#assista-cat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

minchen0897 · 3 years

Text

Cold (derogatory) and a Cat

My Secret Santa entry from the Discord Server for @madecunningly I hope you like it!!! Happy holidays!!

Starring: Quinlan Vos, a Cold planet, and Maul

Quinlan had been on this planet for about three Coruscant standard weeks, trying to look into a lead on one or several of the Sith – because apparently the Rule of Two had been put into a dumpster and then used as an illegal bonfire – and he was seriously considering a vacation on Tatooine.

Or to set himself on fire.

Forget the sand or the pain or whatever, at least it would be warm.

He was bundled in five layers of warm clothes, one of the layers being actual thermals, and he still was shivering all day long. Even while he used every trick in the book to keep warm.

(Admittedly, rubbing his hands did not help much when he was wearing thick gloves to protect them.)

He even put on a local cream to keep his face from freezing, but it was still cold.

Yesterday he had very nearly broken a good hand-width of his dreadlocks off, because there had been an accident with a fluid that he does not want to talk about and had indeed forgotten about in the chase that followed, until he had to return to his humble temporary abode for the night to avoid freezing to death. His hair had clinked like icicles clacking against each other when he had moved his head a bit too fast (he thought he had heard something, which probably was also his frozen hair), and curious where the sound came from repeated the motion, nearly breaking off his hair.

Not that it would have mattered much, it’s just hair, but the point he was trying to make is that it was too kriffin cold.

(He also objected to sleeves on a deep personal level, so this really wasn’t his preferred weather, but alas, a Jedi went where a Jedi must go.)

He couldn’t even use the Force to warm himself up, for several reasons: he was on the trail of someone potentially connected to the Sith or a Sith themself, so extreme caution was advised – nobody wants the Sith to go further into hiding then they already were. So low profile it was, and someone on this warmth-forsaken planet not freezing their shebs off was very suspicious. Even the natives were shivering. He also was still feeling the aftereffects of a concussion he had gotten in an unfortunate accident he did not want to go into any further.

It was nothing too bad but trying more finicky things with the Force did not make his head happy.

(People who got concussions often apparently were prone to headaches and migraines. Sometimes Quinlan really, honestly had a deep worry for Obi-wan. That man could take care of himself – although he actually seemed to suck at it – had an uncanny ability to survive everything the galaxy threw at him, but…still.)

In any case, to keep the spiral of mental commentary from spinning out of control, it was fucking cold, Quinlan did not like that, and he was so far not getting anywhere with his supposed lead.

He took a deep breath – or as deep as he could without feeling his lungs were freezing, even while breathing through a scarf and all – and carefully released his frustration and discontent into the Force. They would not help and rather cloud his decisions, anyway.

Somewhere in the distance Quinlan could hear people singing. As far as he knew it was a way to celebrate together before the White Wall hit and everyone would be confined to their homes for at least a week. Historically, before technology got better, it was one last big party before they would leave the other members of their community to whatever the White Wall had held in stock for them. Sort of like one last hurrah before potentially facing down the end. Or at the very least facing separation for a while without means of checking in with their loved ones – as was usual, those who were obscenely rich and could afford the according technology were the exception to this.

The White Wall was not a snowstorm per se, although unsuspecting strangers tended to refer to it as that. It looked in fact rather innocent, simple snow clouds, on most planets not any more harmful than simple rainclouds that brought the rain and then moved on.

But alas, on this particular planet, these particular snow clouds gathered and then brought snowfall for at least a week, without moving on, and it was a regular occurrence that everyone was snowed in by meters of the frozen water posing as innocent little white crystals. It was an interesting weather phenomenon, and also dangerous for uninformed sentients. Which were exceedingly rare because in modern times everyone got warned, so generally there was not too much danger anymore. Those who hosted guests stocked up generously on anything essential that might be needed. So today there was nobody really in danger of freezing to death due to the abundance of snow the White Wall brought. (Quinlan had opinions on that, and most of them were objections to this statement, because he was still freaking cold, but that was probably his frustration speaking.)

The tradition to meet up before the White Wall hit and celebrate with songs and dance and good food and also this one special drink they made for the occasion had stayed and was probably one of the most famous things this planet had to offer, right up there with the weather phenomenon that was the reason for the celebration in the first place.

He turned around a corner, intent to get back to the small inn he stayed at and found himself almost immediately hissed at.

