VADER

The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins.  Eventually, even stars burn out.

Lucky? Maybe. He certainly didn’t feel lucky. Oh, he didn’t feel particularly put-upon, either; and perhaps he should have, given the… everything about the situation, but beneath the immediate anxiety and discomfort, there was– something else. Not soothing enough to be relief, not mature enough to be hope. The beginnings of one or the other? His life was changing, and though the circumstances of that change weren’t good, the prospect itself wasn’t bad. It was all rather abrupt, and thus difficult to process, and Michael had never had the best understanding of his own emotions. He had always lived by the old adage: whatever happens, happens. If he was angry, he shouted; if he was sad, he sulked; if he was happy, if he was happy, he laughed, the most wonderful sound. He didn’t think he’d laughed in months. He didn’t think he would be laughing aboard Vader’s ship, either, but at least he couldn’t be certain of that. Maybe what he was feeling was the potential of it all. A chance for things to be, if not better, then awful in a different way.

       If only William wasn’t going to find him and behead him. But another thought was creeping up, and he knew exactly what this was the moment it tickled the base of his skull. Smugness. Oh, just let the old bastard come after him. If he made himself useful, and Vader wanted to keep him, there was no way in the Sith Hells that Afton would be prying Michael from those cold mechanical fingers. Kriff ‘the devil you know’, because he did know, and that devil sucked. And now he would have to come crawling on his hands and knees to get Michael back. Honestly, it would be funny if Vader just tossed him out with the trash on the day he stopped being useful. Fuck you, you shitty old bitch, he thought with as much vitriol as he could muster, directing his ire back towards the shop. He could have a crisis about it later – he was sure that he would – but for now, he’d ride this high.

       He seated himself, fidgeting his hands in his lap. Don’t talk, stupid. Just don’t say anything. He said he’d tell you, so wait for him to talk first. “–so…” He cursed himself as he felt his lips moving, but the sound of the respirator was just too oppressive to ignore. “Do I… get to ask questions? Beyond this one?”

As Michael sits down, the dark lord himself marches on to the cockpit of the small craft and directs his immediate attention to the control boards. The soft sound of switches flicking and button presses fill the silence alongside his mechanical breathing as he prepares to take off and leave this dreadful planet. 

He pauses what he’s doing immediately when the other speaks. The nerve of it does come as a surprise, a mildly angering one. The tone in his reply however remains eerily neutral. “ I will allow it . “ He answers after a moment of tense silence. “ But I suggest you choose your words . Very . Carefully . “

darthlcrd // 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐕𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

          𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 , 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 , 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒. Stygian darkness encroached upon demesne — ominous in augur. Phantom hands wrapped around his neck , descending with a vice-like grip. Gloved hands rose to slackened rigid collar. A soft inhalation. ❝ The Empire’s secrets remain safe with me. My eyes and ears are all over the galaxy. Even if there was so much as a whisper of the weapon — I will know. ❞

 ❝ I will not fail , my lord. Rest assured that the Emperor had not misplaced his trust. I — ❞ The locomotion of words faltered as Sith lord’s footsteps hammered with resounding force amidst the floor. Hackles rose as chills kissed stiffened spine. A sharp exhale as the sensation albeit stronger in intensity. ❝ If we work together , we can eliminate this threat before its escalation. One of the men is already in my custody. He has agreed to divulge the whereabouts of his comrades. ❞

With practiced indifference he holds another insignificant life in his hands. The silence stretches on once more as Vader deliberates what to do with it. The dark side craves death, it would be satisfying to feel that sickening crack or to watch him struggle to draw his last breath. But he knows it won’t keep that anger sated for long. As much as it fuels his wrath he still has use for the director, however clumsy he may be.

The pressure around his neck tightens momentarily before it releases completely. A reminder of how easily the coin could have fallen the other side. “ I will be the judge of that . “ He says, the annoyance he feels at not giving the killing blow clear even through his vocoder. “ This is your final chance to prove your worth . I will not be so lenient with continued insolence . My patience runs thin . “

“Wh– but–” What was he going to tell his father? William had absolutely refused to let him wander far from the shop; the mere mention of Michael leaving the planet or even moving to another town sent him into hysterics. You’re all I have left, Michael – you know that, don’t you? The galaxy is dangerous. You need me. Of course, it went without saying that Michael could take care of himself in most regards: he was more a danger to others than they were to him, and his criminal record stated as much. They’d been talking about sealing it, or everything from before the age of eighteen, but those negotiations had stagnated. Now he supposed it didn’t matter, because he was leaving whether he liked it or not.

