Cy Skywalker

Silas: Thanks a lot for paying attention to my stuff. II The Plotseekers headquarters under its disguise as a hair/nail place had all the black curtains drawn in the storefront, causing only a few concerned glances from Main Street passerby wondering why it had closed so early. While the two agents worked in the tie-in writer's house the rain had slowed, stopped, and allowed the heated summer sun to light this section of the earth through the threatening gray clouds. They had stopped en route to home to fold the car's cloth top into its niche. Mourn, closest to the sidewalk, put down her window and expertly vaulted the convertible car's door instead of just opening it. Constantine exited the driver's side the normal way and ran to the storefront door with key in hand. ”œYou're going to draw too much attention, Mourn.”

Tiana: It isn't meant to be funny per se, but it is meant to be lighthearted and wierd. Silas: Thanks for your comment. Perhaps the first part seems rushed because it was meant to be an intro. II In the Star Wars Universe we know... Kit Fisto broke the surface, and scanned the storm. Salt water lapped just above his mouth and he could feel the strong wind drying the sea's spray, rivulets, from the crown of his head. Below, lukewarm currents pushed just as the white stormfront high in the sky before him did. He felt the other Nautolans below through scents and small tides against the mane of head-tails down his back. Come down! They shouted, voices jockeying between the vocal inflection and emotion-scents that make up the language Nautila. Kit could know even without the Force that their insistence was casual . They were Roarke Linke, adventurous fish-farmer, and his three children. Kit resubmerged and swam down to them. Through the clear water distant shores--mountains--could be seen ringing the cove on all sides except oceanward. Roarke said. They swam toward the darker waters where waves rolled themselves up from underneath. The children, two males and a girl, spiraled around with their enormous black eyes fixed on Kit and excited pheromones sloughing off their light green skins. Surely rumors of Jedi propelled them. The five pushed on until the sea floor fell steeply away. Green-gray pillars of stone, coral colonies and plant life rose up here, eroded evidence of Glee Anselm's turbulent first millennia which had distributed the land and the sea and so shaped the life which grew upon it. Roarke took two arm-length metal cylinders from the clips on his belt and set the narrow end of one against a nearby monolith. It extruded flanges and a drill-bit and bored into the rock. Roarke pulled on the cylinder and it came away from its base on a thick gray fibercable. He handed this to Kit. The children swan in spirals and giggled as their father floated to a second column and attached an identical rig. Kit fingered the cylinder. It had various rivets and one small toggle-button. He held the gadget away from himself and tripped the button. The cylinder spilt and unfolded. Strips of strong plastic held tightly together by cords unrolled from their two spirals that had been tucked within the case. Fully extruded and locked, the cylinder became the center of a plane about one and one-half meters long and three hand-spans wide. Roarke returned with a board of his own and tugged hard on both tethers; they held without sign of strain. The sea was turning navy blue, shading to dark in the shadows on the pillars. When he looked up at the surface Kit saw bursts of white froth. Roarke waved his children toward him. The third one elbowed his sister and they quieted with covert close looks passing between them. Kit started for the surface; Roarke followed more slowly and the kids darted to wrap their hands around the fronds and carpets of seaweed on the rock towers. Roarke smiled with pride when he caught up to Kit. They traded grins, kicking up towards the darkling surface with the surfboards under their arms. Kit was surprised at the lightness of the board. Anticipation began the feeling sliding into his brain like the vivacious thrum from a lightsaber; the feeling of anticipated thrill. Roarke and Kit's own research and work had taught him how to properly ready the board in his hands and to keep the tether from tangling. This cove and season were ideal for practice; they created an environment with as much safety as stormsurfing could acheive. Part of the thrill was the anticipation. Kit planned to make the next step in his visit to his homeworld the regional competition, the one in the canyons. Kit and Roarke broke the surface side by side in a roar-filled pit between matured waves. The big storms always rushed up in minutes. The clouds, like the slick undersides of the waves, were azure-black. Rain flew left-to-right. The wave over them crashed. The Nautolans ducked under, all the time breathing through the gills between their neck and shoulders. The ocean smelled of churning. The waves swept overhead. In the next trough they surfaced, gripped the boards, and kicked toward the dying wave. The one following scooped them up. Kit felt the board sliding down, pulled himself onto it, and stood. The sea rushed with him. His balance set and held immovably, perfectly, under the white crest. This surfing, though, was not why Nautolan crowds moved, like tides to the moon, to use the storms. Jedi Master Kit Fisto had come to Glee Anselm and Sabilon for exposure to the culture which had, at least genetically, formed him. He had little concern for finding his blood family. Such a thing was not essential to him, as it was not to his long-time parent figure Yoda or to his siblings-in-mind such as Obi-Wan, Saesee, and Aayla. What he found on Anselm was a world of two amphibious species, his own people and the Anselmi. The latter lived mainly on the land. The Nautolans-- What a wondrous worldscape for them, with the shallow-populated oceans decorated in cities which, with a smooth integrations of technologies, branched out from cliffs or reefs and all the time celebrated life. Often it was life lived on the edge of annihilation which was appreciated the most, so that the modern native sports were fast, brutal, and popular. The people--overwhelmingly natives, especially in rural Sabilon--stuck closely to their own trends. Fashion was of no concern--most Nautolans wore only knee-length shorts underwater in their day-to-day activities. Kit followed this course while in residence. More than half of the Nautolans were too carefree in peacetime to be involved in Republic affairs and politics. Kit had enjoyed himself immensely. Stormsurfing, though, was to be the highlight of the visit. Now he swept up and down the tall wave, testing movement and balance, gripping the board with his feet. Warm spray and the subtle movement of trained muscles. He glimpsed Roarke for a quick moment, bright green against blue-black. Kit shouted, ”œShow me when to fly!”

