The Dark Lord Speaks IV: Father/Daughter Night

I, Lord Darth Vader, have taken it upon myself to write the next entry of this blog, seeing as Kenya is still a bit… emotional to put out anything coherent. But more on that later.

First order of business is to quell the rumor that I am involved in a romantic relationship with Kenya’s mother. This is entirely false, the result of a knee-jerk reaction on Kenya’s part. Yes, Rebecca and I have several things in common. Yes, we enjoyed ourselves on the evening of the fourteenth. Yes, I would gladly do it again. But the act of placing an arm around her shoulders was purely platonic in nature, with no sensual or romantic implications involved or intended. Is a man not allowed to have a friendly, non-sexual relationship with a woman? Or perhaps, Kenya, you are merely jealous of your mother, hmm?

I will refrain from heckling her too badly. She had a rough time of it yesterday.

I am sure Kenya has made it known in her blog that her relationship with her father is rather strained. And in an effort to mend relations, they have started going out for dinner once a month. Last month Kenya attempted it alone, and while she was not forthcoming with the results of that meeting, it could not have been good, for she insisted I accompany her this time.

“Just don’t choke him until I give the word,” she orders.

“Why are you doing this anyhow?” I ask. “I thought you hated your father.”

“Well, he IS my father,” she confesses. “I suppose that counts for something. And anyhow, he is paying tonight.”

Ah yes. That would be Kenya for you, never one to turn down a freebie. She would meet Darth Bane himself for dinner if he were to pick up the tab. Not that she is desperate in that sense.

The restaurant is a nice family affair, not fancy but not inexpensive, whose staff seems to have an average age of about fifteen. Our waitress, the eternally and irritatingly perky Cassandra*, leads us to the table where her father, Alexander*, is seated and passes out menus.

Kenya has referred to her father as Jabba the Hutt on occasion, and now I see the origin of the nickname. I am not exaggerating – the man looks like he is carrying a full-term pregnancy.

“Hi, Dad,” Kenya greets politely.

“Hi,” he replies. His eyes wander blindly past me. “Miss, you gave us an extra menu.”

“I thought your friend here might like one…” Cassandra says in her defense, gesturing my way. When Alexander’s expression indicates he sees nothing in my chair, she looks ready to panic. Doubtless she wonders if the long hours on her feet have finally eaten away at her sanity.

“Just bring me an appetizer tray,” I tell her. “I will pay my own tab. And do not mention my presence to anyone. It will be easier on all of us.”

Wordlessly she picks up the menu, smiles gratefully, and offers to bring back drinks as she leaves.

“She seems a little flighty,” Alexander notes.

“She may be reading my blog,” Kenya replies. “Cut her some slack.”

“What blog?”

“Oh, the chronicles of myself and Vader. And since I started it, it seems like a lot of other people have come out with ‘fictional characters live at my house’ blogs or livejournals. It’s an epidemic. I don’t think I started the trend, though, it’s just that now I notice them…”

“I see. So you’re still into Star Wars then, huh?”

“I should think that was obvious,” she says with a trace of sarcasm.

He grouses over that as Cassandra doles out glasses of water, takes their orders, and hands me my plate. I pretend not to notice as Kenya filches a potato skin.

“You know, I’ve never understood how people can get that into something like that,” Alexander continues. “To devote so much passion toward something. Maybe I don’t have the right mentality for it.”

Fighting words, and Kenya knows it. The comment is obviously a roundabout insult – that Kenya’s mentality must be warped if she loves Star Wars that much.

“Some people just have something they love,” Kenya replies evenly, though her shoulders tense up at her father’s remark. “Something they’re willing to devote time to. And believe me, there are worse things to be obsessed with than Star Wars.”

As her father cannot see or hear me, I applaud her comeback. “Touché, Kenya.”

“That’s true,” Alexander concedes.

“Cobb salad for you, sir, and sirloin and cheesy potatoes for you, ma’am,” Cassandra announces. “Would you like anything else?”

“Not right now,” Alexander replies. “Thanks.”

“Whoa, I don’t know if I can finish this steak,” Kenya notes, prodding her meat with a fork.

