Written / A Royal Burden


Mel and Janice are owned by whoever bought them from MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures and Star Wars is owned by G. Lucas. I don’t intend to infringe on anyone’s rights and I’m not making a penny off it. I’m just havin’ a good time. Kinda at their expense.

Sanity: I have no claim on it after writing this.

Explanation: The devil made me do it. It was the violent movies, the rap lyrics, a bad piece of sashimi... Go with it, I’m tryin’ to shirk responsibility here. Furthermore, I would like to say that this ditty fell out of my head after trying to explain the concept of crossover fanfiction to my beloved. She is a kind and gentle soul who doesn’t understand anything Xena outside of the eye candy aspect of it, but puts up with me in any case. She’s swell. Perhaps we all would have been better off had I decided to go to sleep afterward and not stayed up getting overly punchy and writing this.

Language: Off color... If this kind of thing offends you, you won’t enjoy this story. Stick to Cooking On High, it’s much more charming.

Thanks: Once again, thanks to Ume for being a swell beta babe. Even if she's baffled by my bardic behaviors, she's keepin' an eye out for my usage and punctuation.

Subtext: I dare you.


A Royal Burden

Mel and Janice/Star Wars and, well, you tell me - Crossover

by Creme Brulee

They told her there would be a reward in it if she could get some spoiled rich dame out of a big metal sphere and get her to safety. Piece of cake.

No one mentioned that the sphere thingy was the size of a friggin’ moon and crawling with Scorn Droopers. She hated Scorn Droopers. They looked down their nose at you every chance they got. Snotty bastards, the lot of ‘em.

They’d infested the galaxy and were known as the most color coordinated set of nasties ever to hold power. They were white humans for the most part, even though some of them sounded like black humans. This was an acoustic anomaly created by their voices reverberating off the insides of the helmets they all wore, all except one of them. He wore a pointy hood. The Scorn Droopers followed every dictum this crazy old goat gave them.

Janice Solo positioned her trusty cargo ship to sneak into the sphere through the garbage chute, a giant pipe that stuck out of the back. Most people wouldn’t think that a sphere had a front or back, but Janice considered the garbage chute side the back, because that was the side opposite the planet Potedia. That place was such a dump that no one would face it on purpose. She piloted the ship in as the trash was being released into Potedia’s none too pristine atmosphere, and landed undetected. Oldest smuggling trick in the book.

Janice suited up, grabbed a shit load of weapons, and headed out the hatch with her trusty, seven foot tall, furry companion, Chicklet. That’s when she noticed that the two guys who’d hired her, an old fart and young crop duster from Tatooie, had left the ship too and were trailing after them.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Janice asked.

“We’re going to help you free the Princess.” Fluke, the young crop duster answered.

“Like hell you are Farm Boy. You and gramps get back on the ship. Last thing I need is one of you getting your asses fried in a laser burst or by one of those light beacon things. Now move it, I don’t have a light year to waste talkin' to you.”

The two men slunk back onto the ship. Janice rolled her eyes and signalled Chicklet to follow. “Men! Always tryin’ to get in the way.”

Janice and Chicklet skulked through the corridors of the sphere, eventually locating the Princess’ cell. The Farm Boy had accessed the sphere’s computers. He wasn’t completely useless. He’d guided them through the ship until they’d located the detention center. And then the shooting began. That’s the part that Chicklet and Janice always liked best.

Once all of the guards in the cell block were dealt with they opened the door that was sure to have the Princess, Janice’s meal ticket, behind it. They entered and spotted a figure reclining on a bench at the back. The woman unfolded herself and stood to her full height.

“Shit Chicklet, she’s almost as tall as you.” Janice gave the toga-clad, lanky brunette a good long stare.

“What are y’all starin’ at?” The woman asked in the dialect common to the nobility of the Southern Quadrant.

“Nothin’ much Princess, and if you don’t want to be fried with a laser blast, I suggest you move your ass. It’s about to be under fire.”

“Who are you?”

“We’re your rescue party, so let’s move it.”

Princess Meleia was no fool. She knew an opportunity when she saw one. She also knew trouble, but as this ragtag duo were her only chance at escape, she chose to take fate by the balls and twist. “Get out of my way.” She brushed past the two blocking the door and was about to enter the hallway when the short obnoxious woman in the droid armor yanked her back. Just in time to keep her nose from being removed by the laser bolt that flew past.

“What the hell was that?” She asked, her accent growing more faint as anxiety gripped her.

“Pulse from a laser rifle, I expect.” Janice rolled her eyes again and pushed the woman toward Chicklet. “Stay put for a second, sweetheart. I’ll take care of this.”

