Okay, I'll go before anyone interrupts our little meeting.
[It would be hard to explain how he got in here without any of the guards noticing, and he would prefer it if they didn't know about his window-based method of entering the building. Most people figure that any windows above the second story are too high for someone to get to without using a very noticeable ladder, but they don't usually have to deal with someone like Sampo. For him, an unlocked window on the third floor might as well be an open door.]
[He slips off of his perch on Gepard's desk, taking with him the insulated lunch box that he'd used to transport Gepard's meal.]
Our rendezvous. Our tête-à-tête. Our tryst, maybe? I can call it all sorts of things.
[Some of them more salacious than others. But he's had his fun making the Silvermane guard captain turn all sorts of shades of red, it's time for industrious Sampos to be on their way. He makes his way over to the window and pops it open, sits himself on the sill.]
Until tonight! [He winks.] Try not to miss me too much.
[Then he leans back and drops out of the window, out of sight. By the time that Gepard would make it there to look out, he'd already be gone.]
Figaro slipping off of his desk? Makes sense. More or less aligned with his expectations. In order for Figaro to go, he'd have to get off of his fucking desk. Him taking the lunch box? More of the same. The food is evidence enough as is; a lunch box would be impossible to explain. Gepard? With a packed lunch? Absolutely not.
The stupid names for their business meeting? Each one does great damage - each one causes the captain to make a noise, more choked-back and struggling than the last. Tryst especially does damage. Tryst makes him make a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach before he falls silent. Tryst makes Gepard stare at Figaro like he's a vole numbed by a fox's riddle, trying to figure it out, waiting to be eaten. Tryst? Tryst makes him turn a vivid red - he'd already been turning pink, but that's the point in which what little restraint Gepard has gives up.
Tryst stuns him so much the captain doesn't exactly realize where it is that Figaro's headed until he's at the windowsill.]
Wait-
[Then he runs forward, but by the time he gets there? Figaro's gone. And he's left there to deal with the fact that Figaro is making his attempts to turn this into a cool, pragmatic business arrangement very fucking difficult.
But, to business.
He goes to the doctor, as promised, one thing leads to another, and he accidentally ends up on medical leave for a week. Effective immediately. The doctors says he's exhausted. This wasn't what he expected? Originally it was three days. It was going to be three days and he protested, and they upgraded it to a week. He's got a week off. What is he supposed to do with this?
Gepard then makes the stupid fucking decision of seeing his sister, Serval, who promptly loses her shit laughing when she heard about the medical leave thing. Makes it all the worse. He asks her who her bandmate was and after some back and forth she says he was...Ringo? Which isn't Figaro. But Figaro sounds like Ringo, and Figaro's clearly a fake name. (He doesn't tell Serval about Figaro and his business arrangement. He just says it's for work. She reminds him of the medical leave. He asks her to please stop talking about it. She doesn't.)
He stops by the florist and gets a bouquet of flowers. Because...
...he likes flowers. This is perfectly normal. And if he's going to be home for a few days (he'll talk to Lady Bronya in a few days and get this resolved) he might as well have something nice to look at. This is the only reason for the flowers.
And then Gepard heads home, because there's no way any of this will go wrong, and, in fact, Figaro probably forgot about their business dinner.
This has been a fucking struggle of an afternoon.]
[While Gepard is out there struggling through his afternoon, meeting with doctors who tell him that he needs to take better care of himself and sisters who absolutely agree with them, Sampo has a different game plan. It's been such a long time since he really had to think about food in any meaningful way-- not since his whole diet switched over to liquid-based. Now, he has a reason to actually get back into the kitchen again. It's kind of nice, really.]
[And, the better he feeds Gepard, the better a meal he'll get, too. So he does have a little enlightened self interest going on here, investing in Gepard is an investment for himself.]
[So! He's off to the market. The butcher's, first, because he needs a good protein for the main course. There are some excellent looking beef tenderloins, so he gets one of those and has the butcher cut a few steaks off of it, too-- if he's running out of ideas or low on time, he's certain that he can satisfy a man like Gepard with a steak-and-potatoes dinner. He can only stay for so long inside the butcher's without getting unreasonably hungry, and gets out of there shortly after with the meat and a pint of pig's blood.]
[He ducks into an alley and, when he's sure that no one is around, opens the container of blood and drains it in long, hurried gulps. It isn't warm anymore, of course, and it doesn't have the same richness and complexity of human blood, but it eases the cramping ache in his stomach. After making sure that he didn't spill any and didn't have anything left around his mouth-- no one likes a messy eater-- he drops the container in the trash and is back on his way. No one the wiser of the bloodsucker in their midst.]
[The grocer's, at least, is less laden with temptations. The luscious flesh of an eggplant doesn't tempt him to bite in the same way that still-bloody raw meat does, for obvious reasons, and with a belly temporarily satisfied with a porcine snack, he feels steadier. In control. He navigates the grocer and picks up what he needs for the dinner plan forming in his head and he can ignore all the tasty people walking around nearby.]
[And, while Gepard is in the process of being told by a medical professional that he's suffering from exhaustion and his sister laughs at his plight, Sampo makes his way to Gepard's address. If he's going to get dinner on the table at a reasonable time, he'll have to get started! Which also means breaking in, but that's fine, he's very good at it.]
[Gepard's apartment is very... spartan. Very bachelor pad, if that bachelor has absolutely no fun.]
[By the time the good Captain makes his way back from his many disappointments of the day, he'll open his apartment door to the smell of a roast in the oven, accompanying hints of garlic and onion-- the warm, comforting scents of dinner being made. Down the hall, Gepard would be able to see the yellow glow of the electric light on in his kitchen and hear the sound of someone moving around and the sound of a pan on the stove.]
[Surprise! You're not coming back to an empty, cold apartment. Welcome home, honey.]
[He unlocks the door. Door swings open. He sees lights. He smells something cooking, and it smells amazing. His mouth waters, his hands clench.
Gepard Landau reaches the incredibly reasonable conclusion that he (somehow) just entered someone else's apartment. His keys (somehow) match someone else's locks as well as his own. He does the only sensible thing, which is to turn around and immediately leave the apartment. Door closes behind him. Door swings shut.
When it does, he's faced with the apartment door, which has his apartment number, which means that this isn't someone else's space. This is his home. The captain turns, looks down the hall, tries to see if anyone noticed him doing whatever-it-is that he did.
The hall is empty.
...Gepard re-enters the apartment, hoping that he got away with whatever-that-was that he just did.]
Hello?
[He's still carrying flowers, so if this isn't the mysterious Figaro he can, he supposes, bludgeon the intruder with them. Sure. That makes sense. Maybe this is Lynx or Pela, having heard about his medical leave and somehow deciding to show up or...
Something. Also, why is he walking towards his kitchen in the same way he'd stalk down something-or-another in the Fragmentum...this is his home. He should walk with confidence.
...so Gepard does.] You won't believe what my day was like. I hope yours was better.
[Sampo hears the door open and close again, but... no Gepard. Which is strange, he's sure he heard someone walk in? The door opens for a second time, and it isn't until after the door shuts again that he hears Gepard's voice. Maybe he left something outside that he had to go out and grab?]
[Doesn't matter. Sampo's in the process of slicing up mushrooms to saute with butter and balsamic to go with the tenderloin when Gepard finally stops pretending to sneak around his own house and makes it to the kitchen. Don't worry, Captain, he's going to blow your socks off with this roast. You're going to be glad that you brought those flowers even though Sampo isn't actually your wife.]
Welcome home, dear! [This is your life now, Gepard.] Dinner'll be ready in twenty, maybe thirty minutes.
[With his mushrooms sliced, he turns, leaving the knife at the cutting board. Gepard's there with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and, apparently, a story about how awful his day had been, and Sampo walks over to him to relieve him of his floral burden like any good housewife.]
