TITLE: Darth Vader Watches Weight,
AUTHOR: Red (dzohhar@yahoo.com)
NOTE: For the Vader's medical problems challenge on DVEB
Inspired by a fic and an essay by LL.
CATEGORY: Humor
RATING: PG (violence)
SUMMARY: Pretty obvious, I think.
WARNING: lots of clichés
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars with its characters, locations and concepts is
George Lucas's property. I make no wupiupis.
ARCHIVING: just ask, and ye shall receive.
THANK YOU goes to Djuva, for beta!


===========================================
DARTH VADER WATCHES WEIGHT
Drama in three acts
by Red (dzohhar@yahoo.com)

Dramatis personae:
DARTH VADER, Dark Lord of the Sith
Vader's personal AIDE
Vader's personal DIETICIAN
DIETICIAN HOPEFUL with a suicidal streak
Protocol DROID
Weight Watchers® brisk meeting LEADER
20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES
An assortment of stormtroopers and other furniture

*******************

ACT I

(Lord VADER's quarters on Coruscant. The room is empty, the only
decoration being 2 stormtrooper sentinels at a doorway. VADER enters in
long strides, the scrawny, greyish figure of his personal DIETICIAN
scurrying after him with a bowl containing a pink substance. Vader's
personal AIDE keeps wisely to the background.)

DIETICIAN: (in a whiney voice) "But, my Lord, you *have* to eat your
prescribed portion, or you will be weakened and the Emperor will be most
displeased!"

VADER: (growling) "I shall eat when I feel like eating. Right now I do
not."

DIETICIAN: "I understand, my Lord, but it is the nature of your..." (His
voice suddenly turns into choking gasp; he drops the bowl and falls face
down in the pink substance that is now scattered all over the floor. An
awful mess.)

VADER: (to his AIDE, who is suddenly somewhat jittery) "Have this mess
cleaned up."

AIDE: "Yes, my Lord. At once, my Lord."

(VADER turns to leave.)

AIDE: (calling after the retreating Sith Lord) "My Lord, shall I ---
shall I advertise for another---" (The door closes with a bang; AIDE,
hesitantly) "---dietician?"

********************

(Some time later. An office, AIDE is sitting behind a huge desk,
examining papers; DIETICIAN HOPEFUL is sitting opposite him, fidgeting
nervously; a protocol DROID standing helpfully by, turning its head from
one to the other as they speak.)

AIDE: "Your qualifications are satisfactory, evaluation results good. In
brief, you have been found acceptable for the position. Your duty will
be to see to it that Lord Vader's nourishment is adequate, diversified
and conducive to his Lordship's general state of health. Is that clear?"

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: (gulps) "Lord Vader's?"

AIDE: "Yes. That was what the notice said, wasn't it? 'A very high
ranking person in the Emperor's service.' Now how many persons do you
think would qualify?"

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: "Well..."

AIDE: (snappily) "Will you take this post, or not?"

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: (gulps again, coughs nervously) "Er... May I... May I
have some time before I give you my answer?"

AIDE: (bored, rolls eyes, sighs.) "Of course." (DIETICIAN HOPEFUL exits)

AIDE: (to the protocol droid) "Delete him from the list. He won't come
back."

DROID (brightly) "At once, sir. That would be the forty-fifth."

**************************

(Some time later. Vader's office. VADER sits between the maws of his
open meditation chamber, a replica of the one aboard the Executor. The
AIDE is giving a report.)

AIDE: "...the Kuat Shipyards have not been able to complete the
construction dock for the Super class Destroyer on schedule, as the
Ministry redirected 15% of the allotted funds for an exploratory mission
to the Unknown Regions. The Shipyards have asked for an extension. Their
application has been forwarded to the Ministry of Defence."

VADER: (nods) "Proceed."

AIDE: "The Eighth Fleet reports massive losses in the recent battles,
five capital ships have been destroyed and three rendered unoperational.
They have called for reinforcements--"

VADER: (interrupts him impatiently.) "Send Admiral Davos."

AIDE: "Very well, my Lord." (Scribbles furiously.) "Then there is the
matter of your personal dietician. We have been unable to fill the
vacancy, and the Emperor is upset. In fact, he has ordered you to... to
go..." (with a small voice) "... to seek assistance from the Weight
Watchers®."

VADER: (glares) "The what?"

AIDE: "Weight Watchers®, my Lord."

(VADER slowly rises to his formidable height; AIDE cowers. A long
pause.)

VADER: "And that's the Emperor's orders."

AIDE: "Yes, my Lord." (Shuffles the papers he is holding, finds the
introductory bulletin of the Weight Watchers® and hands it over; Vader
flips it through quickly. The AIDE continues hurriedly) "I procured a
list of their groups and meeting times. In fact, it seems there is a
group meeting in the Imperial Palace on Tuesday afternoons."

VADER: "Indeed?"

