[Figaro leaves, taking his shirt with him. This leaves Gepard alone, feeling more naked and vulnerable than he would've if Figaro had just offered to take off his pants for him, probably. He just looks at him as he leaves, and then gets to the arduous process of trying to take off his pants. Some...wiggling is involved.
It's terrible, but thankfully? The fact it's terrible lets him ignore the fact that Figaro has his shirt. He wiggles off his pants. He puts on the sweatpants. He can't bring himself to fold his pants so they drop on the ground in an inglorious puddle of cloth.
He wraps himself up in blankets. He lies down.
Gepard had expected that he'd spend the next few hours in a fitful state, struggling to sleep, wide awake because a guy who just chomped on his neck is right over there, and that guy had stolen his shirt. He expected that he'd listen for every guilty creak, every rumbling of the floorboards. That he'd look up to discover Figaro right there, and then he'd probably get bitten, realistically speaking he'd get bitten and his blood drained. Maybe killed?
(There is absolutely a small, guilty part of Gepard that's imagining something else happening instead.)
Instead, the captain lies down. He rolls to his side, and then he buries his face in the pillow. He has enough time to worry about his sisters, in an oh shit, oh fuck, I hope they know I'm fine sort of way - something vague, unshaped, anxiousness for the sake of anxiousness.
And then he promptly drifts asleep.
Gepard has a dream. It's a very strange dream. It doesn't really go anywhere? It's mainly this: he's stuck in a snowbank, and a wolf is sitting atop him like a big, stupid, dumb dog that could maul him at any time but is just content to sit on him and maybe fart in his face if he moves around too much, and slobber his face if he doesn't move around too much. Both bad, but for two different reasons.
Sometimes, a dream has deep symbolism and great meaning. Other times, it's having a giant dog sit on you, and you can't get up.
Regardless, he's in no hurry to wake up. Somehow, the strange bed makes sleeping in all the easier.]
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It's terrible, but thankfully? The fact it's terrible lets him ignore the fact that Figaro has his shirt. He wiggles off his pants. He puts on the sweatpants. He can't bring himself to fold his pants so they drop on the ground in an inglorious puddle of cloth.
He wraps himself up in blankets. He lies down.
Gepard had expected that he'd spend the next few hours in a fitful state, struggling to sleep, wide awake because a guy who just chomped on his neck is right over there, and that guy had stolen his shirt. He expected that he'd listen for every guilty creak, every rumbling of the floorboards. That he'd look up to discover Figaro right there, and then he'd probably get bitten, realistically speaking he'd get bitten and his blood drained. Maybe killed?
(There is absolutely a small, guilty part of Gepard that's imagining something else happening instead.)
Instead, the captain lies down. He rolls to his side, and then he buries his face in the pillow. He has enough time to worry about his sisters, in an oh shit, oh fuck, I hope they know I'm fine sort of way - something vague, unshaped, anxiousness for the sake of anxiousness.
And then he promptly drifts asleep.
Gepard has a dream. It's a very strange dream. It doesn't really go anywhere? It's mainly this: he's stuck in a snowbank, and a wolf is sitting atop him like a big, stupid, dumb dog that could maul him at any time but is just content to sit on him and maybe fart in his face if he moves around too much, and slobber his face if he doesn't move around too much. Both bad, but for two different reasons.
Sometimes, a dream has deep symbolism and great meaning. Other times, it's having a giant dog sit on you, and you can't get up.
Regardless, he's in no hurry to wake up. Somehow, the strange bed makes sleeping in all the easier.]