Dear The Emperor

How is everything back home? I never imagined I would miss it so badly. The atmospherically dark decor; the austere, uncluttered simplicity; the lack of decorating magazines as the only available reading material, causing me to analyze the aesthetic appeal of my surroundings as though Padme had never captured my heart and my heads as she had, and all three had lain instead with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

I am writing this very, very late at night, as Joker has spent the last several hours berating me for some little incident. If he didn't want every book in the district lit on fire, why did he have them in a huge, highly flammable pile, drenched in gasoline? Which, I am told, is a highly flammable substance.

He was also a little perturbed over the simultaneous resignations of each and every one of his own model of Storm Troopers. It did little to improve his mood when I suggested that, if he had solidified their programming more thoroughly, the problem might not have arisen. I then took the liberty of choking them all to death with the Force. He was not amused.

I thought (once again) about choking him to death with the Force, but (once again) was stopped by the idea of having this Wendy and her terrible music collection as a permanent roommate. Particularly given the chance of that boy coming along, too.

Sadly, Master, I am no closer to finding the boy's weakness and sending him to the great Sarlacc pit in the sky.

That, I feel, is the best place for all overrated little twerps who consider themselves dark and dangerous.

At any rate, my "meeting" with Joker ended at long last, and after assuring him that no, I did not want a "nice cup of T to soothe my nerves", I made my escape.

What followed was a harrowing ride on a transport of some description, crowded with citizens approximately half my height. Several of whom felt the need to ask if I was part of a publicity campaign for a new science fiction program, and if they might have a photograph as long as I was posing anyway.

Whatever that meant.

Although, one pleasant surprise has come of an otherwise wasted day. When I arrived back at the modern artsy wasteland that I am forced to temporarily call home, I found it empty. There was a note from the little boy:

"Dear Mr. Vader,

I've gone to join forces with the good guys. See you!

Love, Junior.

P.S. There's water in the fridge."

I informed Joker about it immediately. Not taking the initiative to make unwanted contact with the man, of course – two minutes after I walked in the door, the phone rang, because he had forgotten where he had put the teakettle.

However, the news about the little boy's defecting to the side of our enemies distracted him, and sent him into a ten-minute speech about ethics and loyalty, very similar to ones I've heard before, until he eventually just broke down and started whimpering, "but WE'RE the good guys! And I still can't find my kettle!"

I promptly hung up, Master, and enjoyed the luxury of having the entire apartment to myself, and all the bottled water I can pour into my suit's environmental interface apparatus.

There are times when I hate this thing.

So, at the end of the day, Master, our targets have escaped, one of our allies has defected, our leader is hopeless, our minions have resigned and been killed, and she still won't give us back our book.

Your obedient servant,

Darth Vader

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Dear Lord Vader,

I am writing this from the Death Star, as I arrived early yesterday evening. It was an exceptionally long flight, particularly as I spent it dreading what I might find when I arrived.

Miss Wendy did not disappoint.

Regrettably.

No, she is not dead. But not for lack of trying on my part. Floor #337 of the Death Star is gone. But alas, she is still here.

I am certain by now that the Force is exceptionally strong in this one. So strong that she can disguise it completely. I cannot sense it at all! There has only been one being in the history of the Galaxy whose power with the Force was so strong that he could mask it from others. And that was me!

And believe me, Lord Vader, it took considerable effort. Yet she seems to be doing it with no effort at all!

It must be the Force. How else could she have cleverly avoided my fifteen attempts to kill her? She couldn't have; that's how!

Nevertheless, this could have numerous advantages, if I were able to turn her to the Dark Side. She could make a useful little puppet for us.

Although, this will not be an easy task, as there is still the little matter of her gross vandalism of the Death Star.

Blue and yellow gingham everywhere. Decorative pillows. Chenile throws. Plaid wallpaper. And how on earth she managed to paint the entire exterior bright yellow with a black smiley-face in so short a time, I do not even want to comprehend. In an attempt to defend her actions, she spoke at length about the delicious irony of a brightly smiling Death "Thingy", and informed me that the directed energy superlaser would shoot out of the left "eye", and form sort of a "wink".

