Someone Has To Spike The Punch (NJO; Wes; old fic)
Title: Someone Has To Spike The Punch
Fandom: Star Wars NJO
Characters: Wes Janson
fanfic100 prompt: #3 Ends
Rating: PG
Words: 546
Notes: Written last summer as my entry fee to the WJFC. Reposted here for fanfic100...
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The war's over.
That feels strange. Not that the war's over, but that I've lived through - and fought in - two of the blasted things. What? Yeah. Makes me feel pretty old.
Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that I do not act my age. At all. I'm quite proud of that fact. Who wants to act old and boring? Who wants to be old and boring? Definitely not me. Never in a lifetime would the answer be me.
And so, the gap between my age and the age I act (some estimate it to be around twelve - I say eight) keeps on growing. I mean, there have been two galactic wars in my lifetime, plus lots of little ones, too. I joke and mess around like a little kid, but the simple fact is that I've lived through two wars - lots and lots (and lots) of people haven't, but I have... and it makes me feel old.
I don't like feeling old.
Whenever I start feeling like that, the simple remedy is usually to play a prank on someone. The unwilling victim often tends to be Wedge, which I think is his own fault, because he's always in the way. Maybe he has some kind of "I want people to play pranks on me" gene. Whatever it is, he's always there, and it's always hilarious and brilliant.
But right now, I'm in the perfect setting to play an elaborate, hilarious prank on about a thousand people from all over the galaxy and - I can't think of anything. Or, I can think of plenty of things, but I just... can't bring myself to do any of it.
Everyone's here - somewhere on Mon Calamari - to celebrate the end of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. There's Wedge and Iella, and Tycho and Winter, and the Solos, and the Skywalkers - including little Ben, who seems like he'd make a great prank apprentice. Forget the Jedi, kid, come learn some jokes. Make it your life's goal to successfully fool your mother.
Everyone's happy, everyone's dancing - all these people, all different types of people from all over the galaxy, all sorts of political affiliations - everyone's linked by some kind of bond, something hidden. Something like the Force those Jedi waffle on about, but everyone can feel it.
Wouldn't it just be redundant to play a joke on these people? Everyone's laughing already, everyone's talking and joking amongst themselves. Chiss Flyboy and Barefoot Girl, Rogue Jedi and Trickster Goddess, Imperials and Rebels... all unlikely friendships and yet I'm seeing them right now as I look out onto the dance floor.
So playing a joke would be redundant, because jokes are there to make people laugh, to cheer people up, or to make them look like fools. Well, everyone's laughing, everyone's happy, and every single one of those dancers looks like a monkey lizard on spice. My work is not needed here.
Like hell if I'm going to abide by that though. There's always something to do. Hence the reason I'm standing here, a bottle of Corellian fire whisky in my pocket and Tatooinian blue milk in my hand, right by the buffet table.
Someone has to spike the punch.
Fandom: Star Wars NJO
Characters: Wes Janson
fanfic100 prompt: #3 Ends
Rating: PG
Words: 546
Notes: Written last summer as my entry fee to the WJFC. Reposted here for fanfic100...
-----
The war's over.
That feels strange. Not that the war's over, but that I've lived through - and fought in - two of the blasted things. What? Yeah. Makes me feel pretty old.
Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that I do not act my age. At all. I'm quite proud of that fact. Who wants to act old and boring? Who wants to be old and boring? Definitely not me. Never in a lifetime would the answer be me.
And so, the gap between my age and the age I act (some estimate it to be around twelve - I say eight) keeps on growing. I mean, there have been two galactic wars in my lifetime, plus lots of little ones, too. I joke and mess around like a little kid, but the simple fact is that I've lived through two wars - lots and lots (and lots) of people haven't, but I have... and it makes me feel old.
I don't like feeling old.
Whenever I start feeling like that, the simple remedy is usually to play a prank on someone. The unwilling victim often tends to be Wedge, which I think is his own fault, because he's always in the way. Maybe he has some kind of "I want people to play pranks on me" gene. Whatever it is, he's always there, and it's always hilarious and brilliant.
But right now, I'm in the perfect setting to play an elaborate, hilarious prank on about a thousand people from all over the galaxy and - I can't think of anything. Or, I can think of plenty of things, but I just... can't bring myself to do any of it.
Everyone's here - somewhere on Mon Calamari - to celebrate the end of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. There's Wedge and Iella, and Tycho and Winter, and the Solos, and the Skywalkers - including little Ben, who seems like he'd make a great prank apprentice. Forget the Jedi, kid, come learn some jokes. Make it your life's goal to successfully fool your mother.
Everyone's happy, everyone's dancing - all these people, all different types of people from all over the galaxy, all sorts of political affiliations - everyone's linked by some kind of bond, something hidden. Something like the Force those Jedi waffle on about, but everyone can feel it.
Wouldn't it just be redundant to play a joke on these people? Everyone's laughing already, everyone's talking and joking amongst themselves. Chiss Flyboy and Barefoot Girl, Rogue Jedi and Trickster Goddess, Imperials and Rebels... all unlikely friendships and yet I'm seeing them right now as I look out onto the dance floor.
So playing a joke would be redundant, because jokes are there to make people laugh, to cheer people up, or to make them look like fools. Well, everyone's laughing, everyone's happy, and every single one of those dancers looks like a monkey lizard on spice. My work is not needed here.
Like hell if I'm going to abide by that though. There's always something to do. Hence the reason I'm standing here, a bottle of Corellian fire whisky in my pocket and Tatooinian blue milk in my hand, right by the buffet table.
Someone has to spike the punch.