan smiled, “Yoda,
dear,
sweet Yoda,” he crooned. “You know how good I am at
pretending. What makes you think I didn’t just
fake my own death? Like their, who was it? Elvis. 
Yes. But then again, this is the Metaverse.”
Yoda blinked blankly. “To drunk I am to ponder the
universe. No card, no entry.” “But I bring
presents!” Xan sing-songed, his smile brightening to
game-show-host glare, holding up the cube by its
handle to where he could see. Yoda gasped, and nearly
started drooling. 
“Karaeoke Machine,” Yoda drooled in hungry awe. 
“Dark side you are, admit you I should
not...” he stared longingly at the machine. “Enter
you will, now! and unlock me from this Door-duty you
will!” Yoda ordered, buzzing the door open.
Xanatos grinned, stepping through the door. 
“Sucker...”


Last segment!
-------------

(back to the present)

Obi-wan was on his next beer already, switching to a
stronger brand somewhere along the line. 
He barely noticed the figure in black setting up a
large black cube on the small stage he was hiding
beside. 
Xan caught the heavy scent of fermented hops and
looked down. He let out a single, loud, derisive,
triumphant “HA!”, then caught himself as Obi-wan
looked up. Xan ignored him, going back to hooking
the Karaeoke machine into the sound system.
Obi-wan managed to part the haze long enough to
recognize a few things on the mysterious
stranger blocking his view of Aliya at the Gundam
Pilot’s table. Long hair. Black hair. Blue eyes. 
Scar. 
Familiar scar? Evil smirk. Scar....black
hair....blue eyes....lightsaber? Obi-wan looked up,
finally piecing
it together. “Xanatos?” he asked uncertainly. Xan
smiled, “Welcome to the Metaverse, where Vorlons
and Klingons coexist, and I’m still alive and kicking.
See?” he said, and proceeded to kick Obi-wan in
the leg. 
“Ouch,” Obi-wan mumbled weakly, rubbing his shin. 
Xan smiled, “Oh, by the way, ever seen a
Karaeoke machine?” Obi-wan looked up, then at the
machine. His eyebrows went up. “Yes, Jedi-boy, let
it sink in slowly. Karaeoke, party, singing, drunken
fools like yourself embarrassing yourself publicly,”
Xanatos said, making the final connections.
He plugged the machine in just as Obi-wan struggled
to his feet. “Welcome to the party,” Xan
teased, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, by the way,
did you know that Karaeoke is Japanese for
Tone-deaf?” he asked the inebriated Jedi, then fought
of an evil gloating villain laugh. [You know the
one, the one that goes “Muahahahaha!” or something
like that] It’s cliché, but it’s what some villains
do.

Xanatos casually strolled away from the machine as
Obi-wan read the song list. He found a good
spectator’s seat, flopped down, and waited for the
first one to go. As he’d feared and hoped, it was
Yoda.
He covertly pulled out his holocam and hit Record. 
This was gonna be fun.

----

Just when Aliya thought her headache was at critical
mass, the noise began.

“The Timeeee Warrrp, Leeet’s dooo agaiiiinnnn!” a
very drunk voice sang over the speakers. 
The crowd was hooting and cheering, and generally
mocking Yoda’s attempt at Rocky Horror.

This was not happening. This could not be happening.
The riotous evil laughter coming from a
table in a prime observation spot caught her
attention. No way, that can’t be.... 
Aliya shook it all of, deciding to go hide in the
pantry until it was all over. The brush of a hand
across her backside as she opened the kitchen door
startled her. “Leaving your own party?” a very
plastered Obi-wan asked suggestively. Aliya didn’t
even know if he’d noticed his own suggestive tone, or
if he was really meaning to broadcast the beer-goggles
that much. She casually ignored him, ducking
inside the door.
She flattened herself against the fridge door, out of
breath. What in the universe was going on
here???
Okay, step one. Somebody spiked people’s drinks with
Sith drugs. Okay, that was easy to live
with. G’kar and Londo had been hauled off to their
own respective ends of the galaxy to sleep it off
after
the fist-fight. Yoda was doing Rocky Horror in a
place where Karaeoke was forbidden by Kiraan’s decree.

