Chapter Text
Obi-Wan heard two muffled thumps from Master Feemor’s room before the door swung open.
The man proceeded to execute a swaying march from his room into their new quarter’s kitchen. There were more thumps, half-whispered curses, then two mid-tonne beats sounded, a machine announcing it had begun to brew caf.
Bleugh.
Obi-Wan sipped his own tea and continued to munch on the dried berries and fruit slices he’d selected for his own breakfast.
He had not wanted to push Feemor… Master Feemor, to make them a meal on their first morning in their new quarters. It also seemed unwise to make breakfast himself and accidentally bully his new master into his own preferences.
Master Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan early in their partnership that he was a poor cook, and he’d been thoughtful in making sure their kitchen was full of easy-to-compile, filling options. Most mornings they’d shared a selected tea while Obi-Wan ate dried fruits, some kind of yogurt and a large savory digestive cracker, Master Qui-Gon eating some variation of the same with quick-heat cereals.
He’d grabbed his dried berry and fruit mix when Master Feemor had told Obi-Wan to pack his things the previous day, but he’d been unwilling to push his new master to stop by the commissary’s small grocerette for other items. He was sure the whole endeavor was already a terrible inconvenience, Obi-Wan would not be expanding on that with particular dietary demands.
In the kitchen, Obi-Wan heard his new master open the conservator, rummage around, then close the door. Soon, he emerged with a mug, likely filled with caf, and one of those wraps Obi-Wan had seen Master Feemor eat when he’d… well, accosted the other in his previous dwelling.
He sprawled across one of the three other chairs at their small kitchen table, likely due more to his long limbs than a particular lack of decorum. (Why was Obi-Wan cursed to be connected to so many tall beings?)
“Feel free to grab one of the wraps if that isn’t enough, a stop by the commissary and quartermaster are both on the list for today, so we’ll be able grab more things.”
Obi-Wan nodded and tried not to focus on the warring emotions in his head; gratitude that Master Feemor was taking the initiative and worry he’d somehow broadcast his own concern.
“We’ll also need to get your Soul Healer appointments scheduled, get you back in your classes, and get me signed up for mine.”
Obi-Wan looked up from his cup of dried fruit. He decided to not think about his Soul Healer right now. Why would Master Feemor have a class schedule?
The other jedi smiled, though it was a tired smile, with only one side of his mouth curling up.
“Those leaving the Temple Guard often take a course or two to reorient themselves back into the mission rotation. And there’s some optional classes for first time masters too, more workshops than true classes, but I thought it could be helpful. Plus, Master Drallig wants me in a class about non-lightsaber weaponry.”
Obi-Wan did not attempt to conceal his curiosity in his force presence, but he did not out-right ask. He wanted to provide Master Feemor the opportunity to choose what questions he’d answer.
He knows Master Qui-Gon had always appreciated it when Obi-Wan didn’t “push”.
“Quelt has a tradition of using a kind of staff, for basically everything under the sun including fighting. I spent enough time training in it to be proficient, so I can help with that, then learn what’s what from the others Master Drallig brings in on other weapons.”
Master Feemor had slowly slipped down in his chair as he spoke. His head now listed on the backrest of his chair, one arm on the table curled almost possessively around his mug of caf. Obi-Wan realized his new master went far beyond “not a morning person”.