Drunken Stupors with Papa Palpatine.

Like every day before this, the newly christened Emperor of the Known Galaxy was found within the confines of his obsidian throne. Constantly surrounded by the silence of the grave, and ashen revenants of the past. It could be considered peaceful in some ways, however he considered it damning. Through his will alone, had the universe bent the knee in recognition of his power. Yet, those that had come before, mocked him with their hushed whispers. They had sought the seat he now held, and failed in its pursuit. Now that they were dead, and their bodies nothing more than a memory of ash, did they dare taunt their better.

Looking out into the bespeckled void, the Emperor began quieting the voices of the past with the marvels he had brought to his people. Peace. That alone was something worthy of recognition in the face of his predecessors. The galaxy had finally known peace in untold millennia, and yet they still nagged at him. Yes, he did not grace the surface of each world with his presence, but what idiot whom sought such position ever could? They would die in the attempt, long before their goal had been achieved. Unlike that fool, this elderly man had millions of men, fractured souls sculpted in the image of their creator, do it for him. Sure, he had not forcibly ended the life of those that bore the heroic title of Jedi, that pleasure was left to one of their own. The supposed Chosen one. The one that would bring balance to the Force, and secure a peaceful future through the dogmatic views of the Order.

Palpatine begin to chuckle then. Such sweet irony to employ a soul so twisted by hope and grief, in the destruction of everything he had once loved and called home. It was then that his moment of reverie had been interrupted by a longing mechanical chirp. Disgruntled by such an act taking place, Palpatine depressed his aging thumb upon the activation switch. Hidden circuitry connected beneath the ebon throne's surface, causing a shimmering azure image to fill the vacant space surrounding his armrest. Built from the reflection of thousands of microscopic photoreceptors, a man clad in the vestments of his Royal Guard, came to life.

:: Sire. ::

"Why do you disturb me." Palpatine had snapped, his voice the thundering crash of gravel condensed within human vocal chords.

:: Sire, the refreshments you desire have finally arrived. Shall I have them delivered for you? ::

The Emperor shook his head in acknowledgement. He had risen to power, might as well take a moment to revel in its luxuries. With a wave of his gnarled hand, the shimmering image had dissipated into thin air. Almost simultaneously, the Red Royal Guard had entered the monumental chamber, bearing a polished silver platter. Upon the regal embellishment, stood a towering crystalline bottle filled with an amber liquid. The cork had been removed, as expected, and the scent began to billow through the room. It smelled of aged oak, with hints of honey and something Palpatine could not place. The solution wasn't poisoned, or atleast it's effects had yet to take hold. He knew this simply because the man that had bore the robes of his bodyguards still advanced upon the throne with a quickened pace. The man would be dead long before he had reached the dais, but as he yet lived...

"Tell me." He asked without turning to face the new arrival. "What do you think of it?"

Halting his stride before the backing of the obsidian throne, the Royal Guard knelt in an honest gesture of fealty. There he would remain until bade forth to his Emperor's side.

:: The brandy is of Corellian make, thus the blend of flavour and alcohol is pleasing to the tongue, Sire. Shall I pour you a glass, Majesty? ::

Palpatine let free an amused chortle, as he turned to face his kneeling servant.

"No, you may leave the bottle and go. Lock the door behind you, and ensure that none disturb my... meditation."

:: Sire. :: The Guardian had said, before rising. Palpatine watched with vague interest as the man had left, taking the very motion that stirred the silence in his Throne room with him. Now alone once more with the ghostly murmurs of the dead, the Emperor was free to do what he wished. All alone with a bottle of Corellian brandy... Within the span of a heartbeat, the opened bottle flew up from it's imprisonment upon the silvered platter, and entered the vellum like embrace of the Emperor's clutches. What troubles would he cause with such a potent mixture? None but the Force knew. Regardless of such an unforeseen future, Palpatine lifted the vessel to his lips and poured a hearty swig into his gullet. The Royal Guard had been accurate in his description of the taste, as it sweetly teased his tongue with the promises of washing away all his worries.

Swallowing the mouthful of brandy with a flourish of his tongue, the Emperor felt a long forgotten surge of warmth bubble within his belly. He was older now, than the last time he had dared such an act. Casual drinks with accomplices or enemies had been his staple for years! This, this was something a man brimming with youthful vigour would do. Now that he was Emperor, damned be the consequences of slowly killing his liver. He would simply find something newer, should his body fail him. An audible sigh of relief filled the throne room as the Emperor had guzzled yet another mouthful of the dangerously potent Brandy. His vision began to blur at the edges now, and his thoughts became muddled. It was a pleasing sensation, when compared to dealing with the tedium of being Emperor. Sure there was absolute power, but gawd dahmn there were so many monotonous tasks that needed to be performed.