AIDE: "Yes, my Lord. If I may say so, the location would be comfortable
for you, and I've been informed the meetings are attended by some of the
highest in the Imperial ranks. Sate Pestage is reportedly a frequent
visitor there, and Ysanne Isard, and Lady Courteroy..."

VADER: (uneasily) "Isard?"

AIDE: "Yes, my Lord."

VADER: "Forget the Palace group. Show me the list."

***********************
***********************

ACT II

(A bleak salle in a Coruscant school, scattered with chairs, a not very
clean Writescreen where a smartass pupil has scribbled "Mara I luve
you." A hand-written sign at the door says, "Weight Watchers®
Coruscant". 20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES have queued up to be weighed,
chattering among themselves about kilos, calories and eating. The brisk
meeting LEADER is busy weighing, writing and calculating; a wide
optimistic smile is plastered on her lips.

The double doors slam open, two stormtroopers enter to stand on both
sides, and in waltzes VADER, followed by AIDE. They march straight to
the LEADER; 20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES hastily make way for them, and then
stand watching with huge eyes, continuing their constant hushed
conversation among themselves)

20 OVERWIEGHT LADIES: "...Ooh, a gentleman! And so tall and straight
too! Doesn't look like he'd need to lose a gram! Oh drool!"

LEADER: (her smile even wider than usual) "Oh, a newbie! Welcome,
welcome. You've made the right choice, one that will surely change your
whole life! Please fill in the datacard, then come here, we'll weigh you
and you'll get your starting materials."

VADER (grunts angrily) "You'd better, Ma'am. I don't have all day."
(AIDE grabs the card and begins to fill it in.)

AIDE: (stares at the card, aside) "Name, address, age... How am I
supposed to fill it in? Oh dear, oh dear..." (To VADER, meekly) "Pray,
my Lord, your age?"

VADER: "Leave it, it is immaterial."

AIDE: (aside) "Occupation... that would probably be Sith Lord...
Company. What company? Empire? Oh dear, I'll be court-martialed for
that... Height? Oh heck..." (Hands over the half finished datacard to
the LEADER.)

LEADER: "You haven't filled it in completely."

AIDE: "The rest is state secret. This cannot be divulged."

(VADER is weighed without any further fuss.)

LEADER: "Hmm, let me see now... To attain the recommended weight you
would have to lose at least 20 kilograms..."

VADER: "What do you mean lose? I'm here to *gain* weight!"

20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES: "Aah?! Did you hear that? He wants to *gain*
weight..."

VADER: "Your programme provides for gaining weight, does it not?"

LEADER: (breaks into another brilliant smile) "Oh, certainly it does. In
fact, Weight Watchers® offers more than eating healthy, it offers you a
new way of life! You'll be surprised at the results you can achieve. We
help you attain your goal, whatever it is. The perfectly balanced diet
of Weight Watchers® weight loss... er... gain programme guarantees no
later setbacks, improves mental abilities, contributes to harmonious
relationships, enhances marital bliss and ensures redemption from any
sin!"  (Spreads her arms, as if expecting VADER to say "Wow!")

(VADER is unimpressed. LEADER shrivels slightly, then rallies herself
and proceeds to explain the finesses of a perfect Weight Watching to
VADER with her usual bright and happy smile. AIDE listens and memorises
everything, because his life depends on VADER's success. Meanwhile:)

20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES: "... 20 kilos overweight, and he can afford to
gain... Does that mean he gets to eat all the cakes and chocolates and
ice creams and bacon? Then why the hell did he came here? To taunt us?
And still needs *assistance* to *gain weight*? Life's just not fair! He
looks kinda porky too... Not really my taste..."

(VADER grabs the merrily coloured booklets, turns and strides through
the swarm of 20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES who scatter, to avoid being trampled.
Just behind the door VADER thrusts the Points® calculator (you know the
thing where you are supposed to mark the portions that you have eaten)
into the AIDE's hand.)

AIDE: "What do you want me to do with it, my Lord?"

VADER: "Whatever, I don't care. You can mark the boxes to calculate the
fleet deployments, if you wish."

AIDE: (resignedly) "As you wish, my Lord."
 
**************************************

(A week later, same place, same persons. Evidently VADER has been
successful, as his AIDE is fairly beaming when they turn to leave.)

20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES: "I visited my aunt, and I just couldn't resist...
the cream cakes she makes! Of course, I regained all I had lost over the
past 2 weeks... Don't fret, I gained 500 grams this week... I gained 700
grams..."

AIDE: (triumphantly) "My Lord gained *two kilograms*!"

(20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES stare daggers at them and hiss as they leave.)

**************************************

(Two weeks later. Dining room in VADER's quarters. VADER pretends to
eat, AIDE and protocol DROID are standing by.)

VADER: "... As soon as you get the report from Diin sector, I want it on
my table."

AIDE: "Of course, my Lord."

VADER: (picks at something on his plate without much enthusiasm.) "What
in the name of Coruscant moons *is* that?"

AIDE: "My Lord?"

DROID: "Nerf fillets in jelly and Shibbol onions in aubergine sauce, my
Lord."

