[How scandalous, that the stalwart and morally upright captain of the guard might even think about being pinned to a strange man's bed to be ravished, especially a criminal's. Even more scandalous that he might not put up much resistance. Unthinkable, that he might like it.]
[But, of course, no one knows what goes on in the minds of stern captains except for those stern captains, right? So Gepard's secret is safe, so long as he doesn't tell anyone about it.]
Not at all! [Sampo stands, then offers his hand to Gepard like a gentleman would offer it to a lady that he'd asked to dance. Come on, Gepard, why don't you take his hand?]
You'd startled me! [You'd make a noise, too, if you expected to bite down into something delicious and found out that it actually tasted like an old gym sock.] Most people are asleep before I get around to biting them, though. So you're still a special boy!
[And hopefully this special boy is steady on his feet, because if he isn't? Than it's back into the conman-currently-known-as-Figaro's arms for you, to be bridal carried just like before. Let him carry you over the threshold of his bedroom like the prettiest bride in Belobog, Captain.]
[He hesitates, a breath's worth of hesitation as Gepard handles. But he takes that hand. Gepard breathes out, slow and steady, as he tries to stand. He succeeds, a retort about being a special boy on his lips, but then his legs wobble like he's a baby fawn and he's not all that steady on his feet after all.
As he's swept into a bridal carry, a noise escapes Gepard's lips. A choked-out gasp that's quickly smothered as Gepard hooks his arms around Figaro's neck and immediately buries his face into the crook of his shoulder. Figaro can probably see the embarrassed flush across his ears. Probably. Hard hiding that shade of pink-red. But, Figaro can't see his embarrassed face, and that's good enough, isn't it?
Isn't it?]
Do you normally like carrying around people, or is this just another way I'm special?
[Gepard says it as dryly as he can, which is to say...not very, but an effort's very clearly being made.]
[The good Captain is very much not steady on his feet when he stands, so up into Sampo's arms he goes-- he's remarkably cooperative about it, all things considered, and hardly even protests. Just makes a bit of a fussy noise and locks his arms around his neck, hiding his face in Sampo's shoulder as though that would cover up his blush.]
[Is it part of the interview process for being a captain, he wonders, to be so cute? Or is Gepard just special again?]
[It isn't going to be a long trip in Sampo's arms since the apartment isn't very big, but he'll enjoy every moment of it. It isn't every day that he gets to flirt with cute men, so he should take advantage of the opportunity while he has it! And, if their little arrangement keeps up, he'll have even more opportunities to make Gepard blush, what a lovely thought.]
[With Gepard's face against his shoulder, he probably can't see the smile that Sampo sends his way, the obnoxious wink.] Only the pretty ones, Captain.
[The ride on Air Figaro must come to an end, though, because he's made the very short trip across the room and into the bedroom, where the bed awaits. It is... a bed, there's really not much more to say for it-- a serviceable mattress with a serviceable amount of somewhat threadbare blankets and a lonely pillow, sitting on a common metal frame. A small bedside table that probably was there when he got the apartment, with a lamp that... mostly functions as intended, even if it has the unfortunate habit of switching itself off unexpectedly. A small chest of drawers against one wall, which, if Gepard got nosy, he would find mostly empty, save for a couple of spare sets of clothes and a few other odds and ends. A mostly spartan bedroom that's more a place to sleep than it is a place to live.]
Here we go. [Gepard is deposited onto the mattress.] Do you want something to change into? We're pretty close to the same height, you'd probably fit into my things.
[He probably has a shirt and a pair of sweatpants or something around. Something that would be sufficient to use as sleeping clothes, if Gepard didn't want to sleep in his street clothes.]
[Being called pretty gets him to make another fussy noise, and mumble something that suspiciously sounds like a denial, but isn't all that articulate because it's being said into a guy's shoulder. Disregard it, it probably doesn't matter. It's just a disgruntled noise. It's not important.
What matters is that Gepard's deposited onto a bed, in a room that makes him...feel something. It makes him feel a thing. He has feelings about the room. And so forth and so on. Those feelings can be examined later, at leisure, not now, when he's on the bed. It's a place to exist, and he'll exist on it, and if he ignores his blush it'll surely go away.