Oh, flowers, that'll brighten the place up a little. Give them here, I'll find a vase. [Hand over the bouquet, it's Sampo's now, your fake wife. Do you like his apron? It's very cute, it has hearts on it and he had to bring it over from his own place because Gepard is predictably the kind of heathen that doesn't have an apron of his own.] How did the doctor's visit go? Let me guess, you're overworked and you're supposed to get some rest?
[Probably the easiest guess he's ever made, really. Now, a vase... he looks through the cabinets while Gepard has the chance to elaborate on his apparently terrible day. Even just a sufficiently large jar would do, surely he has that much?]
[What's this what's going on, the bouquet is absolutely handed over, he wants to say something like, "I got these for you. I hope you like them. They made me think of your eyes." But also, he absolutely doesn't, as that would require admitting he'd thought of Figaro/Ringo(?)/something else(?), thought of getting him flowers, and also, wouldn't that be basically saying, "Your eyes are leaf colored." Wouldn't it? Who'd like hearing that?
Vase.
Does he have a vase?
He should look for a vase. It'll be easier looking for a vase than it is processing the fact that Figaro/Ringo/Something Else-o is wearing an apron and it's surprisingly...cute. It's not his. He's not home enough to actually need one for cooking. (And whatever's being made sounds good.) Which means that Figaro got it from...somewhere-
He's looking for a vase. Vases are safer.
Also.]
How did you know? [Who told Figaro that? Who? How could he have guessed?] You're right. I'm on medical leave for the next few days.
[Technically a week, but he's sure that once he talks to Lady Bronya, everything will get sorted out, and he'll be back on duty in a couple of days. Thus, Gepard says 'the next few days' with confidence. Conviction. He's not that overworked. He's just dedicated.
He finds a jar in one of the cupboards.
It's large. Ugly, actually, but it's large. Is it large enough? Is the largeness of it able to counterbalance the ugliness of it? He's holding it up for Figaro's approval.]
[The literal most obvious guess that could have ever been guessed. Who would have thought that Gepard Landau, Belobog's most overworked guard captain, could possibly be a little exhausted from his unfathomable hours on duty? No one, surely!]
[Sampo walks over and takes the large jar from Gepard; it's a little ugly, sure, but it's big enough for the bouquet and that's really all that matters. Kind of looks like one of those jars that someone's grandmother might use to jar vegetables or something.]
That'll do. [He goes back to the sink to cut the ends off of the flower stems, so they can soak up some water, and fills up the jar. In go the flowers, and voila! Bouquet in a jar. It has a certain rustic charm to it, or it would if Belobog had any concept of quaint country folk. Either way, it's a little cute in its own way. Sampo hands the whole thing back to Gepard.]
Go put that on the table, it'll look nice there. [Off you go, be a good boy.] And since you're supposed to be taking care of yourself for the next few days, why don't you go take a shower before dinner?
[Then he'd be all nice and clean for dinner, and he probably really needs a shower after a full day of doing... whatever it is that a Silvermane guard captain does. It's probably physical and sweaty, he's wearing all of that armor and probably has to run drills or something with the recruits. Sampo doesn't know, it all sounds terrible to him.]
[...yeah, the jar might've held some pickled vegetables once upon a time. He ate them, was left with a perfectly decent pickling jar he couldn't bear to throw out, but what was he supposed to do with it? He doesn't know how to pickle things. But at least the jar doesn't smell like vinegar, right?
Right.
The jar is placed on the table. And it looks nice. Homey. Like his apartment is somewhere he spends time in, instead of a place he briefly exists in before heading off to his duty, whatever form it might take that day. At the suggestion of a shower, Gepard half-turns towards Figaro.]
Are you sure you don't need my help with anything? [And then Gepard sniffs his arm, his nose wrinkles, and technically? Technically he hadn't had a shower since...a long while. He'd taken a morning- not even a shower, a rinse, went to work, changed, marched along the streets of Belobog, ran into Figaro/Ringo/Name-o, got...assaulted, slept over at his place, woke up, went back to work, and now he's here.
So while he's not filthy, sort of, he does have a bit of a presence. Somewhat of a presence. An olfactory presence that's not as crisp and as clean as one would expect from Captain Landau.]
If you don't, I'll take you up with that, with my apologies.
I’ve got it all covered here! [He waves a dismissive hand in Gepard’s direction as he turns back towards the stove.] Go get clean. You’ve had a long day!
[What’s better after a long day than a warm, relaxing shower? Well, a delicious dinner that you didn’t have to prepare, probably, and would you look at that— Gepard’s getting that, too. Even if your day was hard, your evening is shaping up pretty well.]
[While Gepard takes care of his personal hygiene, Sampo finishes up dinner; beef tenderloin smothered in buttered balsamic mushrooms with dauphinois potatoes, and a chard salad on the side for something green. Hydroponic greens are expensive, Captain, so he expects you to eat all of it! No skipping on the leafy vegetables just because you’d like the meat and potatoes better.]
[It also just so happens to be a good meal for the very slightly anemic— good sources of iron, vitamin C in the chard to help with absorption. Gepard had tasted like he could use the iron when Sampo had bit him.]
[When he emerges from the shower, dinner will be plated and ready for him, with two glasses; water and red wine. How can you have a beef dinner without a full bodied red to go with it?]
[Unfortunately, Sampo can’t eat a bit of his own cooking. He’ll just have to sit at the table and watch Gepard enjoy it all, and hopefully get a little good feedback about it. Is the tenderloin how he likes it? Are the dauphinois potatoes cheesy enough? Does he like the red, or does he prefer a crisp white even with red meat? Important things for Sampo to know and live vicariously through.]
[With all the presence of a dog retreating with his tail between his legs, Gepard goes to the shower. Because he's suddenly feeling self-conscious about a lot of things, not least of which is the fact he's got a mysterious stranger cooking for him, and he needs time to process this. Him. Them, as in the two of them as a surprisingly domestic pair. All of this. Because a lot has happened, and if Figaro is trying to poison him he's taking an incredibly roundabout route, so-
And the only thing he has to offer is his foul-tasting blood, so-
So. Gepard takes a shower, delighted to discover there's still hot water, as after a certain point in the day it's more of a 50/50 coin flip; warm shower or a lukewarm shower that he has to rush through. He sings as he does so, not with the full-voiced confidence of a born singer delighting in the acoustics of a shower, but with the absent-mindedness of a guy who is still processing this turn of events and needs something to do with his mouth. One of his sister's songs, probably. He doesn't pay attention to that.
He gets out.
Dressing, as it turns out, is far more complicated as Gepard's forced to realize that he doesn't remember the last time he dressed down in front of anyone who wasn't also a Landau. It's one thing to wear a stupid sweater in front of Serval, especially when she got it for him and has two matching ones for her and Lynx; it's another to wear sweatpants in front of Figaro...but also, Figaro's going to feed from him, isn't he? Maybe? And if he does, he should wear something he won't mind getting messy should it come to it...
He's overthinking things. He's definitely overthinking things. He puts on pants. He puts on a shirt. Gepard re-emerges, and is slapped in the face by beef tenderloin, and potatoes, and...]
Is that... [It can't be.] ...chard?
[Where the hell did Figaro get the greens from in this city? Gepard sits, a bit stunned? A bit shell-shocked? He sort of sits down in his chair with a thump as he stares it all. He picks up a fork and pokes at the beef tenderloin half-expecting it to become a Fragmentum monster, and then he'll blink and discover he's on the streets of Belobog and everything from 'this guy tried to drink my blood and then take me to see a doctor'-onward is a dream.
It remains beef.]