And she did. If there was one thing Janice was good at, it was getting out of a scrape. She’d had a lot of practice, because she’d been in so many... or if you really wanted to get picky, because she’d caused so many. But people were rarely so particular once she’d saved their asses from one. The princess, however, proved more difficult to impress.

They left the cell block and scurried through the corridors of the station. Janice was talking to Fluke on a small intercom, trying to figure a way back to the ship that might also leave their skins intact. The princess was getting impatient. She pushed past Chicklet saying, “Would someone get this walking carpet out of my way? Hasn’t anyone told you there’s a hormone therapy for that condition?”

Chicklet howled in indignation. Was it her fault she had slight hair growth issues? People could be so mean. That’s why on her planet they were usually used as fertilizer or the occasional snack.

They made it back to the ship and were ready to take off.

“That was too easy.” The princess stated. “They let us go.”

“Well you’re full of encouragement, aren’t ya?” Janice asked. “Do you even realize that we just saved your naggin’ ass from those goons? And that was a big help back there, screaming bloody murder when that guy shot your hair off.” It had also been amazing to watch the princess return the volley of laser fire and take out near half a battalion of Scorn Droopers while dousing the flames shooting out from the sides of her head with her free hand.

“Hold on to your seat sister, this bitch (the pet name Janice gave all of her ships), is ready to move.” And they hyper-drived that baby out of the garbage chute and were off in a flash.

“Was it hard to get out? Were there a lot of guys you had to kill? Was there a lot of blood all over the place when you blasted all of the cell guards?” Fluke asked, his eyes aglow.

Janice shot Chicklet a look. “Nah, but there was this ugly dude who came rattling up to us in black blast armor and a cape yelling something about the “force” and a guy named Owe Me One. I blew his ass away. Fool was crazy.”

The others stared at Janice. Then looked at each other and shrugged. No one could make any sense of the mysterious encounter with the man in black.


They were making good time. If all of the instruments were telling the truth and the bucket of crap Janice called her ship held together for another five light years.

Janice was monitoring the instrument panel and making sure Fluke didn’t get any funny ideas about touching anything.

“So Fluke,” Janice said. “You think a woman like the princess and a woman like me...”

“No.” Fluke gave her a look.

“Why not?” Janice wanted to know. Sure, she wasn’t the most respectable choice for a princess. But she was only talking about a quickie in the broken compartment of the cryo chamber, not eternal bonding.

“Because it’s perverted, that’s why not. You’re both women.”

Janice stared at Fluke and fingered the blaster at her hip. “Fuckin’ provincial shit.” She thought. “Goddamned crop dusters still think it’s the friggin’ 21st century. Once I have my reward, his ass is the first to get blown away.”

Fluke got off his snotty, bigoted rear and went into the other compartment, hoping to get a peek at the princess’ ample cleavage. She’d shed her toga and was wearing something people from the Southern Quadrant considered more comfortable. That it made the people around them less so, was their own problem.

Janice kicked back in her seat and was getting ready to enjoy a sip of her favorite Burgundian fire juice when the princess walked into the compartment and pushed Janice’s feet off of the dashboard where she’d been resting them.

“Damn it to hell! What are you trying to do?” Janice yelled.

“Y’all are so crude.” The princess scolded. “Can’t you act civil, even for a micro second?”

“Yeah, possibly. Like when I’m standing in front of the gates of hell waiting to explain how I ended up there because this privileged shit stormed into the cockpit and pushed my feet off the controls of my ship that I was trying to steer around a fuckin’ asteroid that was flyin’ right up my ass!”

With that said, Janice repositioned her boot on the controls, just in time to avoid the extra large asteroid they’d come upon as the ship had slowed out of Hyper-Sensitive Space.

“Oh my!” The princess breathed as she bent forward, craning her neck to watch the asteroid fly past.

Janice’s mood was remarkably improved by the view. As the princess leaned over on the dash, Janice was treated to a display of the princess’ royal orbs. “Hot damn!” She exclaimed.

The princess turned her head to look Janice in the eye, but couldn’t make eye contact because the pilot’s eyes were firmly affixed elsewhere. “Well, I declare!”

“You should.” Janice agreed.

The princess stood. Janice smirked and took a swig from her canteen.

“Are you drinkin’ and drivin’?” Meleia asked.

“Why no ma’am.” Janice answered truthfully. “We’re on auto pilot now. I just needed to fly her for a minute while we made the switch into Banal Space drive.

“Oh. What’s that you’re having?” The princess inquired.