He's asked a question, and Gepard blinks at his host, the very gracious Figaro with strange dietary needs, as he considers it...]
If it's not too much trouble. [Then.] You really want me to be comfortable. If I didn't know better I'd think you'd want me to come back. I feel like I'd be letting you down if I don't have the best sleep I've had all week.
[At this rate he'll be conked out until mid-morning.]
[Want him to come back? To this minimalist shithole? Sampo makes a short noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.]
If I was trying to impress you, the room would be nicer.
[He'd rent a room at the Goethe or something, bring him someplace that at least had a bed big enough to comfortably fit two people on without one of them laying directly on top of the other. A room that actually had decor rather than a few pieces of mismatched furniture. He'd only brought Gepard here because he'd had no other option, not because he wanted the guy to see his barebones safehouse.]
[But, he also wants those clothes, so Sampo will dig through his drawer until he finds a slightly oversized t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. The shirt probably once had a logo on it, but it's faded so much after so many washes that it's basically unreadable; the fabric is soft, in the kind of way that fabric only gets after having been worn for years. But it'll do for his purposes, and Sampo hands off the bundle to Gepard.]
Here. If you want anything else, well, I probably don't have it! [He shrugs. This is the extent that his hospitality can extend to.] I don't really live here, you know?
[He has...complicated feelings upon hearing that scoff-laugh, a mix of shame and relief and something else. Shame: that he let himself imagine, for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, Figaro might be kind of, sort of trying to be nice to him. Not just out of obligation. Or...trying to manipulate him into not pressing charges. That maybe the flirting wasn't just to mess with his head, mindgames.
But also, relief: Figaro's sense of somewhere nice wasn't this shithole of a room. Because it's not exactly...it's very plain? Servicable. But also very plain and barren, and bleak, and if he had to live here Gepard wouldn't be able to take it.
He takes the bundle...]
Thank you.
[...and gets to taking off his shirt because they're both men, this is undoubtedly nothing that Figaro hasn't seen before, he's used to having to strip around other people. (Training means shared locker rooms, Gepard had long since stopped being shy about certain things.)]
I'm glad to hear that...I'd be worried if you lived here. I'd feel like I'd have to get you new furniture, at the minimum.
[And, sure. He's not going to peel off his pants right then and there for a few reasons, one being that he'd have to either stand or writhe on the bed to shimmy off what he was wearing, and that seemed like a mess in front of Figaro, but also he can burn that bridge when the time comes because like hell was he going to skip wearing sweatpants to bed in favor of his disguise, absolutely not.]
[The Captain looks nice with his shirt off, and he apparently has zero issues with stripping down regardless of company. Sure, it's not like Sampo's getting a long look at his muscular chest, but it's a nice view while he has it. Maybe he'll find out whoever wrote the training regiments for the guards and send them a thank-you card.]
[He gets a weird little feeling when Gepard so casually mentions that he'd be worried if he thought that Sampo lived here-- that he'd feel obligated to make it better. The real, honest truth of it? He doesn't live here, but he doesn't really live anywhere. He's got a safehouse in the Overworld and one in the Underworld, and they're both just places to sleep. Places that he could immediately abandon if the guards got too close, or if an angry mob showed up with torches and pitchforks, and lose nothing. Travel light and always carry cash, that's the wise words that he lives by these days. So, arguably, this is the better of his two places to crash, if only because all housing in the Overworld tends to be better than the Underworld.]
[But, like, he's not going to tell Gepard that. Aside from the fact that he literally just met the guy, it's really not his life goal to be super pathetic at every hot man that he meets.]
[He leans against the doorframe and plasters a grin on his face.] Oh, I didn't know that you were offering to be my sugar daddy and my blood donor. You're really a catch! Lucky me.
[It's about time for Gepard to get those pants off. You going to tell him to leave, Gepard? Because depending on how riled up he can get you, it might be worth it to stick around for a second just to see the blush.]