This looks...amazing- where did you- how di- [No, he should start from the top, shouldn't he?] Thank you. [That's the important part, isn't it? And here's the other important part: he cuts off a small piece of beef tenderloin, and takes a bite-] It's delicious... [It is delicious, but how does a guy who exclusively drinks blood learn how to cook? So many questions.]
[Gepard sings in the shower. He doesn’t sing well, exactly, but it’s an endearing thing regardless— the faint sound of off-key singing echoing in a tile room. Very domestic.]
[It’s strange to see the Captain so dressed down when he gets to the table, even stranger to see the look on his face— the man could take learning that there’s a bloodsucking monster in Belobog, but is shocked by a salad. And, sure, it’s hard to find leafy greens on a planet stuck in eternal winter, but there are a few hydroponic gardens that grow the few that have survived on this planet. Chard, obviously, being one of them.]
You’re welcome. [Good boy, good manners.] Glad you like it!
[The beef is so tender that cutting it with a knife is really just a formality, the richness cut a little by the acidity in the balsamic mushrooms. It is still very stick-to-your-ribs kind of food, but when you’re running around all day in the winterlands, you probably need the insulation. It’ll be good for him, Gepard could probably stand to gain a pound or two.]
If you have any feedback, I’d like to hear it. I can’t taste things as I go, so I’m kind of relying on memory and guesswork!
[Don’t mind him as he watches you eat. It’s just a little bit out of envy, it’s fine.]
[The first thing that comes to mind, which is that he absolutely would love nothing more than to pin Figaro to a wall and make out with him, is something that comes to Gepard's mind and he takes that thought, metaphorically folds it in half, stuffs it into a back drawer, and closes it. He'll just tell himself he never had that thought and keep things from getting weird.
...weirder. Weird is already unavoidable.]
You're incredible. [He just breathes that out.] You did all this from memory? The meat's so tender, the chard- [No hesitation there. Chomp.] It's fresh. Fresher than what I had even when I still lived with my parents.
[(It's not, but at the moment he's a bit overwhelmed.)] And the only thing I can offer you is me... [Well.] I'll make it up to you, I promise.
[He doesn't realize it, but at the moment Gepard wishes they had televisions so he had an excuse to invite Figaro to sit on the couch later as they watch something-or-another. He doesn't recognize the need - Belobog doesn't have televisions - but if he did discover those existed in general? He'd say yes. Yes, that's the nameless urge I felt there, that's what I wanted. I really wanted to cuddle on the couch with a blood-sucking weirdo and watch something.
As he doesn't know what a TV is, Gepard just feels a nameless need rise up inside of him.]
I'll think of something.
[The wine? Also amazing, but maybe that's because he spent the last whatever eating guard food and then eating instant noodles when he couldn't hit up a cafeteria.]
I know a guy who has a hydroponic garden, and he owed me a favor.
[Said guy also uses most of that hydroponic system to grow… things that are not chard, but he did keep a section of it for his own food-growing use. Calling in a favor for fresh greens is maybe a little much, but it’s kind of worth it for the look on Gepard’s face. And it’ll do him some good to get some roughage in his diet.]
[Gratitude really is a good look on Gepard. Sampo smiles at him, enjoys the feeling of having an influential man be so appreciative.]
I wasn’t always on a liquid-only diet, you know.
[It’s a relatively recent development in the history of Sampo, though he’ll spare Gepard the gory details. The less he knows, the better. The less chance that he’ll get caught in the web of bullshit that surrounds him.]
[Unaware of Gepard’s weird, cuddling-based urges brought on by some domesticity and a really good tenderloin, Sampo takes his gratitude at face value.]
Even if you aren’t back to a hundred percent, you are giving me a meal. We’re pretty close to even.
[He props his chin on his hand, and his elbow on the table. Poor manners, but Gepard has the table manners of a starving guard, so it’s fine.]
Oh, that reminds me. I have dessert for you, too, if you want it.
[Panna cotta with caramel sauce, in the refrigerator. Though he probably could’ve satisfied Gepard’s palate with rye soda and yogurt and saved himself the trouble.]
You got me dessert? [He breathes it out. If it wouldn't be weird this would be the point in which he'd ask Figaro to go on a date with him. Thing is, that would be weird, Figaro probably wouldn't be interested and it would be terrible if he used Figaro's strange...dietary needs to coerce him into something unwelcome. Besides. Gepard has no idea how to take anyone on a date.
How do dates work? What do people do on dates? He doesn't know.
Besides, their relationship is founded on mutual need, or something, and Figaro/Ringo/Something Else happens to have a very unique dietary requirement, so probably he shouldn't let himself get carried away.]
I'd love to try it. [What the heck.] And then I'll feed you, as promised...I'm sorry for making you wait.
[What the heck, why does he feel so special thanks to a guy who wants to bite him and drain his blood, of all the people in Belobog the person making him feel special is the guy with terrible dietary needs who...
Apparently didn't always have to drink blood? Much to consider. He'd have gone on the attack but beef and chard (greens!) had a way of distracting a guy from the point.]
[It’s a small but important distinction! Anyone could go out and buy a dessert, but ol’ Sampo took the time to make one for you. Granted, panna cotta isn’t a very difficult dessert, so it wasn’t much of a bother, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Plus, he wants a little test run of his theory that Gepard will taste different if he feeds him differently. Maybe after a sugary dessert, he’ll be sweet instead of bitter.]
[And Gepard’s reaction is adorable. Worth the trouble for that alone.]
I’ll get it for you once you’re done with the main course.
[If Gepard had had the nerve to ask him about date adjacent things… who knows? Maybe he’d have said yes. Maybe he’d have said no. Maybe he’d have been the voice of reason and told Gepard that it was a stupid idea to get so close to a thing that saw you as dinner.]
[He even apologizes for making Sampo wait. The Captain is too good a man for his own self preservation, and it’ll get him in trouble one of these days.]
I’ve been waiting a few weeks. What’s another few minutes? [He assumes that Gepard’s already worked out the timeline, since he knows when Sampo’s victims were found and when the blood shortage started.] Besides, we want you as tasty as you can be, right?
[And theoretically, that would be after he’s all full up on tenderloin and greens and dessert— the latter of which Sampo will helpfully bring out once he’s nearly done with the rest of his plate.]
There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry, too.
[He’d given Gepard pretty hearty portions in anticipation of his appetite, but there’s more if he wants it. And enough that Sampo has ideas for tomorrow’s lunch, for the leftovers.]
[It is an important distinction, one important enough to make Gepard's mouth hang ever so slightly open, his eyes widen ever so slightly. If Figaro followed that up with a ring and a proposal, the answer wouldn't be a no: it wouldn't be a yes, but it wouldn't be a flat refusal either. It would be a third, uncertain thing, because he would have to think about it.
Because it's probably a very stupid move to get close to someone who saw him as dinner, but unfortunately that someone's very convincing, and has very nice eyes? He should be asking, "Hey, aren't you the con artist which was taking advantage of my sister, she mentioned a guy named Ringo, it sounded like your story."]
You said you didn't always have your liquid diet.
[He says this instead, carefully, hoping that- diplomacy was never something Gepard had been good at. His strategies involved punching things, not making the guy who drinks blood and makes amazing food sad.]
What changed- I'm sorry. I know this is a personal question. [...this would be so much easier if Figaro was a Fragmentum monster and all he had to do was punch him five times. Gepard sighs, tries to cover with a sip of the wine- and it's good wine, what the heck.
...what had he been saying- oh, right.] I suppose I just need to know if others can...change, much like you did.
[There's a difference between being a con artist who happens to be in a band with your sister and conning your sister, Gepard! But that's a moot point until he brings up the questionable past of Ringo, former bassist for Mechanical Fever.]
