How the Maul Got His Stripes

Title: How the Maul Got His Stripes

Authors: Mayetra and Hedda

Disclaimer: We wished we owned them. Yes we do. We wished we owned
them. How about you? But we don't own them. We're so blue! We make no
money from this story but shell out big bucks to Uncle George!

Special Warnings: Mention of Drug/Alcohol Use, Mention of Adult Themes - Stripping, brief implied M/M situations, implied M/F or M/F/F your pick (brothel)

Beta: Gypsy

Cast: Darth Maul

Category: Humor (We hope!)

Timeline: AU- Pre-TPM

Authors' Note: This is really about a PG-13 to very light R story but
we went with a R rating to be on the safe side. It's an AU fic meant to be humorous, if you can't take a joke than read no further.

Spoilers: None

Summary: How Darth Maul got his famous red and black tattoos.

*~*

It had been a rough night if the aching of my body and the pounding
in my head was any indication. I am almost terrified to open my eyes
for fear that I will find my arm trapped beneath something or someone
so horrible that I will have to gnaw it off to escape. My mouth
tastes like a Krayt Dragon has used it as a bathroom. My head feels
stuffy and it is obvious that I have indulged too much in some sort
of illicit substance.

As I crack my eyes open, I am relieved to find myself surrounded only
by familiar objects and there are no intruders anywhere to be seen.
This is the limit of my visual inspection because the world tilts on
its axis and a wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm me. I quickly
close my eyes and try to remember what exactly it was that I had done
the previous evening.

A meeting with my master comes into focus clearly enough, but that
had been late in the afternoon. Come to think of it, it may have been
the catalyst that led to my current state of discomfort. My master
was particularly miffed with a certain species known as the
Neimoidians and took out his frustrations on me in a very grueling
training session. That is if you can call being repeatedly zapped by
a flurry of purple lightening a training session. I suppose it can be
a good way to hone one's anger in preparation for rising up and
striking down one's master at a future date. But I digress.

After, crawling through the 'secret' entrance to my master's 'secret'
room - really, it's not like everyone in the Senate is oblivious to
it. They just happen to think it's used for 'secret' liaisons with
ladies from a rather upscale brothel, but that is another story
altogether. I seem to remember spending a fair amount of time trying
to get my limbs to cease their twitching. It was then that I recall a
rather curious looking creature asking me if I was trying a new dance
craze or in serious need of medical attention. I would have filleted
him with my lightsabre, but my arms could do little more than flop
around like dying fish deprived of water. I should have asked the
annoying little creature its name so I could exact revenge at a later
time, but my stunning intellect had been reduced to a level that
would have qualified me for a padded room, where I could happily
spend the rest of my days smearing pudding on the walls.

Dance craze… That seems to be sparking a memory of some kind… or
maybe it is a nightmare. Yes, now that I focus I seem to remember a
room full of creatures, flashing lights, and a din of noise that was
either a Hutt mating call or music. Dancing? Sith Lords do not dance;
therefore, it is an impossibility that I should have partaken in some
barbaric, pre-mating ritual with a crowd of complete strangers. Of
course, there is the possibility that I might have had a wee bit to
drink, and in that case, dancing may not have been completely out of
the question.

The thought that I had sullied my pristine temple with some noxious
concoction that might double for coolant among the less-reputable
smugglers is not very comforting, even if it does explain the
dancing. I search the foggy recess of my memory for what it was
exactly that I had drunk. I am not comforted by the memories that
come floating back to me. Glasses, lots of glasses with different
colored liquids in them and I seemed to have tried them all.

Come to think of it, I did not spend my entire evening alone. The
first creature that comes to mind is a humanoid with dark hair that
stuck out in tuffs. He was a rather annoying and kept trying to get
me to try some sort of stick. Thankfully, I seemed to have been
content with the plethora of alcoholic beverages that were paraded
before me by the infuriatingly chipper barkeep. Some people take
happiness to the extreme and should be thrown in the Pit of Carkoon
posthaste.

I groan hoarsely as new recollection comes to the forefront of my
mind. I seemed to have passed a fair amount of time in a place with a
stage where half-drunk creatures paraded around in the buff. An even
more terrifying thought is that I may have participated in this
debauchery. I cannot remove the image of cheering males stuffing
credit chips into a pouch dangling from one of my thighs. Even more
frightening is the knowledge that at least one of those individuals
resembled a Jedi Knight that is often in trouble with the Jedi
Council - Jinn-Qui or something of that nature.

By the power of the Sith! I seem to remember leaving with this
particular Knight. I cannot remember much about where we went but the
name 'Joe' keeps rolling around in my mind. It seems that we went to
visit 'Joe' at his establishment. I can't remember exactly what sort
of service this 'Joe' provided and I am not exactly sure I want to
remember.

My woes at my behavior the previous evening are pushed aside by a
more pressing matter - my bladder. It is full and if I do not wish to
lie in my own filth, I need to take care of it immediately. It is a
long and arduous crawl to the fresher as my body is wracked with
pain. I have heard that hangovers hurt but this is ridiculous. My
head is spinning so horribly that I dare not open my eyes. My horns
are throbbing something dreadful, which is never a good indication
for one of my race.

Relief. I had never thought a bladder could hold so much liquid. As a
matter of fact, I don't ever recall having urinated a rainbow before
but that is the least of my worries. I have noticed something rather
disturbing about my flesh and I think I have a clue as to why my body
aches so horribly. I can only hope that this is some sort of juvenile
prank and it will be taken care of by a quick run through the fresher.

I am doomed! The marks are not only permanent but cover my entire
body. In a flash, I remember exactly what services 'Joe' offered. I
despair at what my master will think when he sees the tattoos. I
cannot fathom what I will tell him and then, like a stroke of
lightening, it hits me - honing my anger. 'Yes, my master, I
purposefully did this to myself. Yes, my master, it was all about the
pain and honing my rage.' I astonish myself at my brilliance.

Oh, the cleverness of me!

The End