“We have takeout bags,” Cassandra offers as she leaves.

“So,” Alexander says, “still writing?”

“Yup.”

“What’s the latest?”

“I’m working on an original novel.”

“Another one?”

“No, same one. It’s coming along really slowly. But I got the prologue done, that’s good.” She saws at her steak a few minutes before giving up. “I’d also like to write a screenplay someday. And I’ve got two fan fictions going…”

“Two at once?”

She winces, and I can almost see her curse her stupidity for mentioning that. “Yeah. I post a chapter of one, then a chapter of the other, so they both get updated on a semi-regular basis.”

“You know, if you didn’t write so much fan fiction, your novel might come out faster…”

“Hey, I happen to LIKE writing fanfic! It’s my way to unwind!”

“I wasn’t criticizing that.” He changes the subject. “It’s interesting though. I always thought you’d go into writing with your schooling.”

“The deal is that Mom’ll help me through school once she’s done with nursing school…”

“I know that. What I meant is that you’ve talked about going into a culinary arts program. I thought you’d go into English or at least journalism…”

“Look, I write for fun. Yes, I’d like to publish a novel someday, but I’d like something to fall back on…”

“Oh.”

For awhile the conversation turns to work, family, church, and other mundane topics. No more fireworks, though I notice Kenya is not about to mention that she is playing hostess to a Dark Lord. It is almost as if this man was not her father, but a stranger.

“Well, it was nice,” she says at long last. “See you next month.”

“Or sooner,” he suggests.

“We’ll see.”

The two of us are silent as I navigate the busy road outside the restaurant.

“Josh Groban?” I offer.

“Sure, pop it in,” she replies quietly. She sighs noisily. “What is it about being around him that tires me out? It’s like I have to keep a shield up all the time because I don’t know what he’s going to say next, and it drains my energy.”

“The situation seemed under control to me.”

“Well, this time was tame. Last month he asked me about my fanfic and I made the mistake of mentioning Austin and Melissa – you know, from my ‘Eye of the Storm’ series? – and he had the gall to suggest I harbor resentment toward my mother for writing characters like those two. Believe me, that wasn’t pretty.”

“I apologize…”

“Don’t, it’s not your fault.”

Silence.

“You know, I dunno why I freaked when I thought you and Mom were an item. Now that I think about it, I think I’d prefer you at your darkest to my own father. I’d rather someone throttle me from the front than stab me in the back or insult me from the side.”

“Ouch.”

“So you two serious or what?”

“We are just friends.”

“Ha ha, famous last words.”

“That will be enough of that.”

At least her mood is slightly improved today, aside from the hysterical raving that she is late for work again. Dealing with highly emotional women was NOT in the job description when I became a Sith Lord.

*Name changed

Men Are From Tatooine, Women Are From Earth

Okay, I suppose everyone wants to know how the Valentine’s Day date went? Of course. I suspected as much. *sighs*

“Mom, let’s go!” I shout in the direction of the bathroom. “Darth doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”

“Take a chill pill, Kenya!” she retorts, coming out. “I had to get my face on!” Which means she was putting on her makeup. I normally eschew makeup, thinking it pointless, but tonight I’ve opted for a little lip gloss and some shadow, for once.

“So what’s the plan tonight?” she asks. “Are we splitting up or is this a double date?”

“I think we’re going double,” I reply. “We’re going to the El Gallo Baile. Vader’s paying.”

“Wow!” Mom’s appreciative of a guy who’ll pick up the tab at a nice restaurant. Vader’s scored a few points there.

“And they wanted to do something after dinner too, but I think we’ll decide on it then.”

Okay, I think I’m ready to go. Blue and silver blouse embroidered with a huge Chinese dragon, black slacks, dragon earrings and necklace, hair pinned out of my face… in short, I’m finally presentable. Mom’s opted for a black-and-gold sweater, black slacks, gold sunburst earrings, and black Cloudwalkers, and I must say she looks ready to knock someone’s socks off.