VADER: (gives an appalled look at the dull green substance on the other
plate before him.) "This is disgusting! I will not eat *that*."

AIDE: "But my Lord! The programme! The Emperor wishes you to..."

VADER: "The Emperor will have to do without my services, if he proposes
to feed me with *that*." (Slams the plate into the DROID's helpful
hands, nearly knocking it over.) "Get it out of my sight!"

AIDE: (aside) "I don't know about marital bliss, but the relations have
certainly not improved..."

DROID: "Then what would it be, my Lord?"

VADER: (tiredly) "I'm not hungry." (To the AIDE) "We've got work to do.
Now, this Sullustan affair. What is the status of fleets in the sector?"

AIDE: (looks at the merrily coloured POINTS® calculator where some
squares have been neatly blacked) "Third and Fifteenth are due to send
squadrons for manoeuvres, Admiral Feith's A-squadron is scheduled for
inspection next week...."  

***************************

(Three weeks later. Weight Watchers'® meeting room. VADER stands on the
scales, AIDE beside him. 20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES are beside themselves with
curiosity, trying to peer over their shoulders or between their feet to
see the number on the scales. The LEADER is busy with something, looking
in another direction.)

AIDE: (silently) "2 kilograms gone, my Lord. This is not good."

(VADER makes a small noise that could be a curse.)

20 OVERWEIGHT LADIES: (who evidently have very sharp ears) "He lost 2
kilograms! 2 kilograms, just so! And to think what *we* have to
suffer... And he just waltzes in, loses 2 kilograms and is still not
content... That imperial bantha... Oh, he'll pay for that! He'll pay
with his health! See how he's shaking....!"

VADER:  (waves a hand over the scales, the numbers change.) "What do you
mean gone? Exactly the same as last week."

LEADER: (turns her attention back to the weighing business, briskly)
"So! How's this week been?"

(VADER glares at her, clenching and unclenching his fists.) "Just get it
over with, Ma'am!"

************************************
************************************

ACT III

(Four weeks later. VADER's quarters. Same decorations as before. VADER
strides in, followed by AIDE)

AIDE: "It is time, my Lord."

VADER: "Time for what?"

AIDE: (nervously) "You know... er..."

VADER: "Ah. I forgot to mention. We are not going back there. Not today,
not ever. The Emperor has a mission for me, and hopefully I'll be away
from Coruscant the better part of a year."

AIDE: (checks his data unit.) "Excuse me, my Lord, but there must be a
mistake! I'm sure there isn't a mission scheduled..."

VADER: (leaning toward him threateningly, pointing) "If  *I say* there
is a mission, then there is a mission!"

AIDE: "Very well, my Lord. If you just tell me, which sector we are
heading, I'm sure I can check the local meeting times and locations for
Weight Watchers®..."

VADER: "Out!!! And no, you are *not* going to do that."

************************************************

(An office. AIDE, DIETICIAN HOPEFUL.)

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: "...and so I decided to take the job. That is, if it
is still available."

AIDE: (grinning evilly) "Oh, it is, it is, I assure you. We'd be most
pleased to have you with us. Still, I feel I must warn you of the
occupational risks... You know the circumstances under which ... er...
the post became vacant?"

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: (shakes his head). "No - and maybe I'd rather you'd
not tell."

AIDE: (shrugs) "Suit yourself. The job's yours, and the risk's yours.
Sign here, please... and here.... and here. Thank you. Report to Lord
Vader's personal doctor and quartermaster, they will give you all
details."

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: "Thank you, sir." (They shake hands.)

AIDE: "Just out of curiosity - what made you reconsider?"

DIETICIAN HOPEFUL: (shrugs) "I guess I have that suicidal streak in
me..."

*****************************

(VADER's quarters aboard his flagship. VADER sits at the dining table,
DIETICIAN HOPEFUL, now promoted to DIETICIAN, but definitely having the
same suicidal streak, is standing by. AIDE stands at the background.)

VADER: (glares at the nondescript substance of nondescript colour on the
plate before him) "Take it away. I won't eat that."

DIETICIAN: "Very well, my Lord." (Removes the plate and, as if by magic,
produces from behind his back another plate, containing a substance of
slightly different colour. "If you would try this, my Lord."

VADER: (rolls eyes) "You don't just give up, do you?"

DIETICIAN: (solemnly) "I cannot, my Lord. If I fail to take good care of
you, I will face the Emperor's wrath. The Emperor is not as
forgiving..."

VADER: (rolls eyes again) "I am *made* to suffer!"

DIETICIAN: "If you continue like that, my Lord, your daily intake of
carbohydrates will be considerably below recommended level. How about
this soufflé..." (Produces the said dessert from behind his back).

VADER: "No!" (Jumps up and strides out of the room, with his cape
trailing behind him.)

DIETICIAN: (scampers after him) "But my Lord...."

(Both exit.)

AIDE: (falls into hysterics, alternately giggling and pulling his hair
with desperation.)


The curtain falls.
FIN