[Instead, he brings up Sampo's casual comment about not always being a people-eater, and out of those two questions, Sampo would've probably rather had to field the Ringo thing than this. But it's really a pretty fair question, especially since Gepard's offered up his neck. Regardless of the tasty dinners, Sampo's probably still on the indebted side of this equation, what with all the favors that Gepard has done him between being his personal juice box and not immediately turning him in.]
No, it's fine. Of course you have questions! It's only fair for me to answer some of them.
[Some, not necessarily all. With probably a healthy dash of selective omission for Gepard's own sake.]
What happened to me is... really rare. There won't be another person in Belobog who's got it. [He's certain of that. He'd know if there was another Emanator hanging out on this planet.] And it's not communicable, so you don't have to worry about catching it, either!
If you want, you can think of it like an illness, or a curse. [He laughs.] Like cancer, or something. I'll have it 'til I die but thankfully I'll be keeping it to myself.
[Gepard remains relatively stoic and somewhat stern - at least, as stoic and as stern as he can while having a fucking amazing dinner and feeling full and warm and happy (feelings that he's suddenly oh so aware that Figaro/Ringo/Name-o hasn't enjoyed for quite some time, probably) - up until the point that Figaro compares whatever-it-is to an illness. Or a curse. That's when Gepard can feel his face slip, a bit. He stares at Figaro, and then glances down to his food.
It's delicious food. His fork plays with a bit of meat, moving it back and forth for a moment, chewing his lip and unaware of that as he thinks. Then, Gepard glances up again at Figaro.]
I'm sorry to hear that.
[What else can he say? He has more questions, like how is Figaro so sure that he's the only one, what had happened to him, how had he acquired this...condition? But, they can wait.
For now.]
That can't have been easy to adjust to. How have you- [He hesitates, and Gepard wants to scoot closer but he can't - there's a table in the way - but he leans towards Figaro ever so slightly. The fucking table is in the way, for-
Actually, probably the table being in the way is a good thing to prevent whatever-that-was that he wanted to do. That bit of meat he had been playing with gets shoved into Gepard's mouth. Chew, bite, swallow.] If others know about your...condition, something would have happened. I would have heard about it. The Silvermane Guard would have been called in. How have you hid it for so long...?
[Gepard doesn't push too much about the acquisition of said illness-like condition, because, well... it would be a little hard to explain to him. Most people don't react too well to being told that a god-like being leveled its gaze upon him and bestowed him with a sliver of divinity, and divinity apparently comes with the added price tag of drinking blood. Sorry, Gepard, sainthood isn't all its cracked up to be.]
[Gepard continues to eat, to ruminate, to ask his questions. Sampo briefly considers dropping a bomb under the table as an exit strategy, because an unconscious guard captain can't ask uncomfortable questions, but that would probably ruin this whole thing that they've got going on, and he really needs a stable food source.]
There are other people who know, but I'd appreciate it if you don't ask too many questions about them. They help me out sometimes, and I don't want them catching any heat for it.
[Natasha, specifically-- she's got enough on her plate without having any guardsmen poke around because she sometimes gives blood to a hungry man. Sampo suspects that Seele has noticed that he's strange, though he's not sure if she's caught on to exactly how, but she still works with him. So either she's aware and has decided that his services are useful enough to excuse it, or she's unaware but still has decided that his services are useful enough to not look further into it.]
I've stayed hidden because the only other people who know are people who won't rat me out to the guard. They're good folks!
[And that whole thing about how he goes about getting his food helps. People are way more sympathetic about his unfortunate dietary restrictions because he's about as close to non-violent as you can get with his issues-- nonlethal, eating as infrequently as possible, taking blood bags over fresh whenever possible. It bought him goodwill with Natasha, and that was a valuable connection to make.]
[He sometimes misses the Tavern, how easy it was to have a meal whenever he wanted it. He is an Emanator of their Aeon, and to be a meal for him was a joy and an honor; he barely even had to ask. And if you were going to be a meal for any of Aha's chosen, he's the better one, anyway-- the one that wouldn't leave you an inch from death. But here he is, having to make deals with guard captains to have a regular blood donor. How the mighty have fallen, or something like that.]
[There's more important things he should be focusing on, he knows: who are Figaro's accomplices, how do they help/"help" him, how did Figaro acquire his condition, why is he so sure that he's the only one? Questions upon questions upon questions. He does remember that those questions exist, and they're important, and knows that if he was doing his job as a Silvermane Captain he'd be asking every last one and not relenting until he gets an answer.
...but. And this will haunt him, but, but.
But Figaro had ample opportunity to have dealt with him in some final fashion, one way or another, and chose not to. Repeatedly. The food could have been drugged, but he ate the sandwich, drank the soda, devoured the meat and lost himself in the potatoes and relished the greens.]
Just so you understand, I'm not letting you off of the hook simply because you're feeding me, Figaro. I have to understand your situation if I'm to deal with it in a way that keeps Belobog safe. [He says this at last, in a low voice, just so Figaro knows he's quite serious about the fact he's still very quite suspicious and is duty-minded and devoted to Belobog. Because he is. If he has reason to believe Figaro is a threat to the people (a true, genuine threat out of choice, one who can't be accommodated or reasoned with), he won't hesitate, bitch.
...then, a little bit quieter, a softer confession:]
But I'm glad you don't have to face whatever it is that you do have all by yourself. [Because maybe a very lonely safehouse makes a guy wonder. Because maybe a very lonely safehouse makes a guy a little bit sad to think about. Maybe because Figaro's proving to have more time on his hands than a guard might expect. Because maybe a guy's wondering if he should get tickets to a play - not the big, fancy theater but a smaller one where it's less likely he'd be recognized as Captain Landau and more like 'hey he kind of sort of looks like that one captain guy,' see a comedy, are there any good comedies? Much to consider.
But that's besides the point, for now.]
Can I try that dessert? Or did I ruin the mood? I'm sorry if I did.
[Gepard’s using his serious voice, like he’s some recruit that the Captain can be stern at and forced into line. Really, if he wanted to, Sampo could have just killed him. He’s an Emanator and Gepard is, unfortunately, just a mere mortal man. A lovely mortal man, a very excellent specimen, but still far from the same weight class as ol’ Sampo. If he were the type to resort to violence, he could have crushed that pretty little throat of his on about four or five separate occasions by now. ]
[Instead, he’s sitting across the dinner table from him, preparing his meals.]
If I was going to be a danger to Belobog, don’t you think you’d know by now?
[Especially if Gepard is operating under the assumption that Sampo is a Belobog native. And he has been on planet for a few years, flying under the radar, but the good Captain doesn’t know that he had years to get used to his condition before he ever arrived on the planet.]
[And as for the sentimental things, well… best to let Gepard think whatever would make him the most sympathetic towards him.]
[Sampo stands.]
Sure, Captain. Let me get it for you.
[He gets it from the refrigerator, sets it before the waiting Captain— panna cotta with caramel sauce, the final course. Go ahead, enjoy it, Sampo will just wait from his seat across the table.]
Since we’ve been playing twenty questions… why haven’t you turned me in yet? That’s probably what all your little oaths say you should do.
[He supposes he deserves the question after asking Figaro a few of his own, and yet, Gepard almost wishes that something would happen so he wouldn't have to answer it. Like a Fragmentum opens up in his apartment, and he's too busy fighting off those monsters to answer questions like why is he hesitating, bitch?
That doesn't happen. Instead, dessert is placed before him, and it looks delicious. It's a fight to keep from staring. And, well, doesn't that deserve an honest answer? Hasn't Figaro done enough to deserve an honest answer to that question? He has.
So, Gepard inhales. Exhales, slow, looks at Figaro in the face.]
They do. If I wanted to honor my oath, I should have turned you in the moment you attacked me.
[He can admit that. He knows what he should've done.] ...but I don't think you're a danger to Belobog. Just a man in a bad situation, doing what you must to survive.