I enter the kitchen and address my date. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Luke replies. Yes, I picked the farmboy. Yes, this is probably the oddest double date in history – father and son pairing up with mother and daughter. But c’mon, the farmboy’s cute. And tonight he’s ditched the scruffy farmboy regalia for the sharp black outfit I’ve seen before in “Return of the Jedi.” Black must be the color of the night tonight – we’re all wearing it. (Not that Vader has much choice in that, though I must admit it makes a definite difference when he decided to get a good polish job, like tonight.)

Mom comes into the kitchen. “My lord,” she greets, bowing.

Vader laughs a little. “It is not necessary to bow,” he tells her.

Luke leans over. “What’s your mom’s name?” he asks quietly. “All the time I’ve been here, I’ve just referred to her as ‘Kenya’s mom…’”

“Rebecca*,” I reply. “Thanks for asking, by the way. Don’t think it’d go over big if you called her ‘Kenya’s mom’ to her face.”

“Right.”

Despite it being a double date, we take separate cars to the El Gallo Baile, which, if you must know, is Spanish for “The Dancing Chicken.” And as you may have guessed, it’s authentic Mexican fare. It’s a nice family owned business and probably one of the only places in Pothole, Idaho where you can order a taco made with goat, tongue, or tripe – but just because you CAN doesn’t necessarily mean you HAVE to, of course. I like the atmosphere here – the staff is friendly, knows most of the regulars by name and favorite dish, and if they happen to find out it’s your birthday they’ll slap a sombrero on your head, have every waiter in the restaurant gather around you and sing “Cumpleaños felices,” and take a picture for incriminating evidence. Good times.

Naturally, it being Valentine’s Day, the place is packed, but the hostess manages to find us two adjacent tables. The waitress brings by homemade salsa and chips, and I draw on my three years of high school Spanish to help Luke decipher the menu and order.

“So,” Luke says once the waitress has taken our orders and left, “I know you’re a writer, Kenya. What else do you do?”

I have to think about that. “Read. Write. Sing for fun. Write more. Um. Work at the library. Um. Draw a little, but I’m not an artist. Um, write…”

“You’ve said that three times.”

”I write a lot.” I decide to toss the ball in his court. “What do you do?”

“Um.” Now that he’s on the hot seat, he’s not quite as chatty. “You’ve seen the movies, you should know.”

“C’mon, you’ve got to have a hobby outside saving the galaxy,” I press.

“Um. I like to fly.” He thinks. “I like mechanics.”

I look over at Mom’s table. She and Vader appear to be deep in conversation. Amazing that they hit it off so quickly. I turn my attention back to my date.

“Han tried to get me into sabaac, but I never got interested. Not much of a point to it.”

“Yeah, I don’t have much use for poker either. Which is like sabaac,” I clarify.

Silence. This is embarrassingly awkward. I thought for sure I’d have something in common with Luke Skywalker, aside from the fact that we both deal with Vader on a semi-regular basis.

Luckily, the waitress brings our food at that moment – beef fajitas for Luke and what the waitress calls the “flag dish” for me, which is basically three enchiladas covered in red, white, and green sauce like the Mexican Flag. For a few minutes we take a break to eat.

Laughter suddenly breaks out at the next table, and the two of us turn and stare, surprised. This isn’t simple amused laughter – this is belly laughter, the kind that makes your guts ache for ages afterward. And yes, it’s my mom and Lord Vader that are engaging in it, making everyone in the restaurant stare (luckily, no one sees Vader as Vader, though heaven knows what they really see). What on Earth could they be talking about over there…

“…good stars, Rebecca, I can’t believe she would do that.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard the half of it. Did she ever tell you she hit her grandfather over the head with a flyswatter when she was three…”

I want to crawl under the table. “She’s telling him my baby stories!”

Luke smirks. “Hey, you know all about his past. Maybe your mom figures its time to even the score.”

Great. My own mother is providing a Dark Lord with possible blackmail material. I’ll never be able to look Vader in the eye again. Not without him concocting a bizarre mental image of myself and a flyswatter.

“Speaking of which…” Luke lowers his voice a bit. “What do you know about…” He jerks his head in Vader’s direction.

“About my mom?”

“No, about my father.”