Now things were starting to get interesting. Palpatine had never minded the tedious tasks before, as he knew each was a step towards earning the Throne he now resided in. Yet, this seemed to be the Brandy talking. Seducing the truth from the darkest recesses of his mind, forcing his orderly thoughts to become errant. Perhaps with another swig, He thought to himself, will my mind become clear. Much to his chagrin, such a case had not proven true. They called it liquid courage in some circles, yet never once did they deign to tell him what would happen if he had consumed too much. You could say it was blissful ignorance or what have you, but it was an experience that the Emperor was glad he could forgo until now, as his youth was spent learning of more worthy things, and had not truly understood what it was like to be drunk.

"No wonder the Corellian's seem to be happy people. Perhaps I should give them a call, see if I could garner more drink." He said aloud, though no one was there to answer. "No. It would not be wise to ask them." Palpatine reasoned. "I am their Emperor. I shall take what is rightfully mine!" His words echoed throughout the Chambers, filling the silence with his resonance. Following after his boisterous proclamation, the man laughed. Something he had not done since he faced the Green Midget in the Senate Chambers. It felt good. He wanted to do it more, yet lacked the reasoning in which such emotion could spring forth unbidden. That meant he needed to spark the reaction, but how would he go about such a resolution? It started as nothing more than a passing thought, but as time passed the idea began to fester. He had created a wretch, one that served him ever so faithfully. Now it was time to rub it in the broken man's face. Only through the act of drunken domination would Palpatine be pleased!

So, channeling the warmth of his newfound courage, he depressed several buttons upon his throne's armrest. Like before, the holoprojectors sparked to life with smooth mechanical precision. This time, instead of an azure tinted spectre bearing the distinctive red of the Royal Guards, an image of his Apprentice flickered into being.

:: Master. :: Darth Vader had intoned. :: It is not a suiting time for me to chat. ::

He was in his fighter again, no doubt gallivanting about the galaxy chasing Rebels.

"I am your Emperor." Palpatine has replied, unimpressed with his student's tone. "Only I shall decide when it is prudent to chat."

:: Respectfully, Master. The Death Star has been assaulted by a small Rebel strike force. I am in pursuit of one Fresian fighter down the equatorial trench now, distractions could cost us the station. ::

Ever since he was tossed into the lava pits of Mustafar, the poor boy wheezed painfully with every breath. A pity, Palpatine thought, He should have known better than to give into his emotions. It was sluggish, but the Emperor smiled drunkenly at the image of Vader.

"Don't tell me," His voice had taken on a mocking tone, slurred by the apprehension in his aging muscles. "They're planning to strike the shielded exhaust port just below the Superlaser. Proton Torpedoes, or something similar. Am I right, Vader?"

Stunned, Darth Vader chanced a glance towards his starfighter's onboard holoprojector.

:: How did you know? :: He asked at first, followed swiftly by, :: And are you drunk? ::

"Shush you." Palpatine curtly retorted. "I'm the Emperor, therefore I couldn't be drunk."

:: Master... ::

Even halfway across the Galaxy, Palpatine could hear the disappointment in his voice. HA! He thought, Now to get him to suffer more.

"Tell me, Lord Vader. Have you shot down that Rebel Scum yet? Were I in your place, I would have done that long ago. No, I wouldn't have shot him down. I would have dashed his biplane across the Equatorial trench and pissed on the ashes. So why aren't you using the skills that I taught you Vader? Tell me you worthless sack of burnt flesh!"

A muttered reply was the only answer the Emperor had received. That would not do! Such insolence!

"Speak up boy, or I'll strangle that disgusting wretch residing in your quarters."

:: Not that! :: Vader whined. It was sound so vile that even his mechanical iron form had dared not to emulate it. Thankfully his support apparatus's breathing patterns had drowned out the sounds of his mewling, before the Emperor had begun to regret the decision of toying with his apprentice. :: Anything but that, Master..::

"Good... Now say it."

:: I'm sorry Master, but No... ::

"Dew it."

:: Very well, Master. I said, I have yo - What!?! ::

That was when the link was suddenly severed by a loud, audible screech of metal grinding upon metal, before falling into the base crackle of static. Well then. That was a tad bit over dramatic. Sure, he had wanted to toy with the poor boy, but to disconnect so suddenly without a chance to relish in the agony? That was rude. He was sure to get a reaming when the link was reconnected. Oh, how he would torment the boy for such a slight! How dare he insult the Emperor so.

:: Sire. ::

That voice, the very same one that belonged Guardsman standing outside the royal chambers, had dragged Palpatine out of his simmering rage.

"What is it?"

:: Sire, we've lost communication with the Death Star... ::

~ FIN ~