How lenient of you. Are you as generous with every thief and pickpocket who might have fallen on hard times?
[Everyone has a sob story. There probably isn’t a single person that Gepard’s arrested who wouldn’t have been able to tell him any number of tragic tales about why they had to break the law, and some of them might have even been true! But he didn’t let them off light. He still did his duty, let them bring their sad stories to the Architects for arbitration.]
[So why is Sampo the exception? Is it because his situation is so strange?]
Even if you didn’t want to put me in prison…
[The same thought that Gepard had before occurs to him— if he’s not going to be tossed in a prison cell, he could be tossed into a specimen cage. A curiosity to be studied, for doctors to poke and prod. Possibly a worse fate than just being thrown into a cell and left to rot.]
[Not that he’d stick around in either a prison cell or a laboratory, anyway. He’d be out of there and off-planet before Gepard would even have the chance to chase him down again, and he’d blacklist Jarilo-VI for good. Planet non grata, never coming back.]
[He blushes. It's a fierce little blush as Figaro continues to mercilessly prod and push and question...because he knows Figaro's right. He'd throw him before the Architects without hesitation. He'd toss him into a jail cell without a second thought if that was the only thing the both of them would have to worry about. And Figaro would, most likely, fucking deserve it.]
If you want me to throw you into prison that badly, that can most certainly be arranged, Figaro.
[A little angry emphasis there. Figaro. A fake name and they both know it, and what a terrible name it still is. Because if he blusters enough, it'll be enough to keep him from going too far on the defensive. Maybe. In theory. He understands preservation, but he can't just defend if he wants to win this...
Whatever they're having.]
And- [He points with his fork. Point.] You have committed enough crimes to deserve some time in a prison cell. We both know it. But if I end up throwing you in prison, it will be with you seen as a man and not as a monster, and I will be handling this situation personally until I can be sure others will see you in the same way I do.
[Gepard points his fork in Sampo’s direction, a sharp little jab to emphasize his points. It’s spectacularly rude, absolutely abhorrent behavior from a man of supposedly refined breeding. A bit much even for a rough guardsman, really.]
[It’s true that he’s caused the guard no end of trouble in various ways, possibly more than Gepard is currently aware of— Sampo’s got a lot of aliases. There’s more than just Ringo and Figaro— there’s Dio and Bono, too, and of course Brughel. A few others that he hasn’t used as often, he ran a few small scams as Gilmour, but it never felt quite right.]
[But the good Captain wants him locked up as a man rather than a monster, Aeons know how he’d manage to pull that one off. Sampo could single-handedly save Belobog from certain destruction and they’d still see him as a monster. He could be the chosen of Qlipoth Themself.]
If that’s what you want, you’ll be stuck with me for a long time, Captain. People around here are pretty set, once they make their minds up.
[The Preservation at work, or just naturally stubborn folk? Who knows.]
I guess you’ll just have to get used to my pretty face!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[It would be hard to explain how he got in here without any of the guards noticing, and he would prefer it if they didn't know about his window-based method of entering the building. Most people figure that any windows above the second story are too high for someone to get to without using a very noticeable ladder, but they don't usually have to deal with someone like Sampo. For him, an unlocked window on the third floor might as well be an open door.]
[He slips off of his perch on Gepard's desk, taking with him the insulated lunch box that he'd used to transport Gepard's meal.]
Our rendezvous. Our tête-à-tête. Our tryst, maybe? I can call it all sorts of things.
[Some of them more salacious than others. But he's had his fun making the Silvermane guard captain turn all sorts of shades of red, it's time for industrious Sampos to be on their way. He makes his way over to the window and pops it open, sits himself on the sill.]
Until tonight! [He winks.] Try not to miss me too much.
[Then he leans back and drops out of the window, out of sight. By the time that Gepard would make it there to look out, he'd already be gone.]
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Figaro slipping off of his desk? Makes sense. More or less aligned with his expectations. In order for Figaro to go, he'd have to get off of his fucking desk. Him taking the lunch box? More of the same. The food is evidence enough as is; a lunch box would be impossible to explain. Gepard? With a packed lunch? Absolutely not.
The stupid names for their business meeting? Each one does great damage - each one causes the captain to make a noise, more choked-back and struggling than the last. Tryst especially does damage. Tryst makes him make a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach before he falls silent. Tryst makes Gepard stare at Figaro like he's a vole numbed by a fox's riddle, trying to figure it out, waiting to be eaten. Tryst? Tryst makes him turn a vivid red - he'd already been turning pink, but that's the point in which what little restraint Gepard has gives up.
Tryst stuns him so much the captain doesn't exactly realize where it is that Figaro's headed until he's at the windowsill.]
Wait-
[Then he runs forward, but by the time he gets there? Figaro's gone. And he's left there to deal with the fact that Figaro is making his attempts to turn this into a cool, pragmatic business arrangement very fucking difficult.
But, to business.
He goes to the doctor, as promised, one thing leads to another, and he accidentally ends up on medical leave for a week. Effective immediately. The doctors says he's exhausted. This wasn't what he expected? Originally it was three days. It was going to be three days and he protested, and they upgraded it to a week. He's got a week off. What is he supposed to do with this?
Gepard then makes the stupid fucking decision of seeing his sister, Serval, who promptly loses her shit laughing when she heard about the medical leave thing. Makes it all the worse. He asks her who her bandmate was and after some back and forth she says he was...Ringo? Which isn't Figaro. But Figaro sounds like Ringo, and Figaro's clearly a fake name. (He doesn't tell Serval about Figaro and his business arrangement. He just says it's for work. She reminds him of the medical leave. He asks her to please stop talking about it. She doesn't.)
He stops by the florist and gets a bouquet of flowers. Because...
...he likes flowers. This is perfectly normal. And if he's going to be home for a few days (he'll talk to Lady Bronya in a few days and get this resolved) he might as well have something nice to look at. This is the only reason for the flowers.
And then Gepard heads home, because there's no way any of this will go wrong, and, in fact, Figaro probably forgot about their business dinner.
This has been a fucking struggle of an afternoon.]
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[And, the better he feeds Gepard, the better a meal he'll get, too. So he does have a little enlightened self interest going on here, investing in Gepard is an investment for himself.]
[So! He's off to the market. The butcher's, first, because he needs a good protein for the main course. There are some excellent looking beef tenderloins, so he gets one of those and has the butcher cut a few steaks off of it, too-- if he's running out of ideas or low on time, he's certain that he can satisfy a man like Gepard with a steak-and-potatoes dinner. He can only stay for so long inside the butcher's without getting unreasonably hungry, and gets out of there shortly after with the meat and a pint of pig's blood.]
[He ducks into an alley and, when he's sure that no one is around, opens the container of blood and drains it in long, hurried gulps. It isn't warm anymore, of course, and it doesn't have the same richness and complexity of human blood, but it eases the cramping ache in his stomach. After making sure that he didn't spill any and didn't have anything left around his mouth-- no one likes a messy eater-- he drops the container in the trash and is back on his way. No one the wiser of the bloodsucker in their midst.]
[The grocer's, at least, is less laden with temptations. The luscious flesh of an eggplant doesn't tempt him to bite in the same way that still-bloody raw meat does, for obvious reasons, and with a belly temporarily satisfied with a porcine snack, he feels steadier. In control. He navigates the grocer and picks up what he needs for the dinner plan forming in his head and he can ignore all the tasty people walking around nearby.]
[And, while Gepard is in the process of being told by a medical professional that he's suffering from exhaustion and his sister laughs at his plight, Sampo makes his way to Gepard's address. If he's going to get dinner on the table at a reasonable time, he'll have to get started! Which also means breaking in, but that's fine, he's very good at it.]
[Gepard's apartment is very... spartan. Very bachelor pad, if that bachelor has absolutely no fun.]