How did I know this was going to come up? “All I can say is see the movies. Despite my complaining on the blog, I like to think I can call Vader a friend. And I don’t want to damage that friendship by saying anything hurtful.”

“I can understand that,” he replies. “But I’m in a pretty tricky position myself.” He pauses to take a bite of his fajita. “You see, Mothma’s banned the Star Wars movies among the Alliance.”

“Say what?”

“She says they’re harmful.” He rolls his eyes. “That they glorify the Empire, that they portray the Alliance as a bunch of ragtag terrorists.”

“Funny.” I stab a piece of enchilada and swirl it around in the sauce. “And here I was under the impression that they portrayed the Alliance as courageous, daredevil heroes and the Empire as a bunch of stuck-up fascist sadists.”

“I can only take your word for it. I’ve never seen them.”

“Tell you what. After dinner, we’ll talk to my mom and your dad and see what the plan is for after dinner. If there’s no plan, we can come home, and you and I can watch Star Wars together. All six. Undisturbed. Deal?”

He smiles. “Sounds great.”

I turn to Mom and Vader’s table… only to see they have vacated the building. Okaaaayyyyyy… at least Vader remembered to pay the tab, even if he stiffed them on the tip. I leave a nice gratuity on my way out to make up for it.

The plan is to use the living room TV for our impromptu movie marathon, but to my horror, it’s occupied – Vader and Mom are watching a movie, “When Harry Met Sally.” But that’s not what horrifies me. What horrifies me is that they’re sitting side by side on the couch, and Vader has his arm around my mother’s shoulders!

“Tell me I didn’t just see that,” I whisper.

“See what?” asks Luke.

I point to the offending arm. “Vader the houseguest, sure, I can put up with that. Vader as my mom’s Valentine date, why not? But there’s NO way I’m gonna have Vader as a stepfather! Got that?”

“Funny, I thought it was your idea to set them up in the first place,” pipes up Grievous from the kitchen table, where he and Maul are playing a game of checkers.

“Besides, in my opinion, you’re just jealous,” Maul puts in.

“If I wanted comments from the peanut gallery, I would have asked for them,” I retort. “C’mon, Luke, we’ll have to use the other TV.” And pray that nothing serious develops between our parents, I add silently.

Okay, I confess, when I was younger I used to fantasize about having Darth Vader as a father in place of my real father. But c’mon, I’m twenty-three. I’m past such daydreams. And who really wants a father who’ll throttle you if you stay out after curfew or wreck the car? Not that he can legally do that now, I’m a legal adult… but still!

I made the mistake of setting Vader up with my mother. Now I have to find a way to break them up, and fast.

*Name changed

Avoiding the St. Valentine's Day Massacre

A reminder of the contest… We’ve had one entry already, and I greatly look forward to reading more. (BTW, PCBabySunribbon, congratulations, you are the first person I’ve encountered who can write a fic able to make Darth Vader cringe.)

Well, Valentine’s Day is four days away, and guess who’s not enthusiastic. Let’s face it, when the only man who has a regular role in your life is an ill-tempered, asthmatic, dark-side-wielding cyborg who’s twice your age, you don’t exactly knock yourself out over the holiday. In fact, the only reason I realized the holiday was approaching was because a sadistic fan caught Shmendrick and covered him with pink heart stickers (the fan received some nasty burns and sustained damage to an expensive Queen Amidala dress for her trouble, but some people have to learn the hard way).

The last time I was happy to see Valentine’s Day approach was when I was in grade school. You know, when kids would decorate a shoebox with construction paper and candy hearts and everyone received the obligatory valentine and candy from everyone in the class. Once I hit sixth grade and the tradition ended, the day just became another day in February. If anything, seeing other kids get flowers or gifts from boy/girlfriends all through junior high and high school only served to further distance me from the holiday, to the point that I’ve become pretty apathetic toward it.

The one bright spot to Valentine’s Day is the day after. That’s when the Valentine candy goes down to half price. Hey, I don’t care what color my chocolate is wrapped in.