There was a cat. Very fluffy. All that fur probably was needed in this cold. Desperately so, because despite all the fur it still appeared to be shivering.

It also, under all the anger it spouted in the Force, felt quite miserable.

Quinlan felt for the creature.

He knelt and sent gentle waves of calmness at the cat. “Today is just not a good day, isn’t it?”

He would have said horrible, but that would have probably been his frustration talking.

The cat continued hissing, as Quinlan settled down against the wall of a building close to it. Not that the hissing really bothered Quinlan. He steadily continued with exuding calmness. It worried him a bit that despite the hissing and general everything of the cat, it had not moved. Neither to attack nor to run away. Odd.

Maybe the cat couldn’t run? Being hurt would explain why it was so angry and miserable. He had seen a vet clinic only a few blocks over that had open still and could at least check the cat for injuries.

“You don’t look so good,” Quinlan looked at the cat that had stopped hissing quite so loudly. He was not quite sure why he was talking to a cat, but there had been stranger things happening in this galaxy than this. The Force seemed to be supportive and anticipating something.

“How about I bring you to the vet – there is a clinic not too far away – and you get checked out for injuries. And maybe we can find a place for you to stay? The weather forecast said the White Wall would hit tonight, and honestly, nobody deserves to be out in this cold.”

The cat looked a little bit like it wanted to make a face between straight up murder and questioning Quinlan’s sanity. It felt a bit rude that a cat was looking at him like this.

“Come on, inside a house it’s definitely warmer than outside, that has to be a convincing argument.”

The cat took its time, but it got less hissy gradually. Still not in the best of moods – which was perfectly understandable, in Quinlan’s opinion – but the calming presence Quinlan tried his best to exude seemed to do its job.

Once he was sure the cat would not attack him immediately with the intent to kill Quinlan carefully gathered the cat into his arms and began making his way to the vet. The cat was predictably very unhappy, but suprisingly it was not struggling too much. Mostly because moving seemed to hurt it somewhat, Quinlan thought.

The vet, while still open, was running on minimum staff. There was only one vet and one assistant currently on hand; their colleagues had already gone to the celebrations. The two in attendance had, from the looks of it, drawn the short sticks and had been assigned the duty during the following week – or weeks, depending on how much and how long snow would fall – to care for long-term patients or animals that had been brought here because the owners couldn’t take care of them during this time.

Basically, they had to pull double duty in the veterinarian clinic and the animal shelter that apparently was part of it.

Quinlan did not envy them their jobs.

Especially not once the cat seemed to regain some energy and made valiant attempts at scratching the vet and their assistant to death during the health exam. Not that they were bothered by it; they made jokes about thick skin and that was the extent of their reactions to it.

It turned out the cat – actually a male specimen, apparently – was perfectly fine health-wise. Cold and exhausted, but nothing rest and warmth won’t fix.

The assistant rang him up after the exam was over.

“That would make 15 Credits – the fee for our services. Oh! Before I forget about it – will you take him home with you? Or do you want us to keep him here?”

The cat stared at the assistant, ready to take their eyes out.

“I’ll take him home with me, no problem,” Quinlan said. He had a feeling if he left the cat here he would actually commit murder. Aside from that, the vet had said – after Quinlan asked, because small talk was a thing – that the shelter was filled to the brim. And he wouldn’t really have to worry about feeding the cat. His temporary neighbour two rooms from his own rented one had brought two tookas with them, so there would be some kibble available for sure. And if needs really must, he could always share his own food, he supposed. “Thank you for all your help.”

“No problem. It is literally our job,” the assistant chuckled good naturedly. “However, I think you should hurry. It looks like the snow is coming down soon, and nobody wants to be outside when the White Wall hits town.”

The assistant had a good point there. He had a good sense for orientation and the Force to boot, but he honestly didn’t want to be outside still when the snow really came down. There are dares and then there is being an idiot. He very firmly counted himself among the former section.

He said his good-byes, cat under his arm, and made his way back to the inn.

This was really not how he had thought his visit on this planet would go.

-_-_-

Darth Maul, Sith Apprentice and a Lord in his own right, had at one point come to the conclusion that his life sucked.

His life up to his defeat at the hands of Kenobi and subsequent half-existence spoke for that in and of itself.