I may have orchestrated a galactic war merely for the sake of consolidating my own rise to power, but there is a limit to what I am capable of. Never could I have imagined such undiluted evil.

French Country Provincial, she calls it. I do not know what any one of those words means. But they sound positively despicable.

I do not wonder that the personnel cower in fear when they see her coming; likely afraid that they'll find themselves dressed head to toe in pink before long.

But I swear, Lord Vader, if she so much as forms a thought about dispensing fashion advise to me, her potential usefulness will do little to save her.

I think, for the first time, those Imperial guards of mine who have proven themselves so useless might come in handy. Guarding my closet.

Love and kisses,

Palpy

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Dear Mr. Joker,

I'm exhausted! I've spent the past week tirelessly decorating. And let me tell you, it is not easy to decorate and entire Death Star by yourself, which is basically what it amounted to, as Mr. The Emperor's personnel are absolutely useless when it comes to this sort of thing.

Honestly, how hard can it be to hang a curtain in a straight line?

Perhaps I ought to think about enrolling some of the men in an interior decorating program along with their time management courses.

Nevertheless, I was very pleased with how the Death Star came out, considering I had to decorate all 500 floors alone. It's lovely, all blue and yellow and flowered and checked, with sunflowers and lilacs and daisies. So cheery! I thought about going with the same modern minimalist approach, in warm neutrals, as I used for Mr. The Emperor's little Alone-Time Area, but I don't think he was terribly happy with it. He seemed rather short with me when I went to say goodbye the morning I left. Then, on the way out of Coruscant, I saw all of the potted plants I've been tenderly and lovingly raising to brighten up the place and inspire his evil genius imagination floating past the ship from a jagged hole in the window. And they all looked decidedly…crispy.

The man is certainly not a green thumb, if he managed to kill them all that fast.

His thumb is actually very pale, and rather wrinkly, if one wants to get technical about it. And occasionally, electricity shoots out of it and makes me drop things.

What a prankster he is.

At any rate, back to the Death Star. As much as a modern minimalist approach might have been more suitable for such a unique and non-traditional space, I thought that perhaps it might be unwise to repeat the fiasco with his Special Alone-Time Area so soon; perhaps he was more of a traditionalist.

Apparently, he is not.

He arrived this morning, and I ran to meet him, eager to show off the wonderful success I'd had in turning that mass of dull, cold metal into something warm and inviting. After all, people have to live in this thing! Men and women, longing for their own comfortable homes, and their own loving families.

Sigh.

Oh, Mr. Joker, I miss you so much. I miss your smile, and your voice, and most of all, that wonderful, snuggly blanket you have on your bed.

Although, the snuggly blankets on my bed would do quite well in a pinch.

As long as you still came with them.

Mr. The Emperor, as I've said, was not impressed with my decorating skills.

So unimpressed was he, in fact, that he took it upon himself to undecorate the entireity of Floor 337, by simply removing it from existence.

Too bad, really; 337 was my favourite. It was the one with the pretty white stone fireplace with the blue and yellow glass mosaic, and the aquarium. And the indoor flower garden.

I tried to stop him; I really did. But he just kept gently swatting me out of the way and destroying things with the purple lightning he sometimes shoots when he's having a tantrum.

I'm very glad you don't shoot lightning when you're angry, Mr. Joker.

And honestly, I would have thought that showing him our grand masterpiece would have cheered him up a little bit. After all, who wouldn't get at least a chuckle from the sight of his Death Star thingy painted brightly yellow, with a smiley-face on it? It might sound a little silly, but the effect was absolutely adorable. Particularly as the boys and I managed, after several attempts, to put the left eye directly over the directed energy superlaser (the boys were rather annoyed when I laughed and asked them to tell me what it was really called) so that whenever we shoot the thing, it looks as though our smiley-face is winking! It's adorable!

But even that didn't cheer up Mr. The Emperor very much, and he was still rather grumpy when I broached the matter of getting these poor men some decent uniforms.