Xanatos, alive and well, and probably the source of
the Karaeoke machine, and probably the drugs. Aliya
was willing to blame even the Klingons on Xanatos
right now if it gave her someplace to focus everything
that had happened tonight into one little ball of
lethal rage.....
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She spun, ready
to knock Obi-wan through the nearest
portal.
Kiraan.
Oh crap.

He sighed, looking at her from his normal image, not
the six-foot-plus force-illusion. He was
short. Well, not short, but still only chin-high to
Qui-gon, who stood behind his shoulder. The two
looked well-matched, like old friends....
Oh no, that was it. Kiraan was out of his illusion
because of Qui-gon. Aliya suddenly
remembered the few stories she’d downloaded after
meeting him. “Conflict of Interest”, the two of them
were friends, Kiraan had saved Qui-gon in childhood,
and Qui-gon had saved Kiraan later in life, when
he’d been near death.
Death.
Qui-gon.
The Phantom Menace.

Oh crap.
It finally hit her, what had been wrong, and why
Kiraan had tried to block any other characters
from the Star Wars universe from coming through at
first. It still hurt. Even after everything that had
happened here, Qui-gon’s death still hurt. Aliya
suddenly realized that she needed to finish reading
those
stupid stories. Soon.

Kiraan smiled softly, pulling his hand away. “The
Ferengi sprinkled some of Xanatos’ powder
onto your headache glass when you went to pester Duo
and Heero. I didn’t see it until it was too late,”
Kiraan rumbled softly, still looking sad. Aliya took
a deep breath in, calming herself. “We confiscated
the vial,” Qui-gon said. Aliya sighed, “I’m guessing
that means Obi-wan is just plain drunk then,” she
said, then immediately regretted it. “He’s what?”
Qui-gon demanded. “Oops,” Aliya muttered
sheepishly. The two masters stormed out into the
club, and Aliya followed.
She nearly bumped into Kiraan as he stopped dead in
front of her. She chased off the idea of
bumping into him on purpose, then faking that it was
an accident. Barely. She looked toward where the
two were looking, then stared, dumbstruck.
Obi-wan was stripped to the waist, on stage with
Xanatos, doing a fair job of Jordan Knight’s
“Give it to you” that had several of the Hutt’s
dancing girls drooling at the edge of the stage. 
Sadly, Obi-wan does
have a pretty fine form under the robes, and a fair
singing voice to go with it. 
(Note to self, Get Obi-wan drunk, bring him to a
strip club, bring a video camera, then sell tape
over the internet.) No! Bad Aliya! she snapped at
herself mentally. The song was over, and Kiraan and
Qui-gon were still in shock. Aliya recognized the
opening of the next song as a Nine-inch-nails song,
and
knew it was definitely time to get the boys off the
stage. No way the council would accept Obi-wan back
without probation if he sang “Closer” on stage with
Xanatos, half-naked and drunk out of his wits.
“Umm, Kiraan.....” Aliya began, but he’d already
taken the hint after the first few lyrics. Kiraan
heaved him off the stage and over his shoulder,
carrying him toward the kitchen. Obi-wan protested
loudly and explicitly, somehow falling into a strange
accent that sounded almost Scottish. Naah, he
couldn’t have... Aliya listened, Yep, he really did
sound like Ewan Magregor when he’s drunk! She
fought to keep from laughing, then lost it when
Obi-wan managed to flip her and Qui-gon off as he was
hauled through the doors.
Qui-gon’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he turned
toward Xanatos slowly, who was laughing
his fool head off onstage. He snapped to seriousness
with lightning speed at the look in Qui-gon’s eyes. 
He abandoned the Karaeoke machine, grabbing his cloak
and lightsaber as he rolled off the stage and
bolted for the door. Qui-gon barely had time to reach
for his lightsaber before the boy was a dark blur out
the door.
He settled for a ‘Next time..’ snarl and a sigh, then
turned and shoved open the door to the
kitchen angrily. Aliya recognized the look in his
eyes, she’d seen it a few times on Kiraan, usually
when
he was getting ready to start screaming or throwing
people out windows.
“What in the name of the Force did you bloody hell
think you were doing!?!?!” an unmistakable
accented voice that was normally calm and collected
bellowed loud enough to be heard all the way across
the club. People fell silent for a second at the
sudden sound. “Padawan hell! I should have left you
in
Agri-corp!” he boomed again. Something was mumbled. 
“Xanatos and his damn Karaeoke can kiss
my...” Qui-gon broke off, finally realizing how loud
he was being. 
Yoda, who was on the verge of passing out, was in the
arms of a very lovely Quadraan, who had
two hands busy toying with the ends of his ears, and
the other two cradling him like a baby. In the
silence
after the screaming, Aliya vaguely caught him saying
something to her. 
“Yes, Jedi master I am, yes, very powerful, very
powerful in the force. Powerful in other things
as well, I am. Show you, I could,” he was practically
purring to her. Aliya blocked the image of Yoda
getting lucky with an alien as freaky as himself and
headed for the ladies room.

