A/N: And so it begins... enough wanted more, you get more! I may not update much, if you want immediately updated amusement, go read Smenzer's stories. He is my inspiration. Inspiration for this chapter to Jandalf. Thank you muchly to my 13 reviewers! I'm too tired to personally thank you all, sorry. Heh.

CHAPTER TWO:

A hiss cut through the air, sending a chill across the room as a crimson feathered dart cross the air and smacked into an image tacked across the room. For a moment, time seemed to hold still as the gold tip hung in the air, and then, crossing the bounderies of space and time, smack, hit the image in the nose. The dart stayed stuck there, quivering with the effort of whirling through molocules of a Sith Lord's frustration.

On the floor a well tattered Emperor lay torn to shreds, holes in as many ungracing locations as could possibly been created, a black mustache immaturely scribbled across the face. It was not, of course, the real Emperor - merely an image of him. The real Emperor was locked away in his chambers, and very much alive with no holes or Sharpie marker stains, though who knew after the flasco of the previous day?

Another dart sliced through the air to land upon the image's ear before falling backwards and hitting the floor.

Lord Vader, tall and foreshadowing, evil and angstified, dark and powerful Lord of the Sith snickered viciously, the sound an odd noise in the hard white purity of the room. Scattered around the image were several holes in the wall where the darts had missed, speckling the purity of the Imperial chambers with pepper.

And underneath the mask, he would've smiled wickedly, had it not gotten in the way of his face.

"You will pay for this, my son," Vader hissed, crossing the room to pull five darts out of the image, leaving several ungraceful holes in Luke Skywalker's face.

Vader had gotten off relatively easy from his Master's wrath, the mummified Emperor having set him to janitorial duty as punishment. An extreme embarrassment for the Dark Lord, having to clean all the refreshers on one level of the Star Destroyer - though Vader had taken extreme pleasure in choking the two troopers who had dared laugh. It was, he supposed, no worse than what he had undergone as a Padawan.

He was interrupted from his reverie by a sniffling voice. "Why are you throwing darts at me, daddy?"

Vader turned around to face his relatively short son, who had a tissue in hand. Is he crying! Vader thought, a moment's pity sweeping through him. Is throwing darts at his picture that hard on his being?

For a second, he pitied Luke, suddenly thinking of Padmé, and how beautiful she had looked...

Luke sneezed.

Vader drew back. "Do not do that around me! I have no desire to catch a cold."

Luke snickered slightly. "I have allergies, daddy!"

Vader attempted to raise his eyebrows, until he remembered he didn't have any. He settled for a stare down at Luke, which basically didn't change his appearance at all, beyond making him look scarier. "Oh?"

"Hayfever," Luke said cheerfully, handing Vader a bouquet of brilliant purple and red flowers labeled rest in peace, though the last word had been spelt pieces, Vader noted with a slightly annoyed hiss.

"What is this for?" he growled, placing the darts down on a nearby table and taking the bunch of flowers. A strange tingling sensation entered his nose, and he shook his head slightly to clear it.

"I heard about your punishment," Luke said cheerfully, "and I thought you might want them."

Vader shoved them back at Luke who immediately sneezed, sending mucus and spit splattering all over Vader's neatly polished suit. The Dark Lord drew back, clutching the flowers protectively over the splotch.

"Sorry 'bout that, dad," Luke said, grabbing the darts with the Force.

"I'm sure you are," Vader said dryly, staring at the flowers through his mechanical vision. They were quite pretty, he noted. Padmé would've liked them. He sniffled slightly. Am I tearing up!

Lukie grinned. "And I heard allergies ran in the family. I have to go now! Bye!" Luke whirled out the door, darts still in hand.

"Wait..." Vader was cut off as he sneezed within his helmet and the visor fogged up. He felt the first symptoms of hayfever begin to wash over him...

My son, you are so dead...

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