And now, I am rather bored, because he refuses to come out of his rooms, simply mutters something about how he knew it and I won't be destroying his wardrobe with my infernal pink chenile, and the Imperial Guards stationed at the door refused to let me in. I swatted them all out of the way, but Mr. The Emperor still wouldn't come out , and he just shot lightning at the door when I tried to open it, and made me drop my pretty light sword thingy! Now, what on earth did he hope to accomplish by ruining other people's things? Particularly, when they were all borrowed from him in the first place?

Therefore, Mr. Joker, it seems that you are in luck: as my boss is currently not speaking to me and instead indulging in quite a little fit of sulks, I shall have plenty of time to write up your report for you. I had thought of trying to round up some of the men who do not run away when they see me coming and seeing if we could rebuild Floor #337, but I think I hardly have the energy.

I'll email it straightaway when I'm finished, alright, Sir? Honestly, never trust a man to do a woman's job. Particularly if it's a man whose greatest influence has been Mr. The Emperor.

Lots of love,

Wendy

P.S. Of course we knew that Yomiko was hiding in a library, Mr. Joker; it was simply a matter of which one. There are several hundred thousand in the world, you know.

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Dear Wendy,

I don't find it hard to beleive that you like to write when you're tired, considering the length of your last letter. Believe me, my dear, I do greatly appreciate that you don't talk that much in person.

Although, I would be quite glad to hear you speak for hours without ceasing, if it meant that Mr. Vader was well and truly out of my way. I had a brief reprieve when it came to my attention that the two eldest Paper Sisters, Drake Anderson, Nancy Makuhari, Nenene Sumiregawa, and Junior had all been killed in an exploding helicopter.

Oh, yes; that's right. Junior has switched sides. You see, Wendy? You always say that you have no idea how to handle children, that they always hate you almost as much as you hate them, but obviously you were doing something right. I don't recall Junior pulling a lot of acts of treachery before you ran off to fetch tea for another man.

Bloody inconvenient, both the treachery and the exploding helicopter, since that's our author, our new Mr. Gentleman, and all our bargaining material gone in one go, but at least the Gentleman book wasn't harmed . They are very nearly indestructible, as we learned when we let you deliver them to their intended keepers before you'd gotten completely over the penchant for accidents. I do hope poor Webber has overcome his fear of friendly, unassuming little blondes.

I sent Mr. Vader to have a wee word with Anita King, ostensibly thinking that perhaps some miracle would let him manage to draw her over to our side and reconcile her to her fate as the new new Mr. Gentleman. However, I suspect that my subconcious simply doesn't like noisy, bratty little girls very much.

While he was away, I finally got some real work done, winning over President Cole and making a few useful discoveries about his busy hands, as well as an interesting discovery that the helicopter hadn't really exploded as thoroughly as we had expected.

He telephoned me at this point, although I suspect that he accidentally hit the speed dial while attempting to telephone for a pizza, and started shouting something incomprehensible about coming home just as soon as this noisy little female experienced the full power of the Dark Side at me over a sound disctinctly like Anita King being bounced around a schoolroom.

I don't know which of those two I feel sorrier for.

Although, I feel the occasional pang of sympathy for Mr. The Emperor, despite his being responsible for a good deal of my current misery, as it is apparent he has no idea how to properly handle his help. If you have been decorating as tirelessly as your letter suggests, then it probably hasn't been safe for the poor man to so much as breathe around there. Do try to take it easy on him, Wendy. Remember, he's old, and well set in his ways. Not to mention, his heart may not be able to take such drastic changes to his decor.

Assuming, of course, that he has a heart.

Ah, yes; I received the report without a problem, my dear. Thank-you for your hard work. I know you're busy, too.

Also, thank-you even more for the – ahem – photos enclosed along with the report. I've needed something just like this to lift my spirits.

As it were.

I look forward to enjoying those images in person, just as soon as this fiasco comes to a crashing end and I have my sweet, competent, halfway-sane Wendy back.

Expecting to have good dreams tonight,

Joker

P. S. Don't be so defensive, Wendy; I was only teasing.

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End Notes: Sorry this update took so long! I hope you liked it, and thanks again to all who are readin:)