It may have been all those repressed feelings towards Leia guiding him, or it may have been the beautiful, if not forward, young lady sitting across from him, but this megalomaniac was starting to discover an obsession more powerful than the dark side.

“How is your meal, Buffy?” he asked.

“Perfect, just like you said, Luke.”

“It’s Darth Supremis, mon petit chéri.”

“Ah, come on, Luke,” she flirted. “Why would you replace such a handsome name with something so sinister?”

“Well, I am the last sith lord.”

“How ‘bout if everyone else calls you Darth Supremis, but I call you, Luke? Or Lukie-Dukie even?”

“I’m willing to make an exception for you, sweetheart. As long as you don’t ever say Lukie-Dukie again. Sounds like a turd sandwich. Which is exactly what this tauntaun steak tastes like! Garçon!”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred, recently acquired from Bruce Wayne Industries, said.

“I said medium rare!” Poor Alfred crashed into a cache of pots and pans.

“Now, where were we?” he asked, satisfied.