Title: HSU Fic: Blonde Bombshell
Author: Laure
Rating: TSFW (Too Silly For Words)
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Poor, very poor. Own my sweet fallen emperor again, but he's not for sale.
Timeline: Nowish before Judy gets fixed...if she does.
Author's Note:Got some spam last week and have been meaning
to write this ever since. Real Life sucks the big one.

Laure and Dande sat in the pub cum tea room discussing some of their mutual cases and drinking tea--Laure's heavily laced with brandy to blur out all the floral chintz. Just as Laure reached into the rolling briefcase for the first part of Cal's considerable file, the object of the final discussion of the day dashed into the room and tripped over his own feet to sprawl at Dande's.

Cal clutched desperately at the hem of her pink maternity dress, squeaking, "Help me."

Laure rolled her eyes and slugged down more tea.

"Who's after you this time, Cal?"

"My...my...my wife."

The Mediator and the Wench both stared at each other, open mouthed and stunned.

And a Latin, peroxide blonde, buxom bombshell in spandex and sequins burst into the former pub.

"There you are, chica!"

Cal whimpered and cowered against Dande's legs.

"And you would be?" Laure asked, eyebrow arched to the ceiling.

"Meessus Cal," the woman simpered as she teetered across the floor on five inch red spikes.

Dande finally managed to peel Cal's hands off her knees and pushed him away. His "wife" scooped him off the floor and squeezed him until he turned bright red.

Whether from lack of breath or the location of the woman's hands on his backside, neither Wench nor Ho wished to contemplate.

Delicately wiping the corner of her mouth with a lace napkin, Laure rose and headed for the door. "This requires something much stronger than tea."

"Don't leave me," Cal squealed, trying to follow the Mediator and dragging his "wife" behind him. He got all of half an inch before he hung gasping and limp in the woman's arms.

Rising to her feet, Dande placed one hand gently on the curve of her stomach and the other one on the woman's shoulder. "Let's discuss this someplace more private."

"Si, mamacita."

Dande blushed delicately and led the way to her office, ignoring the fact that the blonde woman was goosing and nuzzling Cal all the way.

Laure was waiting outside the office door holding an open bottle of champagne. "Thought we'd celebrate."

Rolling her eyes, the Wench led the way into the office, taking a seat behind the desk. Laure flopped into a delicate sateen chair, while Cal took a seat on the chintz covered couch. His honey snuggled up close to him. As Laure watched, the pointed toe of one of the Latin woman's cheap pumps slid beneath the hem of Cal's pants' leg, and her equally pointed and red fingernails played with his braid.

The woman blew in his ear and he turned white.

Laure poured herself a large glass of champagne.

"Now, Cal, please tell us what is going on." Dande folded her hands across her stomach and smiled encouragingly.

Pressing himself deeply into a corner of the couch, Cal fumbled in the fold of his tunic and withdrew a crumpled and soiled piece of paper. He handed it to Laure, who took it gingerly.

She glanced at it, then nearly choked on her wine. "Oh, Cal, you didn't!"

"It said...it said sweet and gentle and homemakerly, like Mrs. Cleaver," he stammered. His "wife" giggled and squirmed against him.

Laure read the subject line of the email out loud, trying not to snort in laughter. "'Meet and marry the Latin goddess of your dreams'. Let me guess, you didn't actually meet."

"Mister Jose said it wasn't necessary, that Rosarita would be the perfect wife for a man of my needs." He blushed throughout the entire squeaked speech.

"And what would those needs be, Cal?"

"Dande," Laure protested loudly.

Ignoring her colleague, the Wench made encouraging noises towards Cal who blushed even more and tugged at his collar with his free hand. The other one was constantly prying Rosarita's fingers from his trembling thigh.

"Um, well, someone to cook and clean for me, and sit with me at night and read to me, someone to listen to my tales of bravery and iron my padawan robes. The perfect wife for a future Jedi."

Dande smiled benevolently and turned to Rosarita. "And what do you wish from this marriage, Rosarita?"

The blonde stopped rubbing her enormous breasts against Cal's shrinking shoulder and turned to the Wench, narrowing her eyes slightly as she sized up a potential rival. "Security, and a home somewhere away from war and poverty. Meester Cal ees just perfect for me. Jedi Knights are supposed to make excellent husbands."

"You know," Laure interjected, "he's nowhere near being even an apprentice."

Rosarita frowned at the other blonde. "Eet's only a matter of time." She turned back to Cal and lavished him with a wide smile as she brushed his thinning hair from his forehead. "Si, I weel mold him into the perfect Jedi."

"And you'll cook and clean for him and read him stories?" Laure failed totally to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

"Si," Rosarita lied through her crooked teeth.

"Cal, how were you married if you hadn't seen each other until today?"

"By proxy," the Padawanabe answered Dande's question. "It's very, very legal." His chin trembled and he looked like he was going to cry any second.

"But, I'm assuming there's been no consummation," Laure said, trying not to feel sorry for the twit.

Cal gave her a baffled look. "Huh?"

"Meester Cal ran from me. He ees a shy boy." Rosarita chuckled and squeezed his thigh, before trailing her hand higher up his leg.

About to be traumatized for life, Laure set aside the wine and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the offending hand, and yanked Rosarita to her feet.

"Hey!" As the Latin blonde let off a string of probably curses in Spanish, Laure shoved her towards the door, yelling over her shoulder, "Start annulment proceedings, Dande. I'm going to ship Rosarita over to Wanker. Maybe she can entertain the Sith Spawn."

"I am hees legal wife." Rosarita stomped her feet and nearly twisted her ankle as she struggled with the Mediator.

"Not quite, honey." Laure leaned in and whispered, "Cal's a eunuch."

Rosarita blanched beneath the heavy make up, then pulled away from Laure and straightened her tube top. "Perhaps eet ees for the best." Head held high, she swept from the office, her massive breasts leading the way as she tottered down the hall.

Laure turned back to Cal, who was weeping gratefully into Dande's lap as she dialed the princess phone. "No more email access for you."

"Never, I promise," Cal gurgled through the folds of silk and lace.

As the Mediator headed after Meesus Cal, she saw Qui-Gon stopping to talk to the Latin blonde, who clamped onto his arm like a python. Giggling behind her hand, Laure strolled towards them, eager to see Da Mastah extricate himself from this new situation.

Just as she reached them and began to listen to Qui-Gon's many and quickly spouted excuses, the General entered the hall, and Rosarita's hungry eyes latched onto him.

Laure debated over whether or not to just toss the woman through the nearest window, but settled on grabbing her away from Da Mastah and shoving her into the elevator before she could try to corrupt the General.

"You're a princess, aren't you." Laure pushed the button for the ground floor and the doors closed.

"Que?"

End

Yes, I really did get this spam. Do I look like someone who would want a Latin Goddess for a wife?