Darth Vader was in his office brooding.

He'd handwavily gone home to scare the Stormtroopers working on the newest Death Star. It was very close to being weapons ready--something that filled him with a sick sort of dread.

And when he came back, his meditation chamber had been destroyed because he'd spent the entire weekend thinking he was a lion (except for an equally humiliating time believing he was some kind of actor from Earth). He'd given advice to some random cub.

And now he wanted to eat duck.

His life was terribly hard, yes.

So he sat in his office with the door propped open, poking occasionally at the musical instrument Rose had given him and tried to keep his mind off of what it had felt like to feel the breeze on his face again.

[OOC: Contents of conversation with Rory are NFB, please.]