It was only due to his stubbornness (his desperation, his clinging to life, not that he called it that, because it smelled of weakness he refused to have) and hate for Kenobi that he managed to survive the following years. Admittedly, he had used the Dark Side as a crutch, an aid to his continued survival. Not that his then-Master had allowed him to learn these arts, but when has not being allowed something ever stopped him?

In any case, with everything gone, the whispers and promises of the Dark Side had been constant. Had been there, had not left. Had fed from his anger, made him stronger in return, let him survive in return.

For ten years the Dark Side’s whispers and his own tinkering to gain a lower body-half again where the only noises he took note of.

Then he learned that Count Dooku, that absolute snob, had replaced him, that his master had simply thrown him away (he refused to acknowledge that the actions – or lack thereof – of his former Master had hurt) and Maul swore revenge. On Kenobi, for defeating him; on Dooku for taking his place; on his Master for casting him off like one might throw away a broken toy.

They would pay. All of them.

He had survived, and then he plotted.

Kenobi had to die, and he would do it himself – no matter the cost. Every time the place where his body met the prosthetic cramped, making Maul remember the fresh wound with a shadow of the pain he had lived through, he was reaffirmed in this.

Dooku had to die too. And it had to be humiliating. He had vague memories of other Zabraks, who had been…close…to Maul. He could use their power. Take them from Dathomir. Leave chaos in their wake, as the damned witches on that Force-forsaken planet had given him away like a slave that he had been. (It felt like betrayal – another thought Maul did not want to recognize in himself, unsure were following it would lead, which felt suspiciously weak, and he refused to be that.)

The witches would suffer for what they had done.

It had the added bonus of at least indebting the other Zabraks to him, as he would free them from the Witches.

Once they were on his side, he would train them, and train them well. It would take time, but he had time. He could be patient. (It felt like hunting – another vague memory from the life before he had been given to his Master.)

Besides, it was not like he had nothing to do while training them. He could study the material he would take from the witches, use their Magick to his advantage – as he knew for certain that Palpatine never had an interest in learning Dathomirian Magick, seeing it as beneath him. It would be an ace up his sleeve.

He could also go to other Sith Temples. Learn. Teach. Biding his time.

He had heard Dooku had a thing for rare artifacts, so if he found one it was a possible lure for his replacement.

As for his former Master – death for him was inevitable. Palpatine had not shared all his plans for the Empire he wanted to build – but that he wanted to build one was certain. He had already started with his plans; in fact, one of the early stages had been becoming the Supreme Chancellor.

Knowing about the Empire was enough for Maul to decide where he wanted to begin his revenge against Palpatine.

Every Government can be undermined.

And Palpatine would grasp at straws, and fail to do so rather pathetically, when Maul pulled the Empire away from underneath his feet. Or shattered it into million pieces. He was not sure yet.

Regardless, when Palpatine would see his Empire crumble right in front of his eyes, Maul would strike, and end the wretched life of the wrinkled bastard.

Or maybe torture him first and then end him. He had not quite decided on his primary plan quite yet.

Point was, he had a plan with backup plans regarding Palpatine’s end, and the majority of them involved him building up his own underground empire. (Name still pending.)

And to that extent he visited this damned planet (honestly who would want to live here, it’s too cold) that brought him back to his suffering, because he needed contacts.

And the contacts were not actually the problem. The problem was that he had grown curious when he noticed a Force Artifact in one abandoned building – a ruin, really – far outside any settlement.

So he went to investigate. The Dark Side whispered promises still, but there was something else that spoke of anticipation – good or bad Maul couldn’t tell.

The artifact turned out to be some strange metal, nothing he could identify on the spot, formed like a claw. There were ancient texts, or at least they looked ancient, written all over the cellar room he had found the claw in – both room and claw hidden away behind traps that were almost too easy for him.

He had been too focused on his little hunt in the ruin to notice it right away, but the thing speaking of anticipation had grown and smothered the Dark Side’s whispers into nothingness. In hindsight that had been a glaring sign something was about to go wrong.

But he didn’t notice, and now he paid for it.

Because the moment he touched the claw, he lost consciousness, and once he woke up again still in the cellar, he was a kriffing cat, and the claw was nowhere to be found.

And, because the universe hated him, the ruins had started to rumble ominously, little pieces of rock falling from the ceiling in a clear sign that he should get out of there as fast as possible.

Which he did, of course.