“Oh Apollo,” someone moaned, breathing heavily. 
Aliya shut the door, face going pale. -Woah,
that is NOT something I need to interrupt.- she
thought, whistling innocence and walking away.
-Did Xanatos slip some Viagra into everyone’s drinks
too?- he asked herself mentally. Zek was
busy chasing a busload of Jawas back into the vortex,
and the room seemed to be clearing already. 
Michael Garibaldi appeared from the portal, looking
ticked. “You!” he growled, pointing at Zek. Zek
backed, startled. “Whatever the hell you and these
people did to Londo and G’kar, you’d better have a
way to UNdo it, quick!” “Why? what’s up?” Aliya
asked, walking over. Garibaldi fumed. “Londo just
decked G’kar, then he went after me and Sheridan when
security tried to restrain him. Then, the fun
started! G’kar started cussing in languages I didn’t
even know existed, and didn’t want to know existed!”
he said in exasperation.
Zek hid his head in his hands. “Oh, I’m not done
yet,” Garibaldi growled. “Currently, the two
are locked in cells at opposite ends of central
security. Before that, the two of them were beating
the
stuffing out of each other AND my people!” Zek’s head
dropped to the bar-top, hidden behind his arms. 
“Worse than that, we’ve all got to put on happy faces
and turn into nice little actors once I get
back, and I KNOW they’re gonna love trying to explain
G’kar and Londo looking like they just stepped
out of a boxing ring overnight in the next episode!” 
Aliya and Zek shared a deep sigh of unfathomable
emotion at the way the night had turned out. “Just
another night at the office,” Zek quipped from beneath
his arms. 
“Mister Garibaldi,” Kiraan said, seeming to
materialize from nowhere again. The deep rumble
of his voice made Garibaldi jump. “Please accept my
personal apologies. This incident was caused by a
being from my own universe who was attempting to wreak
as much havoc as possible before being caught. 
Sadly, he escaped before we could exact any sort of
punishment, but believe me, he will be brought to
answer for this.” Kiraan ended with an ominous growl,
flexing his claws out of their sheaths, then
retracting them.
Garibaldi, as usual, looked completely unnerved by
Kiraan. “Okay, um,” he said, then paused,
breathing a controlled breath out. “Look, they’re not
too happy, and quite honestly, I _never_ wanna see
Londo or G’kar that drunk again. So, um, just watch
out for them next time, okay? I’m gonna warn them
to stick to the Zogalo from now on though. Sorry,” he
said, then shrugged and started for the vortex. 
Kiraan nodded, giving him a slight inclination of the
head in respect as he vanished into his own
universe. He growled immediately after Garibaldi was
gone, turning now-luminous eyes at his two
partners and apprentices. “We are going to have a
very, very long talk about all this later,” he
rumbled. 
His tone was well past ominous approaching storm, it
was now somewhere closer to a global disaster, not
quite bad enough to warn of force-lightning, but the
angry storm-clouds were there, and no longer just
beneath the surface.
It was gonna be a long night.