       He wasn’t fool enough to argue beyond the two impulsive syllables, and he swallowed further protests and nodded. There was a brief pang of loss, not for this place or what remained of his family, but for the tools and projects he would be leaving behind. No time to grab them, not when the second most powerful man in the Empire was demanding that he follow along. He did, with his head down and his hands clenched into nervous fists. There below the surface was the ever-present bubbling rage, the willingness to fight, but for now, it was dampened. Fear held it in check.

Vader’s step doesn’t falter at the protest. He knows how these things go, no one would dare not obey his commands to the letter. He’s made sure of that. And if this man does prove too stubborn for his worth then, well, good riddance. Just his hesitance is an incompetence most officers on board the Executor would meet their end for. Really, he’s lucky Vader has use for him.

The sith lord might be able to sense his inner turmoil, but there’s no trace of any empathy for him within himself. Quite the opposite, the dark side feeds off these emotions relentlessly. He doesn’t slow his strides for him and marches on in complete silence, save from the steady, ever present sound of his breathing, until they reach the shuttle he arrived in.

It’s definitely not the kind of ship one would expect the Empire’s second in command to travel in. but being inconspicuous and mundane is exactly why Vader chose it for this trip. The cargo door on the back of the craft obediently opens at a sway of his hand.

darthlcrd // Darth Vader

          ❝ N-No , my lord. ❞ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. Silently , he mentally rebuked at wavering diction. Rare it were for the Director to find himself in the monster’s presence. The safety of numbers and rash officers with booming voices shielded Krennic from the brunt of Vader’s quiet rage. Foolish men had attempted to appease this abomination — yet one after another , each found the oxygen in their lungs deteriorate. Even now , he envisioned bluish visage with significant clarity ; the expression of terror lingered , even after death.

Footsteps remained rooted to durasteel floors. Deep inhalations , savouring precious oxygen while he could. ❝ Of course , I’m here to report a significant progress with the weapon. With Dr. Erso back under my care , there would no longer be any major impediments. But — ❞ He swallowed thickly. ❝ I’m afraid there are other pressing matters to think of. Our supply runs have been intercepted by the rebel fleet. Gerrera , I believe. The timing of the their assault is uncanny — I believe that there may be a mole , an imposter among us. With assistance , I intend to hunt this rat down. ❞

“ Assistance ? “ The towering cyborg repeats. The modified voice a subtle tone higher to sell feigned disbelief at his barely concealed request. So many pretty words to conceal what this actually is - a failure. These politics tire him. “ You have lost vital supplies , allowed a highly confidential station to be infiltrated under your watch and now you cannot even correct your own mistake . “ Vader translates. The blank mask unmoving as it stares down at the officer, yet the judgement behind it hangs thick around them. “ The only remarkable trait you possess continues to be your incompetence , director . “

He was doing his best not to stare, but– well, he couldn’t help it. While he’d never had much direct contact with the Empire beyond the garrison simply existing several miles away, occasionally spitting out or swallowing a patrol, he had two eyes and two ears, and a holocaster. There was nobody on this or any neighboring planet who didn’t know who Darth Vader was. He had simply never seen him in person before.

       There were people who insisted that he was some sort of droid. Michael wasn’t much for the rumor mill, but that had caught his attention. It was entirely possible, or so he’d thought. Until now. Until he was standing in the same room as him. Technology had come so far, you could make droids that looked just like people now. Few mechanics did, mostly out of misplaced pride in being human ( nobody ever seemed to talk about making realistic droids of any other species, which was… odd, but Michael didn’t claim to be aware of every conversation going on in the galaxy; maybe this was a hot topic in some other star system ), but it was possible. And with that mask, they didn’t even need to attempt realism if they didn’t want to. Only–

       Only he was breathing. And there was just no logical reason to simulate breathing in a war droid. Unless it was some sort of intimidation factor? But that made no sense; it would kill any potential for stealth. Could Darth Vader stop breathing? Could he hold his breath? The chest piece on the front read to Michael as some sort of regulator: conclusion, the breathing was compulsory. You didn’t hold an iron lung. And if this was true, it all being conjecture at this point, but if it was true… why. What kind of incident resulted in a breathing apparatus like that? ( The hybrid suits weren’t torture devices, but, stars, they could have been. )

       “…what do you want me to do?”