[By the time the good Captain makes his way back from his many disappointments of the day, he'll open his apartment door to the smell of a roast in the oven, accompanying hints of garlic and onion-- the warm, comforting scents of dinner being made. Down the hall, Gepard would be able to see the yellow glow of the electric light on in his kitchen and hear the sound of someone moving around and the sound of a pan on the stove.]
[Surprise! You're not coming back to an empty, cold apartment. Welcome home, honey.]
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Gepard Landau reaches the incredibly reasonable conclusion that he (somehow) just entered someone else's apartment. His keys (somehow) match someone else's locks as well as his own. He does the only sensible thing, which is to turn around and immediately leave the apartment. Door closes behind him. Door swings shut.
When it does, he's faced with the apartment door, which has his apartment number, which means that this isn't someone else's space. This is his home. The captain turns, looks down the hall, tries to see if anyone noticed him doing whatever-it-is that he did.
The hall is empty.
...Gepard re-enters the apartment, hoping that he got away with whatever-that-was that he just did.]
Hello?
[He's still carrying flowers, so if this isn't the mysterious Figaro he can, he supposes, bludgeon the intruder with them. Sure. That makes sense. Maybe this is Lynx or Pela, having heard about his medical leave and somehow deciding to show up or...
Something. Also, why is he walking towards his kitchen in the same way he'd stalk down something-or-another in the Fragmentum...this is his home. He should walk with confidence.
...so Gepard does.] You won't believe what my day was like. I hope yours was better.
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[Doesn't matter. Sampo's in the process of slicing up mushrooms to saute with butter and balsamic to go with the tenderloin when Gepard finally stops pretending to sneak around his own house and makes it to the kitchen. Don't worry, Captain, he's going to blow your socks off with this roast. You're going to be glad that you brought those flowers even though Sampo isn't actually your wife.]
Welcome home, dear! [This is your life now, Gepard.] Dinner'll be ready in twenty, maybe thirty minutes.
[With his mushrooms sliced, he turns, leaving the knife at the cutting board. Gepard's there with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and, apparently, a story about how awful his day had been, and Sampo walks over to him to relieve him of his floral burden like any good housewife.]
Oh, flowers, that'll brighten the place up a little. Give them here, I'll find a vase. [Hand over the bouquet, it's Sampo's now, your fake wife. Do you like his apron? It's very cute, it has hearts on it and he had to bring it over from his own place because Gepard is predictably the kind of heathen that doesn't have an apron of his own.] How did the doctor's visit go? Let me guess, you're overworked and you're supposed to get some rest?
[Probably the easiest guess he's ever made, really. Now, a vase... he looks through the cabinets while Gepard has the chance to elaborate on his apparently terrible day. Even just a sufficiently large jar would do, surely he has that much?]
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Vase.
Does he have a vase?
He should look for a vase. It'll be easier looking for a vase than it is processing the fact that Figaro/Ringo/Something Else-o is wearing an apron and it's surprisingly...cute. It's not his. He's not home enough to actually need one for cooking. (And whatever's being made sounds good.) Which means that Figaro got it from...somewhere-
He's looking for a vase. Vases are safer.
Also.]
How did you know? [Who told Figaro that? Who? How could he have guessed?] You're right. I'm on medical leave for the next few days.
[Technically a week, but he's sure that once he talks to Lady Bronya, everything will get sorted out, and he'll be back on duty in a couple of days. Thus, Gepard says 'the next few days' with confidence. Conviction. He's not that overworked. He's just dedicated.
He finds a jar in one of the cupboards.
It's large. Ugly, actually, but it's large. Is it large enough? Is the largeness of it able to counterbalance the ugliness of it? He's holding it up for Figaro's approval.]
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[The literal most obvious guess that could have ever been guessed. Who would have thought that Gepard Landau, Belobog's most overworked guard captain, could possibly be a little exhausted from his unfathomable hours on duty? No one, surely!]
[Sampo walks over and takes the large jar from Gepard; it's a little ugly, sure, but it's big enough for the bouquet and that's really all that matters. Kind of looks like one of those jars that someone's grandmother might use to jar vegetables or something.]
That'll do. [He goes back to the sink to cut the ends off of the flower stems, so they can soak up some water, and fills up the jar. In go the flowers, and voila! Bouquet in a jar. It has a certain rustic charm to it, or it would if Belobog had any concept of quaint country folk. Either way, it's a little cute in its own way. Sampo hands the whole thing back to Gepard.]
Go put that on the table, it'll look nice there. [Off you go, be a good boy.] And since you're supposed to be taking care of yourself for the next few days, why don't you go take a shower before dinner?
[Then he'd be all nice and clean for dinner, and he probably really needs a shower after a full day of doing... whatever it is that a Silvermane guard captain does. It's probably physical and sweaty, he's wearing all of that armor and probably has to run drills or something with the recruits. Sampo doesn't know, it all sounds terrible to him.]
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Right.
The jar is placed on the table. And it looks nice. Homey. Like his apartment is somewhere he spends time in, instead of a place he briefly exists in before heading off to his duty, whatever form it might take that day. At the suggestion of a shower, Gepard half-turns towards Figaro.]
Are you sure you don't need my help with anything? [And then Gepard sniffs his arm, his nose wrinkles, and technically? Technically he hadn't had a shower since...a long while. He'd taken a morning- not even a shower, a rinse, went to work, changed, marched along the streets of Belobog, ran into Figaro/Ringo/Name-o, got...assaulted, slept over at his place, woke up, went back to work, and now he's here.
So while he's not filthy, sort of, he does have a bit of a presence. Somewhat of a presence. An olfactory presence that's not as crisp and as clean as one would expect from Captain Landau.]
If you don't, I'll take you up with that, with my apologies.
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[What’s better after a long day than a warm, relaxing shower? Well, a delicious dinner that you didn’t have to prepare, probably, and would you look at that— Gepard’s getting that, too. Even if your day was hard, your evening is shaping up pretty well.]
[While Gepard takes care of his personal hygiene, Sampo finishes up dinner; beef tenderloin smothered in buttered balsamic mushrooms with dauphinois potatoes, and a chard salad on the side for something green. Hydroponic greens are expensive, Captain, so he expects you to eat all of it! No skipping on the leafy vegetables just because you’d like the meat and potatoes better.]
[It also just so happens to be a good meal for the very slightly anemic— good sources of iron, vitamin C in the chard to help with absorption. Gepard had tasted like he could use the iron when Sampo had bit him.]
[When he emerges from the shower, dinner will be plated and ready for him, with two glasses; water and red wine. How can you have a beef dinner without a full bodied red to go with it?]
[Unfortunately, Sampo can’t eat a bit of his own cooking. He’ll just have to sit at the table and watch Gepard enjoy it all, and hopefully get a little good feedback about it. Is the tenderloin how he likes it? Are the dauphinois potatoes cheesy enough? Does he like the red, or does he prefer a crisp white even with red meat? Important things for Sampo to know and live vicariously through.]
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And the only thing he has to offer is his foul-tasting blood, so-
So. Gepard takes a shower, delighted to discover there's still hot water, as after a certain point in the day it's more of a 50/50 coin flip; warm shower or a lukewarm shower that he has to rush through. He sings as he does so, not with the full-voiced confidence of a born singer delighting in the acoustics of a shower, but with the absent-mindedness of a guy who is still processing this turn of events and needs something to do with his mouth. One of his sister's songs, probably. He doesn't pay attention to that.
He gets out.
Dressing, as it turns out, is far more complicated as Gepard's forced to realize that he doesn't remember the last time he dressed down in front of anyone who wasn't also a Landau. It's one thing to wear a stupid sweater in front of Serval, especially when she got it for him and has two matching ones for her and Lynx; it's another to wear sweatpants in front of Figaro...but also, Figaro's going to feed from him, isn't he? Maybe? And if he does, he should wear something he won't mind getting messy should it come to it...
