[It took a lot to keep from running to his office. Gepard manages a walk. A good, solid walk, one that has enough purpose to keep people from pulling him aside, not so much that people wondered what was going on. A determined walk.
He enters his office slowly and freezes at the sight of...
Not Figaro, not exactly. (He really needs to find out the guy's name. He can't keep on thinking of him forever.) But rather, at the food. His gaze immediately drops to the sandwich, slides to the potato wedgies, is that a biscuit? That appears to be a biscuit. And a soda? Not...coffee so old that it threatens to crawl up his stomach, not because it tastes bad so much as that it's gained sentience, but a crisp rye soda. Then back to the sandwich.
Gepard's stomach gurgles quietly. He doesn't notice. He just walks to the food, transfixed. Figaro could lunge at him and rip open his throat and he'd thank him, probably.
But no, no, Gepard glances up at him and he should be pointing out that breaking into his office is a very bad idea.]
I could marry you. [The captain breathes that out instead. His stomach gurgles, slightly louder, and Gepard reaches for one of the potato wedges, hesitates, grabs it, looks at Figaro again as if asking for permission (he is) and then he takes a bite. And.
Hold on.
It's delicious, standards are low but it's amazing, give him a moment.
no subject
He enters his office slowly and freezes at the sight of...
Not Figaro, not exactly. (He really needs to find out the guy's name. He can't keep on thinking of him forever.) But rather, at the food. His gaze immediately drops to the sandwich, slides to the potato wedgies, is that a biscuit? That appears to be a biscuit. And a soda? Not...coffee so old that it threatens to crawl up his stomach, not because it tastes bad so much as that it's gained sentience, but a crisp rye soda. Then back to the sandwich.
Gepard's stomach gurgles quietly. He doesn't notice. He just walks to the food, transfixed. Figaro could lunge at him and rip open his throat and he'd thank him, probably.
But no, no, Gepard glances up at him and he should be pointing out that breaking into his office is a very bad idea.]
I could marry you. [The captain breathes that out instead. His stomach gurgles, slightly louder, and Gepard reaches for one of the potato wedges, hesitates, grabs it, looks at Figaro again as if asking for permission (he is) and then he takes a bite. And.
Hold on.
It's delicious, standards are low but it's amazing, give him a moment.
...okay.]
Also, don't call me that.