A/N: Hello! This is a collab one-shot that LazarusII and I wrote.

Riddle me this: What do you get when you put two sleepy angst writers working in the same doc?

This.

Obi-Wan blinked down at his datapad, skimming through the letter the suppliers sent him about the restock the Negotiator had received yesterday.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of music coming from directly behind him.

Brows furrowing, he turned around, noticing the source of the music: a datapad, held by his former Padawan.

Obi-Wan frowned. Last time he checked, Anakin wasn't supposed to be arriving until tomorrow. He was supposed to be meeting Obi-Wan at a rendezvous point before they would start the mission. "Wait—Anakin, when did you get here?"

The next thing he knew, Anakin was on the floor. To Obi-Wan, it looked like he was imitating the flapping motion that a fish makes out of water, using his hands to guide his movements. After a few moments, the motion became more fluid, and Anakin began to squirm around the room in the most bizarre fashion—rolling, more than anything else.

Obi-Wan blinked. "Anakin?"

Anakin stopped mid-motion, feet still in the air, looking up at him innocently. "Master, I didn't know you still had those pajamas! We should totally twin next time."

Twin? What does he mean?

A loud bang near the doorway drew him away from his thoughts, and Ahsoka marched in with a large boombox balanced on her shoulder, head bobbing to the music playing from Anakin's datapad.

"Master! I brought the music!" None too gently, the Padawan set the boombox on the floor, grinning ear-to-ear.

Obi-Wan turned slightly in his chair, turning to face them properly. Resisting the urge to reprimand them for distracting him while he was trying—and failing—to work, he sighed.

"What are the two of you doing?" he asked instead, running a hand through his hair, which he suspected messed it up even more than before, which meant he had to fix it at some point.

Great.

Ahsoka's smile was replaced by an expression of seriousness. She drew a rectangular contraption from her belt. Obi-Wan squinted. It was a remote.

Looking at Anakin, she nodded solemnly. "Master, I got you."

She pressed a button and lights flicked on. The terrifyingly large speakers of the boombox hissed to life and produced a driving beat which Obi-Wan swore he could feel down to his bones.

At that moment, there came a soft knock on the door, barely audible over the din. Moments later, Plo appeared in the doorway with a karaoke mic held in a clawed hand. He froze.

The music changed from some sort of a high-pitched gibberish to a low bass, then—

"I'M SEXY AND I KNOW IT."

Obi-Wan blinked at the sight in front of him, wondering if he was having some sort of a fever dream or hallucination from whenever it was the last time he hit his head—he couldn't remember.

"Master Plo?" he croaked, tilting his head.

The Kel Dor's eyes crinkled at him for a split-second, before he continued chanting into the microphone.

Obi-Wan sighed and turned away, looking back at his former Padawan and Grandpadawan, who were still dancing on the floor of his quarters.

What is happening? Has the ridiculousness of everything—the war, the Sith, and everything in between—finally become too much for my mind to handle?

Before he could think any further, Obi-Wan heard footsteps approaching his room.

For the love of the Force, please no, he thought, turning back towards the doorway.

"Skywalker, what in the devil is going on—" The door slid open and Mace appeared, arms folded across his chest.

Everyone seemed to freeze, even Plo, who was mid-verse. Only the music carried on, deafening in the small confines of Obi-Wan's quarters.

So much for getting these reports done…

As though he somehow heard Obi-Wan's thoughts, Mace smirked.

"Master Windu?" Obi-Wan croaked, confused at seeing the Korun Master smile so widely.

And it was at that moment that Obi-Wan felt all hope leave him in one fell swoop.

The esteemed Jedi Master whipped out an obnoxiously bright purple hat from Force-knows-where and donned it with a flourish.

Moments later, the room once more erupted into chaos. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked back down at his datapad.

And we'll need another two-hundred men stationed here—

The song changed, the percussion taking on a much lighter, bouncier tune.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand across his face. "What am I listening to?" he asked, voice muffled.

Anakin grinned up at him. "Only the best song ever, Master!" he chirped, bopping his head along with the weird-sounding vocal percussion.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Obi-Wan sighed, pulling his hand away from his face.

Oh Force, what have I done to deserve this?

Ahsoka's dancing brought her legs dangerously close to the one ceramic mug he had in his quarters—the only one in the ship Anakin hadn't managed to break—and Obi-Wan felt his heart leap up to his throat.

He glared at Artoo, only now realizing that the droid had joined in all the chaos at some point, without Obi-Wan even noticing. The astromech was only encouraging the overenthusiastic Padawan in her dance, beeping happily along with the beat of the music.

Mace was doing a very interesting array of dances. Mirroring Anakin in a bizarre, robotic set of movements, he leapt into the air, twirling towards the door.

Obi-Wan's stomach dropped.

No.

It can't be.

The door slid open—

And Quinlan Vos exploded into the room, landing atop the couch. Behind him, framed in the doorway…

"Master Yoda…" Obi-Wan said hollowly.

The Grandmaster slowly made his way into the room, eyes taking in the energetic Jedi all around him. By this time, Quinlan had joined in the fray, his grin somehow wider than Anakin's.

Obi-Wan internally begged the Master for some kind of explanation. Or, at least, Master Yoda would just tell them all to stop.

Instead of doing either, Yoda simply raised a clawed hand to his mouth and began to munch on a chip.

"Do you hear that?"

Echo's question came pretty much out of nowhere. Fives frowned, straining to hear something beyond the typical sounds of parts of the 501st and 212th eating dinner in the mess, but then he heard it.

A…drum?

Fives dropped the piece of filet mignon speared onto his fork as General Kenobi ran past the entrance, hair all messed up, wearing pajamas with what appeared to be rainbow gundarks on them.

Wait, what?

Fives and Echo exchange a glance, confused.

Before Fives could say anything, a rumbling sound came from the mess' entrance.

Fives looked up again, only to see an unusual crowd of Jedi chasing after General Kenobi, all in various states of disarray.

What Fives thought was an odd drumming sound turned out to be loud music—the kind that most people found obnoxious and outright hilarious.

Echo snickered, a hand covering his mouth. Pretty much every single clone around him was grinning, their faces contorted with the effort of staying silent.

After the Jedi swept out of view, Fives spotted General Yoda slowly plodding after them.

The Jedi was clutching a half-eaten, edible chip of some sort. He stopped by the doorway, glancing at Fives for a brief moment.

"Hmm, hard on the voice, this is," General Yoda commented, the loud music making it near impossible to hear him.

Fives and Echo exchanged another look, unsure of how to respond.

The Jedi turned away and vanished from sight, sparing them from potential embarrassment.

Echo frowned. "Wait a minute—isn't that one of the crunchy chips from yesterday's restock?" he asked, shoveling a spoonful of green oatmeal into his mouth.

Fives couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Yep."

A/N: Thanks for reading! For anyone who's familiar with either of our work, you probably know that we write a lot of angst and sad stuff, and we really wanted to write something completely ridiculous just for the giggles. Hope you enjoyed! :)