Vader was introduced to our romantic holiday quite rudely – in the form of a gushy love poem taped to the front door for all the world to see. Since then, he’s received cards, letters, poetry, cassette tapes full of sappy love songs, some ghastly fan fiction, photos of his admirers, and in one strange case, a statue of himself carved from a solid block of chocolate. Most of these mementos have ended up as fuel for the pyromaniac Shmendrick – except the chocolate carving, which he let me keep.

“This has not been your week, has it?” I ask, tossing a box of Shrek valentines onto the table for Brandon to give his class.

“You could have warned me,” he complains as he rips open yet another letter. He skims it quietly, gives a disgusted snarl, and hands it to the dragon, who quite gleefully incinerates it in a puff of flame.

“If I were you, I’d keep those,” I tell him. “They’d make a rather hilarious scrapbook.”

“When the fans give them to me, they immediately become my property. After that, I do with them as I see fit.”

Brandon staggers in from school, weighted down by his backpack… and a vase stuffed with crimson roses.

“Which girl gave you those?” I tease. “Kristen?”

“No,” he replied with a disgusted grimace. “They’re for you.”

”Me?”

“Yeah, you. Take ‘em, I’m gonna drop ‘em!”

I’m too stunned to do anything but stare at my brother. Vader intervenes, taking the vase and setting it on the table. He pulls a card from the arrangement and examines it.

“From the 460th regiment,” he informs me. “’Happy Valentine’s Day, keep writing fanfic, we enjoy it here.’”

I find my voice. “Stormtroopers? I finally get a valentine, and it’s from a bunch of stormtroopers?”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with gaining the admiration and honor of stormtroopers,” Count Dooku informs me, entering the kitchen and going to the fridge for a Pepsi. “You may find that their respect for you will come in useful someday.”

“I’d rather not have a bunch of stormtroopers as stalker-fans, thank you very much,” I tell the dark Jedi/ former Sith/ Separist leader/ whatever he is now. “And may I make a wardrobe suggestion? Wear some gloves. Those cybernetic hands look pretty creepy.”

“Get out of the house,” Vader snaps in Dooku’s direction. He’s not fond of the former Darth Tyranus, and it doesn’t take a genius to see why.

“I have as much right to be here as you do,” Dooku informs him crisply as he takes a sip from a soda can.

“Vader has seniority over you, pal,” I tell him. “He’s been here longer than you.”

Dooku gives us a disdainful look. “You have a lot of nerve, child…”

“Don’t ‘child’ me, Dracula,” I shoot back.

He glares at me and storms out. He hates it when I call him that, almost as much as Maul hates being nicknamed Toad and Vader detests the fans chanting “this is CNN” whenever he makes an appearance. But really, can you blame them?

“Oh, and you got mail, Darth.” Brandon hands Vader a stack of envelopes thicker than the phone book. “Kenya, did you get the valentines?”

”The store was out of the Star Wars valentines,” I reply. “I got Shrek ones.”

”Okay.”

Vader snarls again and hands another letter to Shmendrick. “Can you believe the audacity these people have? She just asked if I was free on Valentine’s Day, that she wants to go out on a date with me.”

I can’t help it – I bust up laughing.

“Shut up,” he growls.

“Sorry, it’s just…” I wipe my eyes. “Dude, I think you’re gonna need help this Valentine’s Day to escape the fangirls.”

“And what do you suggest?”

That’s when I get an absolutely evil idea…

***

Mom is less than ecstatic about going along with the plan.

“Please, just as a favor for Vader?” I ask.

“When I told you to find me a date for Valentine’s, Kenya, I was joking,” she replies. “Besides, if I went out with a character, Vader wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Look on the bright side,” I tell her. “You don’t have to worry about whether or not to kiss him goodnight.”

She fails to see the humor in that. “If I go out with Vader, you have to find a character to go out with. Deal?”

“Deal. Shake on it?”

There, that’s taken care of. Vader won’t feel the need to execute one or more fangirls this Valentine’s Day, and Mom and I will have something to do that night so we don’t feel left completely out of the holiday. I like taking out two mynocks with one laser blast.

