Uh-oh....
I can't believe I'm writing fanfic...
The crowds parted like they always did. Even on a crowded, commercialized area like the one that he strode through, he radiated an air of menace that had nothing to do with his imposing height, black armor, or skull-like helmet. He hardly took notice of it anymore. The people that scurried out of sight were little more than objects to him. He sent one man, a moment too slow in getting out of the way, sprawling with a swat that had the same level of effort as opening a door.
In general, he preferred the hands-on approach that the higher-ups found so distasteful. As if they could keep their hands clean by not doing the work themselves. He had no illusions about his complicity in the things that he did, but that had ceased to bother him a long time ago.
Though he regarded the crowd about as much as he would a herd of scared livestock, he was aware of its movements and mood. He gestured almost casually at two of the men following him and then flicked a wrist in the direction of a woman who had fled with purpose rather than panic. The two men broke off from the group that he lead without a word and began a smaller hunt of their own.
The plaza that he sought was close and he moved with focused, determined strides that the men he lead had to struggle to match. He turned the corner sharply, his cape flowing to follow smoothly if not gracefully and nearly stumbled as an unexpected obstacle appeared at his feet.
The dark figure stopped abruptly and looked down as the child that had collided with him tumbled to the ground. It looked to be a girl of no more than four or five with blue eyes and a head of short, curly hair. She was clad in the grubby yet sturdy clothing of the lower-class workers of this region. Still clutched in her hand was a wooden stick that usually mounted one of the frozen pastries enjoyed by these people as a desert. She looked between it and him several times in confusion, and then her eyes began to well up.
The colored treat had ended up all over the front of his armor.
For a moment, he blinked behind his mask, perplexed. He was vaguely aware of a gasp of outrage or horror from one of the men behind him, but he ignored it.
Nobody moved for a few seconds until a man came peeling out of the crowd, calling a name. With a shout of fear, he collapsed into a protective crouch with his arms around the child.
"Please, my lord," the man gasped, "Please, show mercy! She's just a child! She meant no harm, I swear!"
He tilted his head down and regarded the terrified man for a long moment. Something about this matter affected him in a way that he hadn't expected. The girl continued to stare, her expression not one of accusation, but loss.
His chin lowered. He'd seen that look before. On a girl with curly brown hair. A long time ago. And he had destroyed it.
"Lieutenant," he rumbled.
A green-clad man scurried up to his side, his expression somewhere between being diffident and outright sycophantic. "My lord?"
"Reimburse this man for the cost of the child's pastry."
The lieutenant blinked. "My lord?"
He turned his head slightly. "Shall I repeat myself, Lieutenant?"
The man gulped visibly and straightened. "No my lord! Right away!"
He turned and moved, gesturing for his followers to continue while the lieutenant carried out his orders, attempting to hand money over to a shocked and bewildered man clutching the hand of a gleeful child.
His destination turned out to be the very pastry shop that had provided the treat that currently adorned his front. He stopped outside as surprised faces within looked up to see what the commotion was. Ignoring them, he closed his eyes and searched, hoping against hope that what he sought was here, terrified of what would happen if it was.
The search lasted only a few moments, and his shoulders settled when he found nothing. Whether it was disappointment or relief, he wasn't quite sure, but such things didn't matter. It was just as well that this den of thieves and traitors didn't contain what he sought. Just another rebel hunt, then.
"Squad leader," he intoned, "This place houses a rebel cell. Level it. No survivors."
"Yes, Lord Vader."
Darth Vader turned and walked away as the stormtroopers opened fire.
Laugh away.
The crowds parted like they always did. Even on a crowded, commercialized area like the one that he strode through, he radiated an air of menace that had nothing to do with his imposing height, black armor, or skull-like helmet. He hardly took notice of it anymore. The people that scurried out of sight were little more than objects to him. He sent one man, a moment too slow in getting out of the way, sprawling with a swat that had the same level of effort as opening a door.
In general, he preferred the hands-on approach that the higher-ups found so distasteful. As if they could keep their hands clean by not doing the work themselves. He had no illusions about his complicity in the things that he did, but that had ceased to bother him a long time ago.
Though he regarded the crowd about as much as he would a herd of scared livestock, he was aware of its movements and mood. He gestured almost casually at two of the men following him and then flicked a wrist in the direction of a woman who had fled with purpose rather than panic. The two men broke off from the group that he lead without a word and began a smaller hunt of their own.
The plaza that he sought was close and he moved with focused, determined strides that the men he lead had to struggle to match. He turned the corner sharply, his cape flowing to follow smoothly if not gracefully and nearly stumbled as an unexpected obstacle appeared at his feet.
The dark figure stopped abruptly and looked down as the child that had collided with him tumbled to the ground. It looked to be a girl of no more than four or five with blue eyes and a head of short, curly hair. She was clad in the grubby yet sturdy clothing of the lower-class workers of this region. Still clutched in her hand was a wooden stick that usually mounted one of the frozen pastries enjoyed by these people as a desert. She looked between it and him several times in confusion, and then her eyes began to well up.
The colored treat had ended up all over the front of his armor.
For a moment, he blinked behind his mask, perplexed. He was vaguely aware of a gasp of outrage or horror from one of the men behind him, but he ignored it.
Nobody moved for a few seconds until a man came peeling out of the crowd, calling a name. With a shout of fear, he collapsed into a protective crouch with his arms around the child.
"Please, my lord," the man gasped, "Please, show mercy! She's just a child! She meant no harm, I swear!"
He tilted his head down and regarded the terrified man for a long moment. Something about this matter affected him in a way that he hadn't expected. The girl continued to stare, her expression not one of accusation, but loss.
His chin lowered. He'd seen that look before. On a girl with curly brown hair. A long time ago. And he had destroyed it.
"Lieutenant," he rumbled.
A green-clad man scurried up to his side, his expression somewhere between being diffident and outright sycophantic. "My lord?"
"Reimburse this man for the cost of the child's pastry."
The lieutenant blinked. "My lord?"
He turned his head slightly. "Shall I repeat myself, Lieutenant?"
The man gulped visibly and straightened. "No my lord! Right away!"
He turned and moved, gesturing for his followers to continue while the lieutenant carried out his orders, attempting to hand money over to a shocked and bewildered man clutching the hand of a gleeful child.
His destination turned out to be the very pastry shop that had provided the treat that currently adorned his front. He stopped outside as surprised faces within looked up to see what the commotion was. Ignoring them, he closed his eyes and searched, hoping against hope that what he sought was here, terrified of what would happen if it was.
The search lasted only a few moments, and his shoulders settled when he found nothing. Whether it was disappointment or relief, he wasn't quite sure, but such things didn't matter. It was just as well that this den of thieves and traitors didn't contain what he sought. Just another rebel hunt, then.
"Squad leader," he intoned, "This place houses a rebel cell. Level it. No survivors."
"Yes, Lord Vader."
Darth Vader turned and walked away as the stormtroopers opened fire.
Laugh away.