Chapter Text
Day 1
Dear Diary,
I am writing this diary because Shank, the motherfucking shebs, thinks it will help me move through whatever trauma I went through that took my memories. There are two problems that I have identified with this plan so far.
Problem 1: my trauma is not a bowel movement, so I don’t exactly know what Shank thinks will start moving here.
Problem 2: I am now the Emperor.
Actually, no, problem 2 is actually problem 3. Problem 2 being that I think Shank got his medical degree from some holonet university that made you do a thirty-minute course before making you pay a fifty credit fee for your piece of paper.
But I digress. I am now the Emperor.
Being the Emperor has, so far, amounted to me choosing a shiny new mask and cloak and then swishing in front of a mirror whilst Fox swears at me. I did not particularly feel the need to swish my cloak, I just liked the faces Fox was making. As part of being Emperor, I think it is my universe given duty to keep my Lieutenants on their toes. This goes double for Fox, who for some unknown reason decided he wanted to be my second in command. Since otherwise that dubious honour would have gone to Appo (who has taken up the disturbing habit of setting small objects on fire and staring at them (and while I’m here, why isn’t Shanks making him write a diary for his trauma?) I am somewhat relieved.
My first day as Emperor was spent making sure no one knew that a clone was now Emperor, and ordering a ridiculous amount of paint. I have also put in a royal (?) (am I royalty now?) decree for an R&D department to redo the hideous armour (with materials that, hopefully, will be more durable then wet tissue paper) and to get some sort of solution to the rapid aging (because I do not think it’s fair for us to die of old age when we’re thirty) and chip problem (because boundaries). There has to be some use for all that ridiculous amount of wealth the former Emperor (re. Egghead) had accrued and promptly sat on. I have a lot of things I want to use that wealth for. I have made a list, mostly organised in order of how much Skeevy Sheevy would have hated it. At the top of the list, vying for first place with my planet-sized tooka retreat, is a large statue in front of the Senate building of Palpatine wearing nothing but a bra on his head.
Anyway, I am going to get on the transport to Alderaan soon to go and make some political noises at Bail and Breha Organa. Hopefully I don’t get assassinated!
Cheers and all that,
Yours,
Cody.
(Do I have to sign off on a diary entry? Unclear. Will ask Shank).
Day 2
Dear Diary,
Today I learned that clones don’t actually have degrees, which is concerning, as it means I have a hold full of hypo-happy medics with the qualifications of ‘that’s how that random bounty hunter taught me how to do that’. My newest priority is to make sure at least one of those motherfuckers pays their fifty credits to get their piece of paper, because what kind of Empire do they think I’m running here? I’m now making a list of role descriptions (including relevant qualifications), as well as an organisational chart, because otherwise my poor heart might give up at how poorly run this entire debacle is.
Could I start a University fund? I’m putting this on the list of Things to Do With Palpatine’s Personal Funds, right under invest in a small start-up for a company that makes inflatable child-sized boats and a small Artisan cheese factory.
Also, just so you’re aware, I’m totally firing the Senate. They’re useless and they keep comming me. Have these people not heard of reasonable business hours? Unclear. I am in the middle of hyperspace, it shouldn’t actually be possible for them to reach me.
Apparently, a change of Emperor is getting everyone in a twist. I’d be sympathetic but, well, I’m not. So, yeah. I mean, these were the people who enslaved my brothers and watched a genocide with their thumbs up their collective asses, giggling. I’m not answering any of my comms until I get visual confirmation of one of them crying from the stress of it all. Fear of impending execution is good for one’s souls, I’ve found.
We’re arriving on Alderaan tomorrow. It’s going to be the first time the whole Galaxy is getting a look at its new Head. For the occasion, I’ve gone with the extra swishy cloak. Fox has also polished his entire collection of lightsabers, taken from the Inquisitors when we shot them into space, and last I saw he was trying to fashion them into some kind of skirt. I am also thinking Fox should be writing a diary for his trauma, but when I suggested it he threw one of those lightsabers at me so. No diary for Fox.
I have also read every single bit of legislation the Senate has ever crapped out, and I have taken notes. I have made a couple of annotations about things I think the Old Republic did wrong and what exactly I’m going to have to do to fix it. Palpatine basically ran the entire show and was doing it legally, so by natural laws of succession I am now running the entire show legally. From what I can see, the Senate is irrelevant. I can draft whatever laws I want.
Exciting.
I am going to start by granting my brothers and I citizenship, and then having porgs recognised as sentient beings. Not because I have any particular feelings towards porgs, but because I really want to see that look on Fox’s face.
Anyway, I’m off to bed. Onwards and upwards and all that,
Yours,
Cody.
(Have not yet asked Shank about signing off, but I like it so I’ll keep doing it).