[There's a lot of things he'd expected from this situation. Figaro leaning against the doorframe with a stupid grin on his face somehow wasn't one of them? Which is stupid. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense. There's no reason why Figaro would just leave, even if normal people would. Figaro's not normal. He drinks blood.
Gepard makes a face, grabs for a pillow like he's going to lob it at his head, and then doesn't because...all things considered, Figaro does seem like the sort of guy who'd take the pillow with him, forcing the captain to stagger after it or acknowledge it's gone.]
Sugar daddy? [???????????????????
...wait, he's got a slightly odorous shirt he just took off he can throw at Figaro. Gepard does that. Just fucking lobs it at his head.] Call me that again and I'll be rethinking not arresting you.
[And then the captain glances down at his pants, quick, and then glances up at Figaro. He's clearly changed his shirt. Old shirt went off (and was viciously thrown at Figaro's head), new pajama shirt on. There's clearly a next step, and Gepard's lack of shame (a body is just a body, why would anyone care to look at him?) only goes so far.
Gepard doesn't say the obvious, because why would he need to say the obvious? It's so obvious. He does raise his eyebrows, though, a little expectantly. Because clearly this is the point in which conmen should be going, yes? This is something understood, not something that needs to be said.]
[Gepard throws his shirt at Sampo's head and Sampo could've caught it, or moved out of the way, or anything other than what he does, which is let himself get a face full of slightly sweaty shirt. He laughs and tugs it down, tossing it over his shoulder. It's his shirt now, Gepard, thanks. So your choice in projectile does let you keep the pillow, but your clothes are forfeit.]
What would you call it, if you're getting me dinner and buying things for me?
[Sounds like a sugar daddy to him! Granted, most sugar daddies aren't literally for dinner, but hey. Semantics.]
[He catches the unsubtle glances and the quirk of his eyebrows, of course, because Sampo's an ass, not an idiot. He pushes himself away from the door frame with his shoulder and reaches for the doorknob.]
I'll let you get your rest, then. Good night, Captain, and thanks for the shirt.
[He'll close the door after, leaving Gepard to his changing. There you go, Captain-- your privacy! And Sampo can figure out how he's going to spend an uncomfortable night on the couch, without pillow or blankets. At least the geomarrow heater will keep him from getting too cold during the night, and he's got the Captain's shirt now.]
[The shirt, which hangs over his shoulder. It smells like him, and Sampo can really get the nuances of that scent when he brings the collar to his nose. He smells good, and not just in the sort of vaguely appetizing way that pretty much everyone smells good to Sampo nowadays-- there's something in it that just slots right in his brain. Something in it hits the ol' olfactory receptors in just the right way to make him particularly... pleasant?]
[Still has a little tinge of stress in it, though, and that sours it a little. Man, this guy needs to relax or something.]
[Sampo shakes his head; he's standing here sniffing at a guy's shirt like a weirdo, he needs to stop doing that. It's been an objectively poor night, and he's got his would-be dinner getting ready for bed in his bedroom, and he's going to sleep on the couch. Wow. Wow. Yeah, at this point? There's nothing more for him to do but get ready for bed as much as he can in the given circumstances, crash on the couch, and wait for it to be tomorrow.]
[He ends up using the Captain's rolled-up shirt as a pillow, out of necessity. It's all he's got out here, don't judge him for it.]
[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.]
[Well, at least someone in this apartment has a good night's sleep, weird dreams about dogs sitting on chests aside. Because while Gepard is sleeping in his bed, wrapped up in his blankets and resting his head on his pillow, Sampo is on the couch. It's not a very comfortable couch, and it's not long enough so a significant portion of his leg is dangling over the arm rest, and even with the geomarrow heater going, it's still cold.]
[And his head is on Gepard's rolled up shirt, so all he smells all night is Gepard. It's... the lesser of two evils, maybe. His options are no pillow and a sore neck or a slightly less sore neck and Gepard's scent in his nose, making him kind of hungry. And also kind of relaxed? It's weird, Gepard is weird.]
