Kylo Ren, the brooding enforcer of the First Order, scanned the forest planet of Endor, where not even an Ewok dared to show its fuzzy little face. He needed to unwind after a stressful week of Force-choking his subordinates and fixing his only slightly over-the-top helmet. Spying a secluded pond nestled among the trees, Kylo felt a degree of excitement that most reserve for a duel. "Finally, some peace," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing villainously through his mask as he shuffled off towards the water. Approaching the pond, Kylo began to shed his array of intimidating, yet undeniably cumbersome, clothing. He cast aside his cape with a flair of melodrama usually reserved for galactic conquest. "Whew, this brooding image is a heavy burden," he said as he stripped to reveal a surprisingly average physique, well, average if average included being in peak physical condition due to swinging around a three-bladed lightsaber and throwing tantrums. With a narcissistic flip of his hair, which remained perfectly coifed despite the lack of product, Kylo stepped into the pond. His fair skin turned an embarrassing shade of pink upon contact with the cool water, while his dark tattoos of Sithly symbols seemed to writhe under the surface like a Snoke-ish version of a bad-boy charm bracelet. He submerged himself, his pasty skin now contrasting with the dark water like a Mon Calamari in a cup of hot chocolate. Kylo sighed deeply, "Ahhh, the Dark Side can't reach you here, young Solo." Floating in solitude, Kylo's relaxation reached a peak. Feeling an all too human urge bubble within him, he smirked. "As if any creature in this galaxy could judge me," he said, before releasing a Force-powered flatulence that rippled the water and caused nearby wildlife to flee in terror. The stench was formidable, a toxic cloud that would have made a rancor weep. A few unlucky fish floated up, bellies turned skyward in aquatic surrender. Kylo, ever resourceful, said to himself, "Waste not want not," as he scooped the fish from the pond, his nostrils protected from the smell by the sheer power of the Dark Side, evidently. Back on shore, Kylo assembled a pitiful campfire, its construction better suited for a Scout Trooper Jamboree than for an exalted Knight of Ren. Tossing the fish on with the skill of a sous chef turned Sith, he began cooking his inadvertent catch. "Grilled fish, the meal of champions," he quipped with self-congratulation, "Take that, Uncle Luke, bet you never caught fish with your backside!" As the fish sizzled, Kylo Ren, the fearsome former master of the Knights of Ren, sat back, enjoying the smell of his spoils, not the spoils of his smell. "So this is what the simple life feels like," he mused, skewing some undercooked fish with his oddly useful cross-guard lightsaber. "Maybe the galaxy can wait for its domination. For now, this Supreme Leader dines alfresco." Turning the fish over the dim flames, Kylo finally found the serenity he had sought - shortly achieved through a bit of unexpected aquatic terror. "Hmm, maybe I should invite the Knights over for a cookout. I've heard the Zillo Beast ribs this season are simply to die for," he chuckled to himself, biting into his aquatic bounty with the satisfaction that only a truly relaxed Dark Side user could know.