Vader's apartment doesn't really look like an apartment anymore - every horizontal surface has been covered with a hard surface to make it into a desk or tabletop. And every surface was covered with what a first might look like junk. And some is, in various stages of disassembly and sorting, in piles next to various projects including replacement limbs (and other medical equipment), others being made into tools. The kitchen-type area only has several cardboard cases of medical meal replacement, one opened, the cases stacked on the floor. The only semi-comfortable place to sit was a metal chair wedged into the corner with a couple of oddly shaped cushions perched on it.

Vader meanwhile, was wearing the grey scrubs they'd been rescued in, now stained with oil or grease smears, ink and graphite marks, the occasional tiny burn hole, and more pockets in other material rather expertly sewn on to hold tools. His modified helmet - covering his head from ear to ear and crown to nose to supply the sensory input he needed - was on his head and attached with leather straps. The air had a faint smell of hot metal from a recently used soldering iron.

"Once I secure this, you'll have my attention." He's not ignoring her - but he's not going to risk burning the building down for the sake of civility either.
"