[Sampo wakes up the next morning at a reasonable hour, with the smell of someone in his nose; he rolls and reaches out for them like he would for any bed partner, and pitches himself right off of the fucking couch. It's a hell of a way to wake up, zero out of ten, do not recommend.]
[He sits up and leans his back against the foot of the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face and feeling like shit barely warmed over. He's really too old to be spending uncomfortable nights on bad couches, his back kind of hurts and his knees really didn't appreciate being bent up all night to fit and just. Man. All this, for a guy that he didn't even get to eat from. He really hopes that Gepard's plans work out, because he's hungry. He'll have to do something about it sooner rather than later.]
[He also doesn't hear any movement from inside his bedroom, so Gepard's probably still asleep; that's fine, he could use it. Sampo leaves him be for the moment and grabs his keys, making a quick trip down to a nearby cafe for coffee and... something that Gepard would be able to eat when he wakes up. The girl at the counter recommended some kind of pastry filled with cheese that reminds Sampo of a danish, and it feels very Belobogian. These people drink rye bread soda and put yogurt in it, sweet cheesebread sounds right up that weird, perpetually cold alley.]
[When he gets back to the apartment, maybe the smell of coffee and breakfast will rouse the sleeping Captain.]
[He wakes up slowly, drawn awake by the sounds of Figaro roaming about and the smell of coffee...mainly the coffee. Gepard stretches, still sleepy, content and relaxed in a way he hasn't been for a while, but that's what happens when a guy sleeps until a reasonable hour instead of struggling awake and stumbling out the door when it's still dark.
Gepard sees Figaro and reflexively flashes him a smile - it's sleepy and sheepish, a little shy. Then, he frowns as his brain catches up to him and Gepard remembers the entire neck-biting thing and how his sisters might be worried (maybe, maybe more exasperated than anything else) and how he slept in a strange man's terrible bed, and, and, and-
Then, he sees the food (a pastry and coffee), and Gepard's entire...everything lights up. He relaxes, his eyes light up, he blushes a little because this is the nicest thing anyone has done for him - let him sleep for a full however many hours (he doesn't even know how many) and then bring him food? Considering how they met this is a sad thing, probably, and he knows it, and yet he can't help the fact he's charmed. It's just...charming.
Part of him insists the pastry isn't for him, and the rest of him helpfully notes that if Figaro could eat pastries then they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.]
Good morning.
[But the fact he's feeling soft, charmed, and well-rested shouldn't get in the way of manners. He sits, because what else is there for a polite captain to but sit and smile at Figaro like they're longterm friends and roommates and not...near-strangers and predator/prey?]
How did you sleep? [He can't even ask if Figaro slept well because the answer is obviously a no, one glance at the couch is enough to confirm that he wouldn't have slept well, the question is how badly he slept.]
[If coffee and a pastry are the nicest thing that anyone's done for him, than Gepard maybe needs to get better friends?]
[But, well, Sampo can't exactly complain when he's got a handsome man smiling at him, coming out of his bedroom sleep-rumpled and soft. He looks better in the morning light than he did last night, though that could also be from the restorative effects of getting more than four hours of sleep in a night. Maybe if he keeps it up, he'll be able to get rid of those bags under his eyes for good! That would do wonders for Gepard's good looks.]
[Sampo pushes the pastry and coffee over towards Gepard; he keeps one of the coffees for himself, a gamble that he's going to take this morning. For a minute or two, he's just going to warm his hands on the paper cup, letting the heat sink into his fingers.]
Aw, Captain, are you worried about me? [He smiles over the rim of the coffee cup, coyly.] Maybe I would have slept better with company.
[And there would have only been one source of company available! Whatever charm his reply might have is probably ruined when he takes a sip, though, and wrinkles his nose a little at how it hits his palate. Nothing tastes like it used to, but some days he tolerates the changes better than others. Some days, a hot liquid will settle well enough in his stomach, even if it isn't blood-- he's not sure if today's one of those days yet.]
