Chapter 2

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Dear The Emperor,

I do not think I will have any trouble keeping angry, Master. Mr. Joker, it seems, is notoriously difficult to please. For everyone except this Wendy, who he has told me is adept at it, mrowr.

I do not want to know, Master. I do not want to know.

The other day, the man sent me to fetch him some T. He just threw the order out without a second thought. He didn't stop to say please, or to tell me that my work is appreciated, or to show any common courtesy at all. It is as though I am just a piece of furniture that happens to be here to obey his every whim. And the rest are just as bad. No one respects me around here; no one appreciates the work I do.

Do you have any idea how long it took me to track down T, who insisted that I call him Mr. T, foo? Whatever that means. I am familiar with many Imperial languages, but I am not up to speed on this bizarre dialect.

It was an exhausting process to locate him, to say the least. First, I had to go to this galaxy's non-holographic communications network and perform a search for T on something known as Google. Silly name.

I had several results returned, many of which involved two or more beings engaging in the most perverse of activities, rather reminiscent of my honeymoon.

I dismissed the idea right out of hand that Mr. Joker was asking me for any of these things, as he has stopped mistaking me for Miss Wendy. Thank the Force.

Once I had found this T, it remained to track him down, which was only slightly less difficult. Finding his underground home, beating him to the ground, and binding him securely. Not to mention, floating him all the way back to the Library, and dealing with all the questions from local law enforcement. All in all, I think that the three hours it took me to fetch Mr. Joker his T was quite reasonable, and should have commanded a bit more gratitude that "what the bloody hell took you so…eh!"

I have spent the entire day thus far in my room out of protest to his non-recognition of my superior tracking skills. Not what he was asking for? He should have been more specific! I can track down anything, if he tells me what it is!

And by the way, Master, you had better not have your temp using my old training lightsabre.

There is one woman who was allowed to touch my lightsabre. And she is dead now. I am working on my anger management, Master.

Today was no better. That man sent me to write a report on events of which I knew nothing. Needless to say, I made most of it up. Which was no small feat with that little boy popping in every now and again to break my concentration. I swear, as soon as I figure out how, I am going to kill him. My Force powers are useless, and even my lightsabre passes right through him. And not in the usual way.

If you have any ideas, Master, please let me know, as I fear that I will soon reach the point that I will be willing to compromise and take my own life.

Your obedient servant,

Darth Vader.

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Dear Lord Vader,

No, don't work on your anger management; I specifically instructed you to stay angry!

Well, this is just wonderful. Now I'm angry. It just isn't the same, though, Lord Vader – no one throws a temper tantrum quite like you.

Although, there has been plenty in my life as of late to induce anger. This girl is insufferable. If it weren't for the promise she has shown thus far with a lightsabre, I would zap her but good. Gooooood.

I apologize, Lord Vader; I forgot where I was for a moment.

Anyway.

She has spent most of the day redecorating my throne room, after I told her to leave a few Admirals for later. She has been killing them faster than we have been able to promote them. We have the Imperial Academy working overtime.

But back to my new décor. I was rather fond of the black. The earth tones and potted plants, not to mention the soothing suede furniture, really do nothing for me. Nor do the stylish barstools and granite countertops. Particularly as I did not previously have a counter.

She tells me she found it all on some planet called Ikeyyya. Said that she generally doesn't bother with the cheap stuff, but this was an exception, since the room was clearly desperate.

I was not quite sure how to take that. If anything, I should be grateful that she does not consider my feelings more often. I doubt my sanity could survive.

In order to get some time to work on my various projects (not to mention, to keep her out of the way whilst I hire an un-decorator), I have sent her to the forest moon of Endor to oversee the construction of the new Death Star. Hopefully, this will keep her busy. And hopefully, I will not find it aesthetically decorated according to the principles of Feng Shui. If I see one potted plant anywhere, I'm going to be quite angry. And we all know what happens when I get angry. People go "bzzzt!"

Well, actually, they don't go "bzzzt"; I actually go "bzzzt", and they just sort of wiggling on the floor, screaming.

Eh…anyway…

Love and kisses,

Palpy.

P.S. If no one's using that 'T' fellow, you could always send him here. Perhaps he can become a bounty hunter. The Force knows, this galaxy could use a good one for a change.

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Dear Mr. Joker,

I'm on the Death Star! Isn't that thrilling?

Well, actually, it isn't, really; it's rather boring just yet, but it certainly sounds nice and dramatic! Mr. The Emperor sent me away rather suddenly after I redecorated his little alone-time happy place for him, so I believe he must want my particular area of expertise for this project.