It simply turned out that the traps that had seemed almost too easy for him before were significantly harder to circumvent. Especially when he had not even heard the tiniest slip of a whisper from the dark side, only felt that anticipating something hovering absolutely everywhere, which was somewhat interesting, but also absolutely useless. (He was not a fan.)

Also it turned out the bonus of having non-metal legs (because that was a thing, as a cat he apparently had four functioning flesh limbs) was actually not that much of a bonus at all when weighed against opposable thumbs and said metal legs not needing muscle stamina to run.

Outside the ruins he watched as any option to figure out what was the power behind the claw – and it had to be some power in cooperation with the claw, nothing else would make sense – literally crumbled to the ground, and quickly was covered in snow.

There was, he thought furiously, very little chance of finding the ruins again after the White Wall hit.

So as anyone sensible who also happened to have received some form of training in the powers he had, tried to lift a few rocks off where he suspected the cellar had been. (Apparently, his room orientation was now also shot on accord of being a karking cat.)

Nothing moved.

Maul let out a furious yowl.

Whoever was responsible for this dilemma would pay, he would make sure of it. As soon as he found out who it was anyway. Until then his rage would carry him forwards, as it always did.

He found it disconcerting that no whispers from the Dark Side, no promises, reached his ears after this vow. Only the anticipating silence from the Something Else. It was almost eery.

He paced in the snow for a bit. (Unsurprisingly it was cold.)

He was a cat, had no thumbs, and basically no strength – neither in body nor in the Dark Side – when compared to his actual body.

There was simply no chance of him digging the cellar out. Not without his full set of power.

He cursed and got furious when he only heard himself hissing and yowling. Very angrily, admittedly, but it was just not the same. It simply made him angrier, but without the added benefit of more whispers and promises from the Dark Side.

Which, again, was usually always present and was now suspiciously absent.

Without another option in sight, and unwilling to die in the White Wall, Maul had made his way back to the nearest town.

Which, very frustratingly, had taken an eternity. It had also been miserable because in the midst of his way back it had started to snow, and he was pretty sure he had run in a circle before getting his orientation back.

He had cowered in an alley and made the very first being suffer with his claws (neat) that came too close.

Then the lack of stamina in this useless (aside from the claws) body had made his muscles cramp and he had been reduced to hissing and yowling curses at everyone that came too close.

A few beings tried, but while they didn’t understand his words, at least they got the gist of his message.

Until a Jedi walked into his alley. Because of course there was a Jedi present on this planet, in this town, walking into his alley. He was easily noticeable as a Jedi because the anticipatory something from everywhere seemed to give this person something like a hug.

Strange concept.

And then the Jedi had the audacity to not only ignore his threats and come closer but also sit down next to him.

That absolute bastard would meet a harrowing death at either his hands or his claws. Blood would spill. He would shred the Jedi’s clothes, scratch at their skin until the liquid of their veins-

The Jedi was warm.

The Jedi was warm?

The anticipatory something from before had become smug (rude) and mixed with the something surrounding the Jedi, who then seemed to make the something into – well Maul would guess the equivalent of a warm blanket.

It was one of the stranger things Maul had felt. He knew similar things from the Dark Side, had used it to intimidate people in a bar once because he wanted a booth for himself and they were in the way, so he had sent them cowering.

But this was new. Startling. Strange. But not bad?

How very weird. (But also comfortable.)

The Jedi made a few good points about not freezing to death outside once the White Wall hit, but still, the audacity to simply pick him up and bring him to a vet!

He blamed it on his still cramping muscles that he did not eviscerate the Jedi on the spot. (Never mind that his muscles were somewhat useable once more.)

The vet claimed everything to be alright with him, which, no, he was kriffin cold, this planet was horrible, and also he was a cat and not a Zabrak as he originally should be, but before he could claw the vet’s – or his assistant’s, he wasn’t picky – eyes out, the Jedi had bundled him up and they had left.

He would have to enact rage later.

To his great surprise the Jedi did indeed take him with them to the place they were apparently staying at, and did not randomly drop him in a dumpster.

Maul refused to feel grateful for it. He did not want to think about his success regarding this decision.

Instead, just to spite the Jedi, he aimed to be as much of a menace as he could be without access to his full abilities. For the next few days furniture got scratched up. The Jedi’s food was eaten or made inedible by him. Fur was shed excessively.

The Jedi cursed regularly at him, but never raised a hand. An interesting change to his usual experience with other Users of the Force. Usually there was always violence involved when he met with any of them, be it his former Master or another Jedi.

