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Coruscant
"I sometimes can't believe you're a jedi. Often, actually." Jedi apprentice, Ginny Kenobi-Weasley says as she follows her master from the jedi council chambers as he twirls out of there in an intimidating whirl of black space-cotton. Even in a galaxy far far away and long long ago, he still mogs most humanoids by being six feet tall.
"What? Telling the old farts that I'm going on holiday whether they like it or not is a Sith-worthy offence now?" Ginny's master, one 'Azazel', pivots on his luxurious black heels, thus making the skirt of his sharp black robes spin through the recycled air of the Jedi Grand Temple at the same time as his spaded devil tail whirls one of his lesser blades around, tossing it into the air for him to catch. The abundance of black is one thing, but when paired with the Neyaphem's scarlet and crimson skin, you have a reason for even the dullest sithdars to be going off non stop. Yet he is in fact a jedi, and a Jedi Master at that.
"Hmm. It kinda is. When was the last time you went over the Code, Master?"
Azazel waves a hand vaguely and turns back to striding down the marble corridors of the temple. This unusual mode of transport lasts for only another minute, before the man loops his tail around his padawan's waist, spins her towards his body as he spins back towards her, takes her hand, smirks, and disappears with her into thin air.
A pair of temple cleaners, on a tea break nearby, waft their paws in front of their beaks. "Phew, those two. No wonder the other council members always look so grumpy with them around, flaunting their attachment." says the first.
"Yeah." agrees the second.
Mustafar
"It's too hot to think." Ginny says, two minutes into the first holiday destination chosen by her beloved but indisputably eccentric master. Mustafar, a planet of lava, while possessing the correct weather for a summer holiday, possesses too much of the correct weather, if you know what that means? It's dreadfully, murderously hot. Sweltering, in fact. Absolutely blistering. Heinous. Monster-
Azazel, Jedi Master extraordinaire and not even an ex-Sith, looks over his shoulder from where he's standing on the shores of an exquisite lava lake, braaing lava sausages and lava patties (with his freaking mind!) shirtless and glorious under a pitch black sky. "So stop trying and slather my back with this," he uses his mastery of the Force to float a bottle of designer sunscreen lotion over to his apprentice. "If you pass this test I'll consider it as being one of your Trials. The trial of 'Help a Homie Out'.
Although Ginny has no problem with this, she's a redhead, so she has to make life difficult just because. Taking the bottle, she trots over to the man cooking lunch. "You're like ten billion cycles old. How have you not figured out a way to put stuff on your own back?"
To that Azazel holds his peace, resuming the mysterious smirking which is responsible for so much of his success in life.
"Wow, your back's hot."
"Thank you. I never skip back day at the gym, as heinous as it is. Even worse than leg day."
"I don't know what any of that means."
"Good."
When Ginny's done she discovers that the skin of her palm has gone from milk pale and almost see through, to shiny pink. "Ow."
Displaying hitherto unknown prowess amongst men, Azazel reaches backwards behind his back, and takes her hand, bringing it towards his eyes for study.
"Oh, you burnt your cute little hand. How did that happen? Here, I'll heal it." Azazel uses his freaking mind to heal it.
A pair of aged lava slugs sunning themselves on the shore nearby, huff and puff and tut. "Since when has Mustafar become a honeymoon hotspot?!"
Tatooine
Tatooine also possesses too much of a good thing in the form of a murderously hot and deathly climate, but at least it's not covered in lava. Once they arrive, the pair of jedi search for a beach on which to lounge and enjoy space-cocktails. But instead of locating a pretty beach, they teleport-walk for miles through an endless desert.
"I'm beginning to think that Tatooine is one big beach." Ginny gasps. By now she has acquired the best tan ever seen in any universe, as every time she's burnt Azazel heals her, but only to the point where her skin learns that it needs to brown, leaving her as dark as obsidian. A perfect match for Azazel's robes.
"You know what I really love about you, Ginny? Your boundless optimism. In a galaxy like this, it is much appreciated." Azazel takes her free hand, the one not carrying a toy pail and spade, and swings it, the pair of them entering a skip loop that carries them miles across the dangerous dunes.
A tribe of nasty humanoids in gas masks and rags watch these innocent goings on from their perch on a rocky outcrop, and feel the need to comment on them, the leader dropping his laser musket to go ape shit at the distant figures. "Ugh! [Guttural growl] Hrr-ugh! [Aggressive hand gesture towards horizon] Ugh-ka-nuk!"
