star wars ficlet
[pentadrabble I wrote like 3 years ago and never got around to posting. Padawans Dooku & Jocasta Nu, 500 words]
“Why didn’t you read the text we were assigned?” Jocasta demanded, casting a disapproving look upon her fellow Padawan.
Dooku shrugged. “I tried reading it,” he said. “But it’s incredibly dull. It puts me to sleep the moment I look at it.”
“Maybe you need someone to read it to you,” Jocasta offered. “A living voice always brings these old texts to life.”
“Perhaps for you,” Dooku said, with another shrug. “I think I would fall asleep regardless.”
Jocasta huffed. “I’ll make you a bet, then,” she said. “I will read it to you myself, and if you still manage to fall asleep, you can have my desserts for the rest of the week.”
The desserts provided at latemeal by the Padawan refectory were often traded as currency among the Temple’s student occupants. Dooku eagerly accepted the bet; the loser would pay in their share of sweets, and he was serenely confident in his ability to fall asleep to the droning sound of any assigned reading. He was an experienced practitioner of the art.
Jocasta met him later that day in one of the quiet study rooms, datapad in hand, the document already loaded on the screen. Dooku wore an expression of supreme boredom and said he’d rather be sparring.
“There is more to being a Jedi than lightsaber training,” Jocasta lectured. “Knowledge is just as valuable as combat skills.”
“Perhaps we should be a team,” he suggested dryly. “You can quote history at people, while I keep them from killing you.”
“Right now, it’s all I can do to keep you from failing your classes,” Jocasta muttered.
She began reading aloud from the text of their assignment. Within minutes, Dooku had laid his head on the table, determined to doze off and win the bet as quickly as possible. Jocasta kicked him with a booted foot. Dooku’s head shot up. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “What was that?”
“I’m reading to you,” she said. “And it’s in my best interest for you to stay awake. Yours, too, if you want to pass this course.”
Dooku’s eyes narrowed. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we are reading a passage on the tendency of conflicting entities to exploit loopholes in treaties and trade agreements,” Jocasta said, turning the datapad around so he could see the information on the screen. “It’s hardly my fault that you refuse to learn from your own studies.”
“I want a re-negotiation,” Dooku declared.
“A deal’s a deal,” Jocasta said primly, and went back to reading. Dooku tried pulling his hood over his head, but found that the only way to avoid severely bruised shins was to remain seated upright with his eyes open, maintaining a general appearance of attentiveness.
In the end, Jocasta proved a sympathetic adversary, and only demanded half of his week’s dessert allotment. Dooku promptly regained the lost half in an—admittedly loophole-ridden—bet with Sifo-Dyas, who had also made the fatal mistake of not bothering with the reading.
