[Now, Gepard Landau is a simple man in certain respects. Here's one: he hadn't expected that the guy would insist on it being a date, or date-shaped, or date-sounding, or remark on the benefits of a date and how they'd be much more fun than what they did in that alley. Which...sounds nice, and it's only thanks to using his Serious Voice and acting like a captain that Gepard can keep a level gaze on Figaro's face. He's not desperate, this is just work; it's not a date, it's a business meeting disguised as a date; he's acting as a Silvermane Captain, not a man. (Though Sampo can see a flicker of interest at the promise of it being a lot more fun, there and gone again.)

But no, he doesn't have the luxury of thinking about that. He's asked a very good question - what's his plan for Figaro's supply of blood?]

Well...

[He pulls his legs up on the couch as he thinks, curling up a little, and if that makes room for Figaro on the couch, then, well, these things happen. Accidentally. Because maybe a threadbare couch isn't just meant for one man. Maybe a second guy can sit on his couch.]

Long term, I can use my sway with the Supreme Guardian and the Silvermane Guard to arrange for a regular blood drive? The hospital gets more of a regular blood supply, and you can skim off of the top: everyone wins.

[That part's easy enough.]

Short term, however... [This part is far less so. Gepard makes a face: displeased, sour, faintly annoyed.] I suppose you have to put up with my bad taste, and I'll try to figure out a way to improve my flavor so it's not so much of a struggle for you.