"Yeah, man." Agrees his second-in-command.
Meanwhile, heedless of the natives and their inferiority complexes, Azazel and Ginny pitch sunbeds beside a gigantic hole in the ground.
"Ah. This looks like a good spot." Azazel's tail slaps sunglasses onto his face as he prepares to relax beside a sarlacc pit.
Ginny looks down into the tooth lined maw, and only just manages to leap out of the way in time when the fiendish beast burps, sending a cloud of acid into the sky where it rapidly condenses into a storm cloud complete with lightning, thunder, and tornadoes.
"…How is this possible?" asks Azazel, as he's rained and lightninged upon.
Hoth
No no one in any sort of mind, right or wrong, could mistake the planet Hoth for a holiday destination, and holidays are not why Azazel teleports himself and Ginny there. The truth, as always, is stranger than fiction. A much more common reason is at play here.
Ice butterflies. Ice butterflies are why Azazel teleports them there.
"They are experiencing their fabled breeding flight. Such a thing only occurs one every two hundred cycles. It's simply to die for. Come, take my hand." he says, holding a hand out to Ginny where the pair stand on the top of a long snow slope that would be dangerous to slide down if one were unable to simply teleport away whenever the going risks getting tough.
So Ginny takes her master's hand, which is always warm bordering on hot. Perfect in general, but especially on Hoth.
The pair go whizzing past a nearby ice cave, where a dark shadow lingers at its icicle lined entrance.
"Look at these people. Flaunting their love. It makes me sick!" screeches a local wampa.
The desired flock of ice butterflies are busy frolicking above a white and wide open plain of snow, a plain strewn with the slowly decaying wrecks of AT-ATs and chicken walkers. Butterflies, as butterflies do, turn this field of mechanical death into a fae wonderland, shedding tiny ice crystals as glitter all across the combat mech graveyard. It is certainly one of the Wonders of the World, and in an overflow of emotion Ginny leaps on and hugs her master, and he lets her ride around on his back as they follow the jubilant flock.
Endor
Endor forms the last location on the pair's itinerary, but first they take a tiny detour before reaching the lush planet itself.
There's a fabulous coral structure on one of the moons, which Azazel and Ginny check out for a while, wandering down the shore hand in hand, simply because they've begun taking each other's hands while travelling as it helps to prevent tragedy in non-combat situations.
"This is shaped rather like a Death Star, don't you reckon?" Ginny asks, as she studies the immensity of pink and purple and orange and blue corals covering what looks like a half moon rib of steel jutting from a beautiful grey-blue ocean, serene as a jedi's heart.
"It does rather. Hmm," Azazel, still definitely not a Sith, taps his red lips with a red finger. "I seem to recall something in the history books about this…Also, I may have been present. Sometimes it's difficult to recall. I may have been in a bar for the duration."
"You love me for my youthful optimism, Master, but I love you for your aged devil-may-care attitude."
"Oh, I know." Flashing his eyebrows combined with a severe smirk has won Azazel a number of wars (and many descendants) and he pulls this stunt on his apprentice, something that is not against the Jedi code.
Down on Endor proper, fuzzy ice cream awaits him, and a true, real life beach, free of lava and with just the right amount of sand. The pair of jedi relax happily on sunbeds crafted from the remains of robots and enjoy space-cocktails brought to them by furry little waiters dressed in speedos.
Ginny sighs from behind space-sunglasses, a balmy breeze playing with her hair. "I never want to leave."
"I know what you mean." Azazel uses his red and black, two bladed lightsaber to cut a pair of coconuts in half, offering his companion one.
"Ooh, mwah mwah boma!" some Ewoks point and laugh at the red man, but an Ewok wife chews the ear off a sweating Ewok husband.
"Yook, ko muna kokoo-nits?!"
Coruscant Again
Sadly, even jedi masters must eventually do some work, and Azazel, when he's actually on the job, is the single most effective member of the Order, which is why he is allowed such leeway and given such benefits, all going towards the cause of making the Lightside seem more attractive to him than the Darkside.
"Sadly, I must return to making the other masters envious of my fabulous boots, dear padawan of mine." Taking Ginny's hand, he kisses it directly outside the self-important doors of the Council Chamber.
The look of potent romance in his eyes has killed women before, but his apprentice is made of sterner stuff, and she smiles back with just as much love filling her expression.
The cleaners from before, taking another tea break on the edges of the calm yet monumental corridor, shake their heads. "I really thought they were involved, but I guess not."