[There's a split-second of surprise. There's a moment of comprehension dawning, that Figaro (he really, definitely needs to know this man's real name, he has to be called something better than Figaro) actually was continuing with the flirting that he had done the night before...?
Gepard's surprised. He's...very flustered. He hides it by taking a bite of the pastry, which doesn't help as it's tasty, nice, nicer than what he usually eats in the morning, it's actually more substantial than toast and coffee. He has no idea what to say to that. What should he say to that?
Help comes from the most unexpected place: Figaro himself, as he wrinkles his nose. It would be charming if it wasn't concerning. But, it gives him something easy to latch onto as he chews and swallows.]
Of course I'm concerned. [He wrinkles his nose right back at Figaro, taking a sip of the coffee. (Which is quite good! But maybe his standards aren't exactly high.) What now, asshole?] When's the soonest you need to feed? And what would I need to do to get ready for it...assuming you can stomach me.
[No, Gepard will never live down tasting like shit. But he can bluster through it, a captain and also someone thinking with his dick, and also someone generally concerned as for all his...dietary requirements, Figaro's not the worst company (not in that way) and he's got nice eyes.]
[The coffee is good-- it's just Sampo's taste buds that are ruined, attuned now to having an all-blood diet. But he's stomaching it all right this morning, able to take a few sips of it so long as he's careful and slow, and the smell of it and the familiar routine is something like a comfort. One tiny, little normal thing that he can still do, have coffee with someone in the morning.]
[When Gepard asks the question about his feeding schedule, well... it's a pertinent question. A smart thing for him to ask, really. It's just an uncomfortable one, too.]
Ah, well. Sooner rather than later, probably! [He has the decency to at least look a little apologetic about that.] I was kind of already pushing it. I don't have to eat as often as people do, but I have to eventually.
[Or else he'd die, presumably. He hasn't really tested it that far, because he likes not being dead, but one has to assume. Anything that needs to eat can starve, if given enough time.]
No pressure! I'll figure something out, if I need to. It's not like you're going to taste better immediately anyway, it'll probably take a little while. [Better health doesn't happen overnight, after all. It's the result of consistency, of a commitment to changed behavior. One day of eating well and getting a good night's sleep won't cut it.]
Getting you to a doctor is the first thing. They'll probably tell you the same things that I have, but maybe they can give you something that'll help?
[A course of vitamins, maybe, or something to help him sleep if he has a hard time keeping a consistent schedule.]
[He stares at Figaro. He takes a slow sip of his coffee. Siiiiip. Gepard swallows it. He savors the taste. He considers the taste, because the taste of coffee is a better thing to consider than the situation. Despite the taste, it might look like Gepard had just swallowed something sour (a difficult truth) and is having trouble digesting it, because it's a fucking difficult truth he's being forced to consider.]
If it's easier. [He says this at last.] I could see about trading pints of my blood for pints from strangers. It would be... [What's a good word for it?] Difficult to explain, but I'm sure I can come up with an excuse - Fragmentum monsters, a new strategy. That way, you might have something...tolerable, to eat.
[Opposed to him, who's disgusting, terrible, horrible, better to starve than to eat him why does this bother him so much.]
[Gepard is really fixated on this whole tastiness thing. Which, sure, it's probably a bit of an insult to be told that you taste bad, but it's not as though he just inherently tastes bad. He smells like he should taste great, it's just that he's been taking such poor care of himself that it's physically detectable. It's not personal!]
[Gepard's suggestion is certainly an interesting one-- a blood donation with a lot of extra steps. And ones that could get a lot of questions.]
Mm, that doesn't sound like it's much easier for you at all.
[He goes back to just warming his hands on the coffee, rather than using it for its true intended purpose. Once it cools, he won't be able to drink it at all, but it's not like it does much for him even if he does drink.]
You know this isn't just about how you taste, right? I don't just want to wait because of that. You really aren't okay, Captain, and you have to go out and fight Fragmentum monsters. If you have to do that while you're like this and missing a few pints of blood... well, that's a bad spot for you to be in, isn't it?
