A long time ago,
in a galaxy
far, far away ….
The unmistakable sound of Slade’s “Merry Xmas Everybody” reverberates around the walls of the Skywalker’s Tatooine home.
“Don’t you just love classical music at this time of year?” Luke says, embarrassingly dad-dancing along to the music.
“I prefer the more melodic harmonies of Mariah Carey myself,” Han Solo replies, sprawled in one of the two comfy armchairs in front of the open fire, occasionally lifting his legs for a couple of playful Ewoks in Santa hats to crawl underneath.
“Very high brow,” Luke mocks, raising his eyebrows, “my sister’s airy-fairy ways are well and truly rubbing off on you, my friend. Eggnog?”
Luke fills his glass with a thick, yellow liquid before he can reply.
“What did you put in this stuff?” He says, taking a sip before screwing up his eyes to focus better. “It’s got a kick like the Flameout I drank back in my smuggling days but without the gut rot. I’d hold off on giving Yoda any more for the moment, though; he’s got that glazed look in his eyes again, and we don’t want a repeat of the Jabba the Hutt incident, do we? I hear the old slug’s gone right off Klatooine paddy frogs since.”
Han looks up to see Yoda floating close to the ceiling. Lucky Leia got him those Calvin Klein’s for Christmas, he thinks.
“Watch out, kids,” Luke shouts, narrowly missing being upended by a seven and five-year-old, before throwing himself into the other armchair.
Kylo Ren and Ben race around the room, pretending to be Jedi Knights, waving their musical Christmas Lightsabers at each other and shouting, may the force be with you, at regular intervals. From time to time, they beg Chewbacca to give them rides on his back, like a donkey at the seaside, which he does obligingly – it is Christmas, after all – until he gets fed up and tosses Ben off, who avoids being injured by expertly executing a parachute roll on hitting the ground.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mara Jade shouts from the dining room, “come and get it.”
“Boy, am I glad we’ve come to you for Christmas dinner,” Han confides to Luke as they take their seats at the large dining table laden with Christmas fayre, “my beautiful wife might be a formidable leader and kickass fighter, but she’s a shit cook, not much call for cooking in Princess school, I guess.”
“You’re welcome, mate,” Luke says, laughing. “It took me 6 months to recover from her attempt at Bantha Balls if I recall correctly.”
After the hilarity of the cracker jokes: what do you call a pirate droid? – Aargh 2 D 2, what is Jabba the Hutt’s middle name? – “the” and the like, Mara Jade emerges from the kitchen with two large roasted turkeys. One she puts down in front of a disgustingly drooling Chewbacca, along with his Christmas sprout, and the other in front of Yoda – who would’ve known that he had such a skill for carving even though he doesn’t eat meat. Novelty hats perched on heads, vegetables served, and gravy passed around, the meal is in full swing, when the novelty Christmas doorbell chimes.
“Who can that be on Christmas day?” Mara Jade asks.
“It’s not likely to be official business,” Leia replies, “we’ve left C-3PO and R2-D2 in charge. They’re very capable in a haphazard sort of a way, and, besides, we had no problem getting them to work over the Christmas period as droids don’t celebrate like we do. I did lock away the WD40 though, to be on the safe side.”
“Kylo, Ben, go and answer the door,” Luke says, “and if it’s a double-glazing salesman, wave your Lightsabers at them.”
The boys rush off, eager to repel the enemy, returning shortly after, a little disappointed.
“It’s Grandad Vader,” Ben says to Luke, “he wants you.”
“I knew we should’ve invited him,” Mara Jade says to Luke, slightly angrily, “he’d only stir up trouble you said and now look.”
Chewbacca lets out a distinctive Wookie roar.
“Calm down everyone, I’ll deal with it,” Luke replies
“Kill him, said I, but too late, now is,” Yoda says.
“Not helpful,” Luke says as he leaves the room.
At the door, Luke is confronted by a crumpled-looking Darth Vader flanked by two stormtroopers in slightly grubby, ill-fitting suits.
“Merry Christmas, Sid! Merry Christmas, Bert!” Luke says to the troopers, “Get yourselves back to the Care Home now for a nice glass of brandy and a slice of Christmas cake, I’ll take it from here.”
Saluting, the troopers hobble slowly away, glad to loosen their belts and take off their helmets.
“Glory can be ours, Luke,” Vader says in a rasping voice. “Embrace the dark side. Help me, destroy the Emperor, and we will rule the galaxy together.”
“Seriously, dad? We’re not doing this again, are we? It’s Christmas!” Luke says.
“If you won’t join me, then I must kill you,” Vader says even more wheezily, waving his rusty looking lightsaber around uncontrollably.
Luke moves towards him. Losing his balance he stumbles, ending up on his back flailing about like a beetle trying to right itself and struggling for breath. Luke sits him up gently and removes his helmet and his breathing gradually recovers.
“Luke, my boy, Merry Christmas!” the old man says cheerily as if nothing has happened. “Have you got room for a small one extra?”
“Of course we have, Dad,” Luke says, fetching the Zimmer frame from where it had been stashed in the hedge earlier and helping the old man up.
“Lay an extra place, Mara,” he shouts.
Be First to Comment