Now to break it to Vader that he’s got a date with my mom scheduled… and to decide who my Valentine’s date will be…

The Emperor’s Right-Hand Man Strikes Back

Before I begin this rant… um, post, let me just remind everyone about the ongoing contest. And to answer questions…

1. No, it doesn’t necessarily have to be an intro. Any short story, vignette, or whatever that’s under 1000 words and fits the requirements will do.
2. Yes, crossovers are allowed.
3. No, you will not suffer bodily harm for writing about a living Star Wars character. I promise to keep them firmly under control.

That said…

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. And frankly, I’m just surprised that it happened later rather than sooner.

And it wasn’t entirely Vader’s fault, either. He was already in a bad mood to begin with. For one thing, he’d woken up to find the cat had shed all over his best cape (the cat survived, don’t worry). Then Luke cornered him this morning for a father-son talk, which he tried to escape by accompanying me to the library. Didn’t work – Luke hitched a ride with a few fans and proceeded to drive his old man bonkers while I shelved books and picked up after the little kids who trashed the place during storytime. By the time we all got home, Luke was frustrated that his father wasn’t listening to him, and Vader was practically smoking at the joints with annoyance.

Add that to the fact that absolutely nothing has been accomplished during the conference despite the endless hours everyone has put into it, the campers somehow talking the stormtroopers into letting a few artistic fans repaint their armor, and a rabid fan who posted an embarrassing love sonnet in honor of Darth Vader on the front door of my house for all to see… you get the point. Basically Vader was at the snapping point. It wouldn’t take much to send him on an officer-throttling spree.

“Why don’t you go inside and unwind?” I urged him. “Play a few rounds of Quiddich World Cup with Brandon or something?”

“No time,” he replied. “The Emperor requires my presence immediately.”

“Geez, doesn’t the guy give you a day off?”

And then… sigh… and then…

I never got the name of the fangirl who saw fit to walk by at that very moment. Never found out who she was, but all I know is she was way out of line. You don’t go and do what she did and expect to walk away unscathed. She should have seen that Vader was stressed and not to be trifled with today.

What’d she do? Oh, just something even I wouldn’t do.

She approached Vader from behind, said something suggestive, and popped him on the butt.

Yes, I know Vader could have handled the situation with a bit more grace. Yes, being around my rear-end-obsessed family should have jaded him to this kind of thing by now. Yes, he should control his temper. But c’mon, do you really blame the guy for turning on the chick and grabbing her by the throat?

Evidently others did.

“MURDERER!” Lady Mothma, right on cue. “Monster! Wretched beast! Madman!”

“Leggo of me, you psycho!” the girl screeched in terror. “It was a compliment!”

“Choke her, she deserves it,” a wacko in tie-dyed Jedi Robes egged on.

“You stay out of this,” Vader snarled.

“DARTH, PUT HER DOWN!” I ordered.

“Did you see what she did to me?” he demanded.

“Look, I know you’re stressed. And I know a slap on the bottom isn’t exactly an acceptable form of greeting where you come from. Come to think of it, it isn’t here either… but that’s beside the point.”

“Make your point, then,” he thundered.

“My point is that I can’t afford a lawsuit, so please don’t hurt the fans. If you want to vent, there’s plenty of firewood to cut. Pretend it’s somebody’s head if you want.”

He let go of the fangirl, who fell hard on her backside in a mud puddle. She scrambled to her feet, drenched, and stalked off, more upset over her ruined clothes than over her brush with death. Vader watched her go, then stormed in the opposite direction, toward the woodpile.

Mothma shuddered. “And you live with that on a daily basis?”

“Give him a break,” I retorted. “He had a hard day. And besides, you just don’t touch a Sith Lord like that. It’s common sense. Or it should be, anyway.”

“I still say it is only a matter of time before a fatality occurs,” she replied.

“I still say it’s only a matter of time before Tiger and Shmendrick have grilled salmon for lunch,” I told her with a smile. “Really, the easiest way to prevent a fatality would be to keep Ackbar out of the house.”

I didn’t see Vader for the rest of the day… but on the plus side, the cord of firewood I never got around to chopping is no longer on my “to do” list. Apparently lightsabers can double as axes too.