Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man...

Mood: Comfortably numb
Music: Sharp Dressed Man - ZZ Top

Called away from the fleet today...still doing some preliminary work on the Death Star. What a name. Doesn't sound very inviting, does it? I don't know what Tarkin was thinking when he mentioned paying it off by promoting it as a resort and hiring a lounge singer. For some reason, the song, "Copa Cabana" just doesn't sound like something I'd associate with the term, "technological terror."

Anyway, so I was walking to the hangar to get back to my ship when a shuttle arrived on the Death Star. Out comes this entourage of striking women...the Emperor's entourage. Apparently he was transferring some of his women to what will be our new command center. I really don't see the need, and since my mother was a slave, I abhor such practices, to tell you the truth.

I did, however, stop dead in my tracks when I heard them start whistling as I walked by. I turned my head in disbelief and was met with blushing faces and suppressed giggles.

I was SO going to get it when my master arrived...and of course, he'd never believe that it wasn't my fault...

Guess being overly charred and mostly cybernetic is still hotter than being a wrinkled old crone.

I chuckled at the thought and walked into my shuttle.

"Lordship..." the female voice purred, "How can I serve?"

That's Commander Brisard...she's an officer in my fleet, and we well...sort of have this thing...when we're not trying to kill each other, that is. For some reason, she knows how to read me. I guess even with this mask on, I still have a horrible poker face. Either way, it's nice to have someone who agrees with you that killing Jedi younglings wasn't such a bad thing...try explaining that to Padme Amidala.

"Get us back to the fleet, Brisard." I commanded, sinking back in my chair.

"Yes, Lord Vader. Shall we make up bad names for Tarkin on the way back?"

I smiled. Whoever made the rule that women weren't fit to serve the Empire certainly had no appreciation for humor.

All in all, it had been a good day. I had intimidated Tarkin, been whistled at by the Emperor's consorts, and, by the time I'd return to the safe haven I called star destroyer Devastator, I'd have about 100 new insults for that pathetic excuse for a Grand Moff.