God knows, this place could use a woman's touch. Everything's dull and grey and metal; it looks like it was designed by the Germans.

Anyway, the first thing I did was talk to the commander of this station. And he was really quite rude. Demanded to know who I was, and who the hell had given me clearance, and he called me 'space doll' several times.

Only until I told him I was working directly for the Emperor, though. Then he just sort of cowered and made noises. I think he expected me to choke him to death or something. So I did.

His replacement was much more polite. Almost to the point of timidity. It got a little aggravating – like dealing with a full-grown version of Junior.

Although, it seems as though word of me has gotten around; all I have to do is make a hand gesture as though I'm choking someone, and they all run and hide behind things. It's rather cute, really.

The next day, I received word from Mr. The Emperor that he was going to be coming soon himself, to see if I had succeeded in motivating the troops.

I suggested that maybe he ought to bring them all some nice cookies or muffins or something, because motivating through kindness was much more effective than motivating through fear. He said that he would take it under advisement.

Then the wall behind me exploded, just as I found my necklace that I had dropped earlier, and bent to pick it up. Strange, isn't it? Shoddy workmanship in this place, honestly. Surprised the entire place hasn't inexplicably exploded.

Oh, well; give it time.

After I got off the holo-net, I took immediate action. I put all the workers into time management classes, but strangely, their efficiency hasn't improved yet.

Well, I suppose they just need more classes! As Mr. Gentleman always liked to say, "That's the ticket!"

And with that, I suppose I ought to get going. I have to have a chat with the Commander.

So, I'll let you know how that goes.

I hope you're all doing well back home.

Lots of love,

Wendy.

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Dear Wendy,

I miss you more everyday. I miss your sweet smile, and your bell-like laugh, and your soft warm touch, and your sweet, sweet backside.

Oh, yes; and your typing skills and general coherency.

I've just gotten through Lord Vader's attempt at a report, and I must say, I was not terribly impressed. The man is completely out of control. Not only was it not in any way related to the subject of the conference, but it was not even in English. What I could decipher of it ranted on for several pages about Jedi scum, and the subjectivity of good and evil.

And those were the parts that I understood. What the hell is a Jedi, anyway? What bizarre colloquialisms, never mind the bollocks.

But that is neither here nor there, as it were.

It was horribly embarrassing to find myself up on the podium, reading out Vader's speech in a tea-deprived half-daze, and not realizing what I was saying until I had proudly informed all those listening that it is our passions that make us strong, and one must embrace a larger view of the Force, not merely the dogmatic views of the Jedi.

Those Jedi again. What are they?

I do have some good news, however: we have located Agent Paper. She was (get this) living in a library.

How the hell did we not think to look for her there? Honestly, Wendy, what have you been doing for five years? Knitting the wallpaper?

We went to pay her a friendly visit, but were rather rudely received. Although, I don't suppose we helped the situation by pulling out Super Soakers.

Vader, naturally, was nowhere to be found, the one time when he could have been useful. Needless to say, I had sent him off on a mission to gather together all the books in Jinbou-cho. Dangling the carrot before the eyes of the horse and all that.

Although, in this case, it was a very large carrot.

A very large carrot lit on fire when our young Mr. Vader began to have a temper tantrum over something.

I never know just what it is with him. Likely something to do with that Mr. Tea fellow. At any rate, by the time I arrived, Agent Paper was long gone, the books were beyond saving, and a lot of very angry citizens were having things thrown at them by Vader. Including a few of our own men, who did not take kindly to being demoted to the rank of projectile. To which Vader had replied, "it could have been worse; I could have made you an Admiral."

Whatever that means. I always thought Admiral was a fine rank, really. But perhaps, in A Galaxy Far Far Away, Admiral and Yeoman are reversed. It doesn't matter, I suppose.

Moving on, by the time I had gotten there, Yomiko and her little team of playmates had long since fled, as I honestly don't blame them for doing, as Mr. Vader was swinging some sort of glowing red sword madly about and sending little bits of our men flying to and fro. Made rather a big mess.

Just as soon as you get back, Wendy, we'll have to look into hiring some new employees. It shouldn't be difficult, as the rumours about my psychotic assistant feature his being several inches taller than you, and lacking certain bits that, if I recall correctly, you have.

I miss those bits horribly…

Oh, yes, and if you have a moment, Wendy, I'll need you to do up an annual report for me, since Mr. Vader is not to be trusted with anything. Just email it to me when you're done, will you? Thank-you, dear.

Counting the seconds until this is all over,

Joker.