He's overthinking things. He's definitely overthinking things. He puts on pants. He puts on a shirt. Gepard re-emerges, and is slapped in the face by beef tenderloin, and potatoes, and...]
Is that... [It can't be.] ...chard?
[Where the hell did Figaro get the greens from in this city? Gepard sits, a bit stunned? A bit shell-shocked? He sort of sits down in his chair with a thump as he stares it all. He picks up a fork and pokes at the beef tenderloin half-expecting it to become a Fragmentum monster, and then he'll blink and discover he's on the streets of Belobog and everything from 'this guy tried to drink my blood and then take me to see a doctor'-onward is a dream.
It remains beef.]
This looks...amazing- where did you- how di- [No, he should start from the top, shouldn't he?] Thank you. [That's the important part, isn't it? And here's the other important part: he cuts off a small piece of beef tenderloin, and takes a bite-] It's delicious... [It is delicious, but how does a guy who exclusively drinks blood learn how to cook? So many questions.]
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[It’s strange to see the Captain so dressed down when he gets to the table, even stranger to see the look on his face— the man could take learning that there’s a bloodsucking monster in Belobog, but is shocked by a salad. And, sure, it’s hard to find leafy greens on a planet stuck in eternal winter, but there are a few hydroponic gardens that grow the few that have survived on this planet. Chard, obviously, being one of them.]
You’re welcome. [Good boy, good manners.] Glad you like it!
[The beef is so tender that cutting it with a knife is really just a formality, the richness cut a little by the acidity in the balsamic mushrooms. It is still very stick-to-your-ribs kind of food, but when you’re running around all day in the winterlands, you probably need the insulation. It’ll be good for him, Gepard could probably stand to gain a pound or two.]
If you have any feedback, I’d like to hear it. I can’t taste things as I go, so I’m kind of relying on memory and guesswork!
[Don’t mind him as he watches you eat. It’s just a little bit out of envy, it’s fine.]
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...weirder. Weird is already unavoidable.]
You're incredible. [He just breathes that out.] You did all this from memory? The meat's so tender, the chard- [No hesitation there. Chomp.] It's fresh. Fresher than what I had even when I still lived with my parents.
[(It's not, but at the moment he's a bit overwhelmed.)] And the only thing I can offer you is me... [Well.] I'll make it up to you, I promise.
[He doesn't realize it, but at the moment Gepard wishes they had televisions so he had an excuse to invite Figaro to sit on the couch later as they watch something-or-another. He doesn't recognize the need - Belobog doesn't have televisions - but if he did discover those existed in general? He'd say yes. Yes, that's the nameless urge I felt there, that's what I wanted. I really wanted to cuddle on the couch with a blood-sucking weirdo and watch something.
As he doesn't know what a TV is, Gepard just feels a nameless need rise up inside of him.]
I'll think of something.
[The wine? Also amazing, but maybe that's because he spent the last whatever eating guard food and then eating instant noodles when he couldn't hit up a cafeteria.]
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[Said guy also uses most of that hydroponic system to grow… things that are not chard, but he did keep a section of it for his own food-growing use. Calling in a favor for fresh greens is maybe a little much, but it’s kind of worth it for the look on Gepard’s face. And it’ll do him some good to get some roughage in his diet.]
[Gratitude really is a good look on Gepard. Sampo smiles at him, enjoys the feeling of having an influential man be so appreciative.]
I wasn’t always on a liquid-only diet, you know.
[It’s a relatively recent development in the history of Sampo, though he’ll spare Gepard the gory details. The less he knows, the better. The less chance that he’ll get caught in the web of bullshit that surrounds him.]
[Unaware of Gepard’s weird, cuddling-based urges brought on by some domesticity and a really good tenderloin, Sampo takes his gratitude at face value.]
Even if you aren’t back to a hundred percent, you are giving me a meal. We’re pretty close to even.
[He props his chin on his hand, and his elbow on the table. Poor manners, but Gepard has the table manners of a starving guard, so it’s fine.]
Oh, that reminds me. I have dessert for you, too, if you want it.
[Panna cotta with caramel sauce, in the refrigerator. Though he probably could’ve satisfied Gepard’s palate with rye soda and yogurt and saved himself the trouble.]
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How do dates work? What do people do on dates? He doesn't know.
Besides, their relationship is founded on mutual need, or something, and Figaro/Ringo/Something Else happens to have a very unique dietary requirement, so probably he shouldn't let himself get carried away.]
I'd love to try it. [What the heck.] And then I'll feed you, as promised...I'm sorry for making you wait.
[What the heck, why does he feel so special thanks to a guy who wants to bite him and drain his blood, of all the people in Belobog the person making him feel special is the guy with terrible dietary needs who...
Apparently didn't always have to drink blood? Much to consider. He'd have gone on the attack but beef and chard (greens!) had a way of distracting a guy from the point.]
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[It’s a small but important distinction! Anyone could go out and buy a dessert, but ol’ Sampo took the time to make one for you. Granted, panna cotta isn’t a very difficult dessert, so it wasn’t much of a bother, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Plus, he wants a little test run of his theory that Gepard will taste different if he feeds him differently. Maybe after a sugary dessert, he’ll be sweet instead of bitter.]
[And Gepard’s reaction is adorable. Worth the trouble for that alone.]
I’ll get it for you once you’re done with the main course.
[If Gepard had had the nerve to ask him about date adjacent things… who knows? Maybe he’d have said yes. Maybe he’d have said no. Maybe he’d have been the voice of reason and told Gepard that it was a stupid idea to get so close to a thing that saw you as dinner.]
[He even apologizes for making Sampo wait. The Captain is too good a man for his own self preservation, and it’ll get him in trouble one of these days.]
I’ve been waiting a few weeks. What’s another few minutes? [He assumes that Gepard’s already worked out the timeline, since he knows when Sampo’s victims were found and when the blood shortage started.] Besides, we want you as tasty as you can be, right?
[And theoretically, that would be after he’s all full up on tenderloin and greens and dessert— the latter of which Sampo will helpfully bring out once he’s nearly done with the rest of his plate.]
There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry, too.
[He’d given Gepard pretty hearty portions in anticipation of his appetite, but there’s more if he wants it. And enough that Sampo has ideas for tomorrow’s lunch, for the leftovers.]
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Because it's probably a very stupid move to get close to someone who saw him as dinner, but unfortunately that someone's very convincing, and has very nice eyes? He should be asking, "Hey, aren't you the con artist which was taking advantage of my sister, she mentioned a guy named Ringo, it sounded like your story."]
You said you didn't always have your liquid diet.
[He says this instead, carefully, hoping that- diplomacy was never something Gepard had been good at. His strategies involved punching things, not making the guy who drinks blood and makes amazing food sad.]
What changed- I'm sorry. I know this is a personal question. [...this would be so much easier if Figaro was a Fragmentum monster and all he had to do was punch him five times. Gepard sighs, tries to cover with a sip of the wine- and it's good wine, what the heck.
...what had he been saying- oh, right.] I suppose I just need to know if others can...change, much like you did.
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[Instead, he brings up Sampo's casual comment about not always being a people-eater, and out of those two questions, Sampo would've probably rather had to field the Ringo thing than this. But it's really a pretty fair question, especially since Gepard's offered up his neck. Regardless of the tasty dinners, Sampo's probably still on the indebted side of this equation, what with all the favors that Gepard has done him between being his personal juice box and not immediately turning him in.]
No, it's fine. Of course you have questions! It's only fair for me to answer some of them.
[Some, not necessarily all. With probably a healthy dash of selective omission for Gepard's own sake.]