[What would happen if Gepard got injured or, Aeons forbid, killed because Sampo needed blood? That would certainly ruin all of their plans, and Sampo really doesn't want a Gepard-sized weight on his conscience.]
I'd have to swoop in to save you, and all your guardsmen will have so many questions about why such a handsome guy like me is showing up to save the day!
[He's got a few rebuttals to all of this. It's doesn't matter if it's easier for him, what's important is making sure Figaro's satiated. He's been in worse situations and dealt with far worse; physically, mentally, spiritually, even if the entire tastes disgusting thing is kind of a kick to the balls. A pretty solid kick to the balls, really.
...anyway, that he's been in worse situations and dealt with far worse, and, in the worst case, is prepared to sacrifice for the good of Belobog because that's what being a Landau means. And if sacrificing means his health, then, well...
As long as it's for Belobog. And Gepard's all prepared to say as much - say something empowering and determined. Stubborn. And then fucking Figaro says that he'll swoop in to save him and Gepard chokes on his coffee.]
What? [He breathes it out, trying (and failing) to will away the embarrassment. He can feel his cheeks start to burn up. There's only so much drinking coffee can cover up. He still takes a vigorous bite of pastry, in the hopes of having to bite, chew, and swallow a pastry would keep him from having to respond.
...it only lasts so long. The pastry is swallowed.]
Don't you dare. For Qlipoth's sake- don't even joke about that! Do you have any idea of the problems that sort of thing would cause?
[What a pretty shade of pink Gepard turns when he's upset! That and his adorable response, like shoving more pastry into his face is going to stop him from having to talk, or will stop him from blushing like a schoolgirl. It really is a bit of a shock that no one has snatched up such a good-looking and amusing man, that he isn't wrapped around the finger of some pretty thing who likes to tease him.]
[He's imagining some lady, of course, because Gepard only seems to respond to his flirting with bewildered offense. And while that's not a surefire test as to whether a man is interested in other men or not, it's a data point to the contrary.]
If it would cause so many problems, I guess you'll just have to make sure that you won't ever need my help, right?
[He places a hand dramatically over his heart.] Otherwise, I'll have to start following you into the Fragmentum to keep an eye on you. But don't worry, you won't even know that I'm there! Not until I have to do the whole saving the day thing, at least.
[He could do it. He's an Emanator, there isn't much in the Fragmentum that would really give him pause. He could handle a few monsters, especially if they try to make mincemeat out of his handsome meal ticket.]
[...okay, now he knows Figaro's just...joking around, not serious about any of this, and he feels...stupid, for having gotten worked up over a joke. Getting worked up over something that won't happen, letting himself imagine, for a moment, being carried to safety in the warm arms of a mysterious rogue.]
Very funny.
[Because what kind of person could talk about crawling inside of the Fragmentum with the same ease someone else would talk about pissing in a public toilet? What sort of person could hide undetected up until the point that he was needed to save the day? No one, that's who.
...it's fine. A joke for a joke.]
If you do end up saving me I'll be sure to show my appreciation. I have enough sway - I'll convince the Supreme Guardian to throw a parade in your honor. [Belobog's appreciation more than his appreciation, but same difference.]
[No one but Sampo Koski, that is. But Gepard is lacking that key piece of information, that bit about being an Emanator, because Sampo's on such a backwater planet that they don't know about how the whole blood-drinking thing is connected to Aeons yet. They apparently haven't gotten the news that being an Emanator also involves drinking people juice. But that's fine, it works in Sampo's favor most of the time.]
[Let Gepard think that it's a joke, up until the very moment that he thinks his ticket is punched and there's a handsome rogue there at the very last second. Perfect timing, right on script.]
Oh, no, nothing like that, that's not my style. [He waves a hand dismissively.] All that vanity! It's kind of gauche, isn't it? I'd prefer cold, hard cash. I'm sure you could convince your Supreme Guardian to give me a nice reward for saving her favorite captain!
[For him to have that much sway with her, that he'd joke about how she'd do as he asks... maybe he's aiming high with his affections, and that's why no one else has snapped him up. Well, good for him for being ambitious. From what little he's seen of her, Miss Bronya would be a nice catch for anybody, especially a well-born captain.]