Not that he wanted to be fair, but the reason behind it might be that in the Jedi’s eyes he was a simple cat.

The thought disgusted him somewhat, as he was not merely a cat. He was more than that but communicating that was hard when he had no thumbs and could only do cat things and noises. He was stuck at angry hissing.

Then, one evening, the Jedi made the grave mistake of leaving their cup of tea on the counter while they went to the ‘fresher. Maul saw a chance and took it.

He sat next to the cup on the counter and waited until the Jedi returned, established eye contact, and pawed the cup over the edge. It fractured into tiny, sharp shards. The ground was covered in rapidly cooling tea.

The Jedi began cursing.

Maul’s work was done, so he leapt from the counter.

Or intended to, because the Jedi – for once without gloves because they had indeed taken a shower – caught him mid-leap with their hands.

“Careful you kriffin menace, there are shards every…where…“ the Jedi petered off into silence.

The something – which Maul assumed could only be the Force the Jedi preferred to use – around the Jedi was thrumming with activity.

And thus Maul hung suspended in the air by two hands for a while.

He didn’t even struggle to get out of the hold. He blamed being distracted by the interesting patterns the Force of the Jedi drew and sung in equal measures.

The eyes of the Jedi were staring unblinking at nothing right above Mauls head, right until they weren’t anymore and instead snapped into focussing right on Maul.

“Fucking shit.”

Well, that was eloquent. Not. But it summarized Mauls situation quite neatly.

“You’re Maul.”

Maul tried his best to frown at the Jedi, but alas, being a cat crossed his plans once more.

“Why are you a cat? No actually, how the fuck are you still alive? We thought you were dead!”

Maul hissed. It was not his fault that Kenobi was incompetent.

“Holy shit, you’re a cat.”

Now he began to struggle in earnest. While the Jedi seemed flabbergasted still, it was only a question of when that would change, and as soon as the Jedi stopped being…shocked, he guessed, they would try to catch him and ‘bring him to justice’ or something ridiculous, and Maul did not want to make that easy for them by simply hanging in their grip like a wet towel.

“No, hold on, wait, I’m not going to murder you! But I could use your help.”

If he could snort derisively, Maul would. Yeah, right. A Jedi wanted his help.

“Okay I know this sounds ridiculous, but – well. I. Uhm. I saw that you have plans for your former Master, which largely end with him being dead, and I want to support that goal.”

Sounded fake but he would hear the Jedi out. For now. Maybe he could get good connections out of this.

“Okay, so hear me out – wait, no, name first, I’m Quinlan. Now hear me out. We’re kinda getting desperate here. The war is going on and on, our men are dying by droves despite our best attempts otherwise, the Jedi are dying equally as fast – not that that interests you, you’re probably happy about that,” Maul was actually not quite sure if he was happy about it, or if he had apathy about it, or if it was more convenience than anything else if it actually was convenience, but that’s nothing he wanted to spend thoughts on, “and we hope that finding the Sith Lord, the Sith Master, and ending them will end the war and spare many people from dying.”

A valid reason for a Jedi he supposed. Now the Jedi – Quinlan – only needed to get to the point.

“You were the Sith Master’s Apprentice. You could tell us about them. What you know about their plans. Which would, in turn, ruin those plans because we – the Jedi – would do our best to stop them. It would align with your goal of making your former Master miserable. I would have to speak to the council but maybe you can be directly involved too, enact your revenge more directly.”

At that Maul clawed at Quinlan’s bare arms, because he was still a cat, and he could not take revenge on Sidious as a cat.

Quinlan flinched satisfyingly.

“Here’s where my counteroffer comes in,” he continues despite the scratches and while still holding Maul up. “The Archives of the Jedi Order are large and filled with knowledge. You would have access to it and I would offer my help to reverse whatever made you into a cat.”

Maul stared at Quinlan.

Quinlan stared back.

“If you are entirely against this deal shake your head, if you are willing to talk details, I don’t know, hiss at me or something.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan frowned.

“Yeah, okay, maybe talk was the wrong verb to use there.” He hummed in thought. “I think I saw an external keyboard for a terminal somewhere in this place. It had a weird layout, but you should be able to type something when I hook it up to my pad.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan stared.

“So?”

Maul hissed.

#Secret Santa 2020 #my writing #Star Wars #Quinlan Vos #Darth Maul

19 notes · View notes