Yellow eyes squint behind red tinted glasses. It’s barely any effort to perceive his emotions, as it is with any untrained non Force sensitive. The familiar sense of fear that came to permanently stain the Force around him is as present as it ever is but besides that... curiosity. How amusing. The mask and his rigid form betray nothing of how he himself feels about the interaction, but he hasn’t killed him yet, so that must mean something.

Vader lets the moment stretch out longer, an intimidation tactic that has become like second nature to him, make them nervous, give their mind the time to do the work for you. One’s imagination is a powerful thing. His steady, ominous breathing nothing but an agitator to it. 

          ❝ Yes, my lord. ❞ 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐃. Silence , cacophonous silence blanketed the empty room. Heartbeat. War-drums pulsated in staccato rhythm — betraying inner quintessence. Visage remained unmoving ; observing with reverence. Belied underneath the Director’s artificial tranquillity was growing apprehension ; wrapping its tendrils around his heart. His breath hitched — as though asphyxiated.

Mechanical monster towered with unnatural stiffness. A horrifying amalgamation of man and machine ; Its breathing remained a testament to the vestiges of humanity left. Krennic swallowed thickly and rose ( carefully ). ❝ Very wise words. Your astuteness remains sharp as ever. I could not have said it any better myself. Perhaps we should … jump straight into business ? ❞

A sneer pulls at old scars behind the skeletal mask. He Has infinitely better things to do than endure another spineless officer’s bootlicking. “ You should know better than to think flattery works on me . “ The vocoder booms through steady breathing. The deep bass of his voice echoing around the room. 

With rigid movement the dark mass begins to circle the other. Through the Force Vader can feel the impact his intimidating completeness has, but even that has become redundant over the years. “ Always in such a hurry . “ He remarks. Through the voice modification it’s near impossible to tell if his words hold condemnation or if they’re simply made to sound that way. “ If you’ve got better places to be then I suggest you talk fast , director , and stop wasting breath on useless formalities . “ Heavy steps stop to punctuate the weight behind his words. He’s got no patience left for any of this.

DANGEROUS PROMPTS | [ open ]

“ Pointing out the obvious will not safe you . “ Vader’s deep bass rumbles. The dark mask tilted slightly downwards as he peers at the mechanic. What he wants or doesn’t want is of no interest to him. “ What will , however , is following orders . So I suggest you think over your next words very carefully . “ He continues. He hasn’t neglected his duties on the Executor to come to this horrid place and risk arising the Emperor’s suspicions for nothing, so he shall forgive the useless misuse of words this time.

That won’t safe him through further irritation, however. This man is just one mechanic out of many options, and Vader is already feeling agitated.

If he were anyone else, he might acknowledge the irony of the situation. Anakin, who spent his last days fighting the inevitability of death, had never seen the reaper himself. Yet it seems Vader can’t go a week without having him show up. It’s because of his own murderous tendencies above any fault of the other, of course, but knowing that does little to ease the irritation he feels whenever the being shows up.

At first, he’d simply cross his arms and stare at him through the unreadable red tinted spectacles of his mask. But soon it became such a common sight he’d go about his business as if he weren’t there. The dark looming figure then only occasionally turning to regard him. There are certain forces he knows even he can’t disturb. He’s learned that lesson the hard way, multiple times.

Death has already taken everything it can from him, anyway.

That is, until it hasn’t.

The knowledge that the child he’d been grieving for all these years is still alive, his existence shining brightly in its impossibility, has caused a storm of long buried emotions. Why now? Nothing has moved him in years. And why like this? A rebel, who leads the kind of life that’s snuffed out from one moment to the next. He shouldn’t care, these are Anakin’s worries, not Vader’s. But suddenly, suddenly he has a reason to care about death again.

The next time he appears the staring resumes. The body of some unfortunate ensign who’d been sent to their death by letting them bring the news that the pilot who blew up the Death Star had once again escaped the Empire’s clutches lying motionless on the polished durasteel floor. This time, however, he also takes a few steps closer. Mechanical hands resting on his belt. A few ominous cycles of his respirator pass before the low baritone of his voice sounds through.