Two hours later. Fluke walked into the cockpit again and was shocked to the roots of his provincial hair to find the princess rolling on the floor with the short and crabby pilot. At first he thought they’d got in a fight, but then he noticed that neither one of them was wearing any clothes. And he still might have thought it was a fight, because he’d never seen women fighting out in the dust fields of Tatooie, but the princess kept yelling, “Oh yes! Yes!” and Janice yelled back, “Ice Princess, my ass!”


They reached their destination. Janice had collected her reward and said goodbye to her motley group of passengers. She was getting ready to blast Fluke in the ass when the princess came up behind her and gave her a big squeeze. Nearly gave Janice a heart attack. That woman had a grip you wouldn’t believe. She also talked faster than a laser blast in Hyper-Sensitive space and was midway through a sentence before Janice had been spun all of the way around.

“And this is her, Momma and Poppa. Ain’t she cute? She’s the pilot that saved me from the Scorn Droopers! She’s short, but feisty and has a mouth on her that’d make a veteran pilot blush. But I expect that’s just rough training and I’ll have her cleaned up and on a leash in no time!”

“Of course you will Precious!” Poppa said. Momma looked like she was mid aneurism.

“Meleia, you are not bringing another... That, into our Habitto Pod!” Momma exclaimed. “I won’t permit it! Last time you were rescued by a sleaze from Diogoba 2, she stayed for three months, ate us out of pod and home and stole the holographic maid when she left.”

“But Momma, Janice is different. Can’t you see? I’m in love!” Mel turned to the now pale Janice and lifted her in a loving, but crushing embrace. And while Janice was readjusting to the pressure to her ribs she realized that she too was fond of the princess in her own way. Especially since her hair had stopped smelling of singed swamp rat.

“Look Mel.” Janice said. “I can see I’m not welcome. I think it’d be better for everybody if I high-tailed it on outta here.”

It was a self-sacrificing gesture on Janice's part. She’d heard that those Habitto Pods could be pretty swank. She wouldn’t have minded getting to see the inside of one. And she thought Mel’s last rescuer must have been an insane bitch, because there was no way a holographic maid could do half of what Mel was capable of. Janice wasn’t about to admit how she knew that for a fact.

“Not on your life, little woman!” Mel exclaimed. “You’re mine now. We did the Southern Quadrant mating ritual. We’re bonded. You wouldn’t last ten nano seconds if you so much as stepped out of my hearing range.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Janice asked.

Mel’s Momma, being of Southern Quadrant royalty, took that moment to faint.

Mel pouted. “Don’t you even remember?”

“You mean when we drank cheap liquor and rolled on the floor?”

“No! Of course not!”

Janice was relieved. If that’d been the case, she’d be bonded to a third of the women in the North Eastern Quadrant.

“When I took your hand and put it here, then you put yours...” Mel reminded.

“Meleia!” Her father scolded from his kneeling position next to his unconscious wife.

“Is that what that was?” Janice asked. It’d been a new experience for her. She hadn’t minded it.

“Well, of course! Now we’re bonded forever and ever. If one of us tries ta leave the other, well, let’s just say it ain’t pretty.”

“But I thought you said, ‘forever and ever’?” Janice sounded disappointed.

“Well sure darlin’, ‘til one of us tries ta leave. Then the strain to the morphic field that makes up the bond snaps it and the recoil... like I said, it ain’t pretty.” Mel shivered.

“Well, shit Mel. How’m I gonna look for the Xena Scrolls then?” Besides being a smuggler and an all around pain in the ass - Janice was an archaeologist. The Xena Scrolls were Janice’s burning passion. Though she had to admit that she was burning pretty bad for Mel too.

“With me, o’ course!” Mel chided Janice. “Who’d you expect was going to read them for you?”

“I can read ‘em myself Mel. I’m not daft.”

“Oh, and I suppose they teach Ancient Earth Greek in Crabby Old Pilot School?”

“Well, shoot. No.” Janice hadn’t considered that. “I guess I’ll need you after all. It’s a good thing we’re bonded though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I can’t pay you anything and the work’s hell. I haven’t had an assistant stay on a dig for longer than two nights.”

And they lived very happily, by fits and starts, ever after.

The End

Note: In my version of the Star Wars story, Obi-Wan survives. Because Alec Guiness is too cool to kill off. And in retaliation for G. Lucas always giving his female characters those wussy assed guns (like Sigourney Weaver doesn’t look credible with large amounts of weaponry attached to her person...), I made all of the male characters secondary and only Chicklet, Janice and Mel get to use the guns. So there.

This is a cry for help.

Later all,


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