What happened to me is... really rare. There won't be another person in Belobog who's got it. [He's certain of that. He'd know if there was another Emanator hanging out on this planet.] And it's not communicable, so you don't have to worry about catching it, either!
If you want, you can think of it like an illness, or a curse. [He laughs.] Like cancer, or something. I'll have it 'til I die but thankfully I'll be keeping it to myself.
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It's delicious food. His fork plays with a bit of meat, moving it back and forth for a moment, chewing his lip and unaware of that as he thinks. Then, Gepard glances up again at Figaro.]
I'm sorry to hear that.
[What else can he say? He has more questions, like how is Figaro so sure that he's the only one, what had happened to him, how had he acquired this...condition? But, they can wait.
For now.]
That can't have been easy to adjust to. How have you- [He hesitates, and Gepard wants to scoot closer but he can't - there's a table in the way - but he leans towards Figaro ever so slightly. The fucking table is in the way, for-
Actually, probably the table being in the way is a good thing to prevent whatever-that-was that he wanted to do. That bit of meat he had been playing with gets shoved into Gepard's mouth. Chew, bite, swallow.] If others know about your...condition, something would have happened. I would have heard about it. The Silvermane Guard would have been called in. How have you hid it for so long...?
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[Gepard continues to eat, to ruminate, to ask his questions. Sampo briefly considers dropping a bomb under the table as an exit strategy, because an unconscious guard captain can't ask uncomfortable questions, but that would probably ruin this whole thing that they've got going on, and he really needs a stable food source.]
There are other people who know, but I'd appreciate it if you don't ask too many questions about them. They help me out sometimes, and I don't want them catching any heat for it.
[Natasha, specifically-- she's got enough on her plate without having any guardsmen poke around because she sometimes gives blood to a hungry man. Sampo suspects that Seele has noticed that he's strange, though he's not sure if she's caught on to exactly how, but she still works with him. So either she's aware and has decided that his services are useful enough to excuse it, or she's unaware but still has decided that his services are useful enough to not look further into it.]
I've stayed hidden because the only other people who know are people who won't rat me out to the guard. They're good folks!
[And that whole thing about how he goes about getting his food helps. People are way more sympathetic about his unfortunate dietary restrictions because he's about as close to non-violent as you can get with his issues-- nonlethal, eating as infrequently as possible, taking blood bags over fresh whenever possible. It bought him goodwill with Natasha, and that was a valuable connection to make.]
[He sometimes misses the Tavern, how easy it was to have a meal whenever he wanted it. He is an Emanator of their Aeon, and to be a meal for him was a joy and an honor; he barely even had to ask. And if you were going to be a meal for any of Aha's chosen, he's the better one, anyway-- the one that wouldn't leave you an inch from death. But here he is, having to make deals with guard captains to have a regular blood donor. How the mighty have fallen, or something like that.]
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...but. And this will haunt him, but, but.
But Figaro had ample opportunity to have dealt with him in some final fashion, one way or another, and chose not to. Repeatedly. The food could have been drugged, but he ate the sandwich, drank the soda, devoured the meat and lost himself in the potatoes and relished the greens.]
Just so you understand, I'm not letting you off of the hook simply because you're feeding me, Figaro. I have to understand your situation if I'm to deal with it in a way that keeps Belobog safe. [He says this at last, in a low voice, just so Figaro knows he's quite serious about the fact he's still very quite suspicious and is duty-minded and devoted to Belobog. Because he is. If he has reason to believe Figaro is a threat to the people (a true, genuine threat out of choice, one who can't be accommodated or reasoned with), he won't hesitate, bitch.
...then, a little bit quieter, a softer confession:]
But I'm glad you don't have to face whatever it is that you do have all by yourself. [Because maybe a very lonely safehouse makes a guy wonder. Because maybe a very lonely safehouse makes a guy a little bit sad to think about. Maybe because Figaro's proving to have more time on his hands than a guard might expect. Because maybe a guy's wondering if he should get tickets to a play - not the big, fancy theater but a smaller one where it's less likely he'd be recognized as Captain Landau and more like 'hey he kind of sort of looks like that one captain guy,' see a comedy, are there any good comedies? Much to consider.
But that's besides the point, for now.]
Can I try that dessert? Or did I ruin the mood? I'm sorry if I did.
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[Instead, he’s sitting across the dinner table from him, preparing his meals.]
If I was going to be a danger to Belobog, don’t you think you’d know by now?
[Especially if Gepard is operating under the assumption that Sampo is a Belobog native. And he has been on planet for a few years, flying under the radar, but the good Captain doesn’t know that he had years to get used to his condition before he ever arrived on the planet.]
[And as for the sentimental things, well… best to let Gepard think whatever would make him the most sympathetic towards him.]
[Sampo stands.]
Sure, Captain. Let me get it for you.
[He gets it from the refrigerator, sets it before the waiting Captain— panna cotta with caramel sauce, the final course. Go ahead, enjoy it, Sampo will just wait from his seat across the table.]
Since we’ve been playing twenty questions… why haven’t you turned me in yet? That’s probably what all your little oaths say you should do.
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That doesn't happen. Instead, dessert is placed before him, and it looks delicious. It's a fight to keep from staring. And, well, doesn't that deserve an honest answer? Hasn't Figaro done enough to deserve an honest answer to that question? He has.
So, Gepard inhales. Exhales, slow, looks at Figaro in the face.]
They do. If I wanted to honor my oath, I should have turned you in the moment you attacked me.
[He can admit that. He knows what he should've done.] ...but I don't think you're a danger to Belobog. Just a man in a bad situation, doing what you must to survive.
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[Everyone has a sob story. There probably isn’t a single person that Gepard’s arrested who wouldn’t have been able to tell him any number of tragic tales about why they had to break the law, and some of them might have even been true! But he didn’t let them off light. He still did his duty, let them bring their sad stories to the Architects for arbitration.]
[So why is Sampo the exception? Is it because his situation is so strange?]
Even if you didn’t want to put me in prison…
[The same thought that Gepard had before occurs to him— if he’s not going to be tossed in a prison cell, he could be tossed into a specimen cage. A curiosity to be studied, for doctors to poke and prod. Possibly a worse fate than just being thrown into a cell and left to rot.]
[Not that he’d stick around in either a prison cell or a laboratory, anyway. He’d be out of there and off-planet before Gepard would even have the chance to chase him down again, and he’d blacklist Jarilo-VI for good. Planet non grata, never coming back.]
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If you want me to throw you into prison that badly, that can most certainly be arranged, Figaro.
[A little angry emphasis there. Figaro. A fake name and they both know it, and what a terrible name it still is. Because if he blusters enough, it'll be enough to keep him from going too far on the defensive. Maybe. In theory. He understands preservation, but he can't just defend if he wants to win this...
Whatever they're having.]
And- [He points with his fork. Point.] You have committed enough crimes to deserve some time in a prison cell. We both know it. But if I end up throwing you in prison, it will be with you seen as a man and not as a monster, and I will be handling this situation personally until I can be sure others will see you in the same way I do.
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[It’s true that he’s caused the guard no end of trouble in various ways, possibly more than Gepard is currently aware of— Sampo’s got a lot of aliases. There’s more than just Ringo and Figaro— there’s Dio and Bono, too, and of course Brughel. A few others that he hasn’t used as often, he ran a few small scams as Gilmour, but it never felt quite right.]
[But the good Captain wants him locked up as a man rather than a monster, Aeons know how he’d manage to pull that one off. Sampo could single-handedly save Belobog from certain destruction and they’d still see him as a monster. He could be the chosen of Qlipoth Themself.]
If that’s what you want, you’ll be stuck with me for a long time, Captain. People around here are pretty set, once they make their minds up.
[The Preservation at work, or just naturally stubborn folk? Who knows.]
I guess you’ll just have to get used to my pretty face!
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