-------------------

With Obi-wan safely snuggled in bed, Qui-gon staying
over on the couch, Kiraan a little calmer,
and the last Jawa chased out of the pantry, things
almost seemed normal. With the exception of the three
Jedi, wait, correction, four Jedi. Yoda was found
sound asleep in an exhausted dancing girl’s arms,
purring like a kitten. No one wanted to know what had
happened in that closet, so they were both left to
sleep it off.
Zek was asleep on the bar-top, sprawled across the
imported oak surface, not caring about
anything. Aliya was toying with a penny, slowly
making it move across the floor without touching it. 
(Stop that and go to sleep,) a voice ordered. She
ignored Kiraan’s voice for once. (You could always
join
me..) on very drunk padawan suggested from upstairs
before his master blocked him. 
(Sleep sound better?) Kiraan asked snottily. Aliya
yawned. Actually, it did. (Not with you!!)
she snarled mentally at Obi-wan, who smirked
telepathically. Obi-wan was mentally broadcasting an
Orgy song, it half-sounded like “Stitches” through the
alcohol-haze. A thump and distant giggle from the
general direction of the ladies room, and Aliya
snickered and smiled. She pulled a spare pillow and
blanket from the storage closet, trying not to step on
Yoda. Walking over to the bathroom, she opened the
door a crack, threw the pillow and blanket in, then
closed the door and walked off, leaving the two
lovebirds alone.
-Way to go, Apollo!- she cheered mentally. About
time. Past time. Well past time. Well, at
least he wasn’t as sad as Marcus. At least Apollo
wouldn’t die a virgin in season five of his show. 
Poor
Marcus Cole. Aliya picked up a Pikachu from its usual
place curled up next to the gothic lantern. It
purred a muffled “Peekaa,” snuggling into her arms
like a little yellow kitty. Ever since Goku had
carded
Ash on door-duty, he hadn’t been back, but his pet
certainly enjoyed a good bar-brawl. 
-Stupid Anime people,- she grumbled mentally,
scratching Pika’s ears. The only cute one was
Zechs, and he refused to come back after the incident
with the string cheese and the angry Jawas. Aliya
sighed, setting Pikachu down in a safe corner high on
a shelf. She picked up a broom and glanced at her
brother with a sigh. 
“Well, another normal night at the Blue Lemon,” Zek
sighed sarcastically, prying a Drakkan
dagger out of the wall. “By the way, another assassin
showed up looking for Kiraan,” he casually
mentioned. “Londo decked him before we shoved them
home. He never got the chance to go past tossing
a dagger.” Aliya shook her head, “Someday, I’m gonna
wake up, and this will all just have been a very
bad dream,” she announced, then sighed. “I’m going to
bed, wake me when the vortex reverts and
everything goes back to normal,” she said, walking
toward the stairs. 
Zek shrugged, waiting until she was gone to snatch
Pikachu up by the scruff and fling it
unceremoniously though the vortex like a bean-bag. 
“Piiiiiiiiiiiiik!” it screeched in terror, waking up
before disappearing through the wall. Zek sighed, a
grin on his face. “Now _that_ felt good,” he mused
aloud, chuckling and returning to sweeping the floor.
--------------------------------

“What do you mean ‘Sith don’t do Jordan Knight’?!?!”
Xanatos bellowed angrily at the convened
Sith Lords. Exar Kun just smirked. “A real Sith
would never stoop to Karaeoke,” he stated. Xanatos
had
to fight back the aura of violet-blue lightning that
danced around him in rage. “You’ll have to do better
than a drunken padawan doing Nine-inch-nails,”
Qel-droma added, then shut up at the snarl from the
already-beyond-pissed Xanatos. 
“Fine,” Xanatos hissed, “Next time I’ll get Kiraan
singing,” he grumbled menacingly. Kun and
several others burst out laughing. Xanatos ignored
them, storming off for the door, cloak billowing
behind. “You will not deny me what I’ve earned,” he
snarled once safely outside. “You’ll see,” he
grumbled, climbing aboard his speederbike and tearing
off into the night.


(Note: There is an area almost like Outworld in
Mortal
Kombat surrounding the Blue Lemon. After the rift
formed the Metaverse, several supposedly-deceased
Sith Lords, killed-off villains, executed vampires and
others discovered the flaws in the fringe of the
Metaverse and moved in across the street from the
club. An exact copy of the city surrounding the Blue
Lemon and the Metaverse for three blocks, the
void-zone is nicknamed the Neitherverse, and is home
to
its own reality and timeline seperate from all the
other universes.)


----------------end------------------------ 

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