[...there's something- it's what he should have expected. He shouldn't feel...upset, it's what makes sense. It makes sense. He should have expected it. He should've expected that a criminal (as someone who was so free with assault) would be interested in profit. He probably had, just had been distracted by the coffee and the pastry and the flirting.
So, Gepard settles back into...well, being himself. Captain Gepard Landau. He knows how to be himself. So, really, this is just business as usual, which is what he should've done instead of-
Anyway. Anyway, Gepard takes another drink of the coffee, slow and measured, and reminds himself that he's sitting across from a criminal - one who deserves to not starve, one who deserves to not be hungry, one who's- anyway. Anyway.]
There's easier ways to make money than to stalk me everywhere I go in the hopes I get into an accident, Figaro.
[And what he should do: finish breakfast, change back into his clothes, report, see a doctor, and go about his day. He'll have to figure out a way to feed Figaro, but that can wait until later, at leisure. And that's not even getting into the mounds of paperwork waiting for him, or the fact he simply can't announce, "The criminal has been caught no more people will be attacked!" He'll still have to do patrols, and-
Gepard bites back a curse, more of an inhaled breath than it is a noise, and gets to stuffing the pastry in his mouth.]
We should work out plans before I go. I'll inevitably have to do patrols to catch you - that might be the best opportunity for us to meet up in the future for your feeding.
[You know, something relatively impersonal - business, not pleasure.]
[He'd really rather that his meal ticket didn't lose any blood. That's literally taking food out of his mouth, after all, and the Captain is a kind of charming man. He'd hate to see that pretty face get marked up by some nasty beastie.]
[But if he did have to step in, and they're talking about rewards from grateful Supreme Guardians, well... he might as well get paid.]
Give me your phone, I'll put my number in. [Aren't you lucky, Gepard? You get to have his number. You can text him whenever you want.] We can coordinate whenever you're on patrol.
[Have a lively little chase, get Gepard away from the rest of his men, and Sampo can nip in for his meal. It's like having a lunch date, except that if anyone found out about it, there would be a lot of very difficult questions.]
Ah, if you're going to chase after me, I'll have to be in disguise when I bring your meals. Otherwise, if one of your guardsmen sees me while on patrol with you, I'll never be allowed near you again. They'll just try to arrest me on sight!
[He doesn't respond at first, at least not with words. What Gepard does do is stare at Figaro, give him the once-over, just up and down him. He then reaches for his pocket, where his phone is, with all the calm composure of a Silvermane Captain deciding to work with an informant, which is how he's going to treat this.
Gepard then pats his pocket. He then glances down with alarm, because where the hell is his phone, and then he remembers the events of the last 24 hours. The restful sleep in the terrible bed. The fact he's wearing a strange man's clothes. Gepard touches his neck, he remembers the biting thing. He looks at Figaro again.]
...I don't have my phone with me. [It's really hard to act like a Silvermane Captain when he fails basic things like that.] In fact, I'm pretty sure...hold on.
[He gets up from the table-] Wait right here. [-retreats back to the bedroom, finds his stuff, fishes his wallet out from his normal clothes, and flips through it as he walks back in and settles back in his seat like they're friends and Figaro's not just in it for the benefits.]
Ah. [Ah. That gets slid across the table to Figaro.] I even was issued a fake ID...in case something like last night happened, but I didn't feel like cooperating with the suspect. See? [The identification proclaims that the owner is one Johan Smith. No picture, and he's two inches shorter than the information on the card, and the information implies that he's five years older than he actually is, but it's functional enough and reusable.] But I can write down my number for you?
[It doesn’t seem like an entirely good idea for Gepard to have gone out on a honeypot mission without any method of getting into contact with his backup, but hey, what does Sampo know about these kinds of things? It would’ve probably spared his sisters some worry, though.]
[Gepard returns with no phone but with a fake ID, and Sampo takes a look at it for a moment. It’s a convincing fake, of course, because it’s not really a forgery— has all the watermarks and security features of a real government-issued identification card. It’s just falso info, a man who doesn’t really exist.]
