#loth-cats

The knock on Mace’ door comes unasked for. Tholme’s funeral was held just a couple of hours ago and Mace all but rushed back to Coruscant from his mission to Hissrich in order to attend the service.

The knocking persists, getting louder even, and Mace briefly rests an arm over his eyes. There are only a handful of Jedi who are this intrusive. In addition to that— judging by the storm of emotions that was raving down the hallway until it was halting right before his door— Mace has a pretty good idea who is attempting to kick down his door right now.

He slowly stands up and straightens his robes. He should really change and then maybe settle for some meditations.

When Mace opens the door, he is met by the haunted expression of Quinlan Vos. The Kiffar Jedi looks a little dishevelled, a few stray braids fall from his bun.

“Knight Vos,” Mace greets him.

“Master Windu. I require your help,” the other Jedi answer and suddenly holds up a large, mildly rugged looking loth-cat. Large scars run across its face and snout, one-lower canine sticking out from it’s snout.

Jeanie, the loth-cat that belonged to Tholme. Until a few days ago…

“I’m trying to get her to eat something but it’s impossible to convince her,” Quinlan explains.

Mace sighs again. Tholme was most beloved among his fellow Jedi, many had lost a friend and mentor with him. It figures that even his cat would be grieving his loss.

He reaches out and takes the sepia coloured cat from Quinlan’s hands. She’s soft under his fingertips and twitches in his hold for a moment before settling along the length of his arm.

“Come inside, then,” Mace invites. Quinlan has rarely visited his quarters before. Usually, they would meet by chance in Tholme’s rooms.

He follows Mace inside, who takes the cat into the kitchen with him. Quinlan leans against the doorframe, watching the Jedi Master open one of the cabinets and pull out a pouch of loth-rat treats.

“Look at that. You do bribe them. Master Tholme always wondered why she was so petty about her usual food after every time you watched her,” Quinlan notes with a smug grin.

Mace opens the pouch and shakes a few treats into his hand, offering them to Jeanie.

“I have my way with animals, Vos. Don’t underestimate me,” he answers.

Jeanie perks her satellite ears up happy and purrs at Mace before he starts to lick the treats out of his palm. Her tongue scratches over his skin while she gobbles down the food. Judging by how hungry she seems, it looks like she really had refused food.

Mace reaches out with his other hand to scratch between her ears.

“I’ve been trying for the last three days to get her to eat. Impossible little beast,” Quinlan mutters. “Since she found out that her favourite person wouldn’t come back…,” he trails off at the end.

Mace looks up at him, and it isn’t very proper to grief his lost friend beyond the funeral, but another day won’t do much harm. Then again, Quinlan might need a few more days. The questions he should be asking himself is where to draw the line.

The war rests heavily on both their shoulders. Since the Battle of Geonosis, Quinlan has been deployed almost non-stop, often acting as an agent for weeks at a time, infiltrating deep into Dark places.

Long over are the times when Quinlan and Obi-Wan would get in trouble together, raised in the safety of the Jedi Temple, with war only in the backs of their young minds. Mace knows he is capable, still he wonders how much it would take for the younger Jedi to fall or break.

Jeanie rubs her head against his fingers, demanding more treats. Mace pours them onto the counter and leaves the pouch open for the loth-cat.

“Would you like some tea?” He asks Quinlan.

The other hesitates. “If you’ll have me— gladly,” he finally answers, smiling mildly.

Mace sets up the kettle to heat up before looking through his tea stash carefully.

“Was the security footage from Felucia recovered?” Quinlan inquires, striding over to run his hands through Jeanie’s long fur.

“No. The main computer of the outpost was destroyed long before the recovery team arrived,” Mace answers. They are still underestimating this new assassin of Dooku’s, even though they had many losses to grief due to their activity. A walking shadow, that was yet to reveal themselves. It irritates Mace far beyond his usual grouchiness.

If Mace is entirely honesty, the Council has gotten into a heated debate just yesterday, if this assassin even is one and the same person or rather an organised group of highly trained Sith Acolytes. He wouldn’t bring it up now though, Quinlan didn’t need to know that.

The younger Jedi sighs and rubs his hands over his face. Chaos has been ranging through Quinlan’s head since he felt the rip in the Force and soon later, had gotten the holo call that Master Tholme was presumed dead.

“We might never find out, who was the cause of his death,” Mace notes while he stirs together the herbs for some tea in a copper tea pot.

He feels anger stir up inside of Quinlan before it changes to a feeling of deep, draining defeat.

“So be it,” he says pointedly and crosses his arms.

“Don’t regret what could have been,” Mace says. He is well-aware that Quinlan was, at first, supposed to join Tholme on this mission but then got ordered to complete a task elsewhere.

“Yes, yes, I know. You are starting to sound like Master Yoda. ‘Empathy, the dead need not, young Vos. For those remaining, empathy we should feel’,” Quinlan quotes.

Mace snorts softly. “Seriously, his wisdom you should take. Right, he usually turns out to be,” he answers while he pours the herbs into the kettle.

Jeanie curiously staggers over to Mace and tries to sniff the kettle, but he picks her up and sets her down on the floor.

“No. This is not for cats.”

Jeanie meows offendedly but staggers off slowly, limping a little from an old leg injury. It is an almost fun parallel to Tholme’s bad leg.

Mace carries the tablet with the cups and the pot into the living area, Quinlan trailing after him and slouching down on the couch. Mace doesn’t comment on it. They had attempted to train this habit out of Quinlan since he was 10-years-old, and he still wouldn’t sit properly 25 years later.

Jeanie has settled on stretching out in front of the window, bathing in the sun contently with her front paws tucked to her chest. Mace places the tablet down before throwing a pillow on the floor, which the loth-cat claims immediately.

He sits back down and pours them some tea, picking his cup up, taking a slow sip.

“I’ll accompany Obi-Wan to Nal Hutta soon,” Quinlan begins. “May I ask you to feed her and look after her a little?” He requests sheepishly. He has never been eager to admit that he had a soft spot for Jeanie. even when she behaved so arrogantly towards him.