lol, I just don't want too much critiquing. Some is fine. Truth is fine. Exactly what, though, did you find humorous?

A/N: This is supposed to be a bit confusing untill the third chapter or so. It is currently my main project. The Plotseekers ”œAsk, and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you...”

Author's Notes: In a Star Wars that never was, Annikin Starkiller and his Master, Mace Windy, work to rid the galaxy of Sith pirates. In Star Wars as we know it, Luke and Darth Vader are sent, before completing the Cloud City battle, to strange worlds with hidden messages. Elsewhen in canon, fan favorite Kit Fisto is also in a quandry. In the Real World, a denizen of the virtual reality node FanFiction.vrn overhears an out-of-this-world IM chat. This fic may be updated very spasmatically and may contain slight MaulOC. Suggestions for an alternate title also welcomed. I havn't been here on Jedi.Net for a long time--it's Tiana Caltheye who suggested returning with some writing. If you wanna critique whatever there is of this fic, please do it nicely. I write fanfic for fun. If my original stuff is horrible, then you can chastize me and I'll be thankful. Tiana--Trust me, this isn't gonna turn out to be a universe-crossing fic like everyone and you have done before. And yes, Mourn, if she appears, is the one you know from multiple sources. Adventures of the Starkiller: Infinite Episode One expansive wedge-shaped starship loomed over the grandest planet in the galaxy, bronze, white, and blue Had Abbadon with its innumerable lights. A smaller craft, like a baby from the alligator's mouth, dropped from an airlock beneath it and cruised toward the atmosphere. Below, serene music permeated the temple-home of the Jedi Bendu. The cluster of buildings sat like a last flower on the only mountaintop left on this planet of cities, of buildings that grew like roots pushing both up and down in their efforts to achieve magnificence. The Jedi Bendu temple maintained a garden on the natural ground around its brown walls. Within one rectangular building, the warriors of various species sat in a circle and chanted. ”œAshla. Bendu. Bogan. Bendu. Ashla. Bendu. Bogan,”