[Gepard has no way of knowing if tonight is a night that Sampo Koski decides that it's worthwhile to crash a Landau soiree. Sure, he'd said that the prize for their little game is so valuable that he couldn't afford to miss, but was he telling the truth? Was there really no other engagement that he might have that would take precedent over another fling with a guard captain?]
[Who knows? That's part of the game. Just like how Sampo wouldn't know if Gepard managed to excuse himself out of attending.]
[The party goes as expected. The ballroom is sumptuous. The canapes are tiny and intricate and the liquor costs more than an Underworlder's yearly salary. The band plays something sweet and pastoral, Gepard Landau enters the ballroom-- finely dressed, only slightly late, and almost immediately accosted by a potential wife candidate. Hand selected by his father, of course, some pretty thing of acceptable social stock. A fitting broodmare for Landau studding. It must be galling, for one's own father to pick out a bride with the same compassion and consideration that one would pick a horse to breed.]
[Gepard is speaking to one of those lucky little broodmares. Not the first, maybe, and certainly not the last. She's probably a lovely girl, really, with a sweet and gentle disposition, and might not have even made a bad wife, if all one cared about was pedigree and whether she'd be an inconvenient roommate. One of the waitstaff appears next to the good Captain, seemingly from thin air-- as good waitstaff do-- bearing a tray full of champagne flutes. The waiter is unremarkable in terms of his appearance, brown haired and forgettable as far as facial features go, and he offers flutes of champagne to both Gepard and his companion.]
[Because of how they are standing, when the waiter hands the glass to Gepard's potential suitress, his hand passes briefly in front of the good Captain's chest.]
[His duty fulfilled, the waiter unobtrusively slips away, leaving the two of them to their conversation. (His eyes are green, if Gepard happened to look closely enough.) A little later, Gepard might notice a missing weight on his chest-- a missing medal, one with a green ribbon.]
no subject
[Who knows? That's part of the game. Just like how Sampo wouldn't know if Gepard managed to excuse himself out of attending.]
[The party goes as expected. The ballroom is sumptuous. The canapes are tiny and intricate and the liquor costs more than an Underworlder's yearly salary. The band plays something sweet and pastoral, Gepard Landau enters the ballroom-- finely dressed, only slightly late, and almost immediately accosted by a potential wife candidate. Hand selected by his father, of course, some pretty thing of acceptable social stock. A fitting broodmare for Landau studding. It must be galling, for one's own father to pick out a bride with the same compassion and consideration that one would pick a horse to breed.]
[Gepard is speaking to one of those lucky little broodmares. Not the first, maybe, and certainly not the last. She's probably a lovely girl, really, with a sweet and gentle disposition, and might not have even made a bad wife, if all one cared about was pedigree and whether she'd be an inconvenient roommate. One of the waitstaff appears next to the good Captain, seemingly from thin air-- as good waitstaff do-- bearing a tray full of champagne flutes. The waiter is unremarkable in terms of his appearance, brown haired and forgettable as far as facial features go, and he offers flutes of champagne to both Gepard and his companion.]
[Because of how they are standing, when the waiter hands the glass to Gepard's potential suitress, his hand passes briefly in front of the good Captain's chest.]
[His duty fulfilled, the waiter unobtrusively slips away, leaving the two of them to their conversation. (His eyes are green, if Gepard happened to look closely enough.) A little later, Gepard might notice a missing weight on his chest-- a missing medal, one with a green ribbon.]
[The game's afoot, Geppie. Catch him if you can.]