Best Intention, Bad Idea

[idontneedluck]

Light running footsteps echo in the solemn stone hallways of the temple, though the inhabitents seem well used to such things. A whip of a man, lean and light and full of a boundless energy that is the bane of the martial arts masters is on the hunt.

When he catches up with his quarry, he is in a fantastically good mood, making his gestures expansive and his smiles luminescent.

"Baze! Baze, come, we are going out." It doesn't even seem to cross his mind that Baze might balk at this directive.

Comments

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut cracks up, holding onto the bar with one hand... both hands as the room spins.

"That sounds very graceful, Baze." He giggles, but a stern cough interrupts any further artistic criticisms he might have.

"Baze Malbus. Chirrut Imwe. What are you doing?"

[iprotectyou]

There stands Elder Koroban, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. Baze stares at him for a few moments before erupting in a high-pitched giggle. "I'm dancing," he says, twirling. "What are yooou doing?"

This does not please the master. "Picking up two wayward acolytes," he growls. He turns to Chirrut. "I suppose this was all your idea?"

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut... is not at all better, snickering at Baze's antics and completely failing to sober up in the face of certain doom.

Or at least certain pot-scrubbing for the foreseeable forever.

"Of course! All of my ideas are wonderful ideas." Chirrut is smug, which is impressive considering he's using the bar to prop himself up. "Baze, don't I have the best ideas?"

Elder Koroban looks as if he's nursing a migrane. Since both of his wayward charges seem completely unable to comprehend the amount of trouble they are in, he settles their tab instead. Chirrut is deeply disapproving of this plan, and starts in on a campaign to convince the bartender to let them stay a little while longer.

[iprotectyou]

The bartender just looks glad to be paid, and doesn't take sides in this fight. Baze slaps Chirrut on the back. "You have the very best ideas, my friend. The very, very best."

Elder Koroban catches Baze by the arm. "You two will have kitchen duties for the next month. Come on. Let's go."

Baze takes Chirrut by the elbow, propping him up as much as leaning against him. "Ready when you are."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut makes for a wobbly handful to get home, drink making him as clingy and distracted, but thankfully less able to wander off of his own accord.

The next morning, the call to rise goes out throughout the temple.

And Chirrut emphatically wishes for death.

[iprotectyou]

Baze turns over in bed, groaning. He stuffs his head under his pillow. "Chirrut," Baze moans, clutching his head. He feels a lothcat defecated in his mouth. He regrets speaking, but he has more to say. "Why did we do that? Why?"

[idontneedluck]

There's muffled whimpering from Chirrut's bed.

Muffled because he's trying to smother himself with a pillow, and it's not being terribly effective.

Thus, he is denied his currently fondest wish to become one with the Force.

"Baze. Baze, I need you to cut off my head, it hurts." He has moved on to plan B, being a practical sort of person.

"Well, I see you two are awake and brimming with verve and vigor." Elder Koroban's voice is as dry as dust as he surveys the room.

[iprotectyou]

"Elder Koroban!" Baze says, lurching out of bed. The movement nearly makes him puke. "We're very sorry, sir. Thank you for coming to get us."

The Elder folds his arms in his sleeves. "Your kitchen duties start today. Maybe next time you'll think before doing something so foolish."

Baze's shoulders sag. "Yes, sir."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut, standing haphazardly at Baze's shoulder and generally looking worse for wear, bows his head.

"Yes, sir."

"And Chirrut?" Elder Koroban's voice is deceptively soft - there's amusement under there that Chirrut doesn't trust at all.

"Yes sir?"

"Master Sheotar is waiting for you in the courtyard." That brings his head up in a hurry, which he regrets immediately afterwards.

"But sir...!" The protest dies there, and his shoulders slump. He can already tell there will be no staying this particular torture.

"Baze, think fondly of me when I'm gone." He says mournfully as he scoops up his staff.