Well, I guess it wouldn’t make sense for you to be walking around with your badge in your pocket.
[Sampo takes out his own phone and opens up a new contact prompt, entering the name in as New Snack. Maybe one day he’ll get upgraded to Tasty New Snack.]
Just tell me your number and I’ll add you in.
[Sorry, Captain, he doesn’t trust you enough to hand his phone over to you.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2024-04-17 03:54 am (UTC)[But, of course, no one knows what goes on in the minds of stern captains except for those stern captains, right? So Gepard's secret is safe, so long as he doesn't tell anyone about it.]
Not at all! [Sampo stands, then offers his hand to Gepard like a gentleman would offer it to a lady that he'd asked to dance. Come on, Gepard, why don't you take his hand?]
You'd startled me! [You'd make a noise, too, if you expected to bite down into something delicious and found out that it actually tasted like an old gym sock.] Most people are asleep before I get around to biting them, though. So you're still a special boy!
[And hopefully this special boy is steady on his feet, because if he isn't? Than it's back into the conman-currently-known-as-Figaro's arms for you, to be bridal carried just like before. Let him carry you over the threshold of his bedroom like the prettiest bride in Belobog, Captain.]
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Date: 2024-04-18 02:54 am (UTC)As he's swept into a bridal carry, a noise escapes Gepard's lips. A choked-out gasp that's quickly smothered as Gepard hooks his arms around Figaro's neck and immediately buries his face into the crook of his shoulder. Figaro can probably see the embarrassed flush across his ears. Probably. Hard hiding that shade of pink-red. But, Figaro can't see his embarrassed face, and that's good enough, isn't it?
Isn't it?]
Do you normally like carrying around people, or is this just another way I'm special?
[Gepard says it as dryly as he can, which is to say...not very, but an effort's very clearly being made.]
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Date: 2024-04-18 03:29 am (UTC)[Is it part of the interview process for being a captain, he wonders, to be so cute? Or is Gepard just special again?]
[It isn't going to be a long trip in Sampo's arms since the apartment isn't very big, but he'll enjoy every moment of it. It isn't every day that he gets to flirt with cute men, so he should take advantage of the opportunity while he has it! And, if their little arrangement keeps up, he'll have even more opportunities to make Gepard blush, what a lovely thought.]
[With Gepard's face against his shoulder, he probably can't see the smile that Sampo sends his way, the obnoxious wink.] Only the pretty ones, Captain.
[The ride on Air Figaro must come to an end, though, because he's made the very short trip across the room and into the bedroom, where the bed awaits. It is... a bed, there's really not much more to say for it-- a serviceable mattress with a serviceable amount of somewhat threadbare blankets and a lonely pillow, sitting on a common metal frame. A small bedside table that probably was there when he got the apartment, with a lamp that... mostly functions as intended, even if it has the unfortunate habit of switching itself off unexpectedly. A small chest of drawers against one wall, which, if Gepard got nosy, he would find mostly empty, save for a couple of spare sets of clothes and a few other odds and ends. A mostly spartan bedroom that's more a place to sleep than it is a place to live.]
Here we go. [Gepard is deposited onto the mattress.] Do you want something to change into? We're pretty close to the same height, you'd probably fit into my things.
[He probably has a shirt and a pair of sweatpants or something around. Something that would be sufficient to use as sleeping clothes, if Gepard didn't want to sleep in his street clothes.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-18 04:11 am (UTC)What matters is that Gepard's deposited onto a bed, in a room that makes him...feel something. It makes him feel a thing. He has feelings about the room. And so forth and so on. Those feelings can be examined later, at leisure, not now, when he's on the bed. It's a place to exist, and he'll exist on it, and if he ignores his blush it'll surely go away.
He's asked a question, and Gepard blinks at his host, the very gracious Figaro with strange dietary needs, as he considers it...]
If it's not too much trouble. [Then.] You really want me to be comfortable. If I didn't know better I'd think you'd want me to come back. I feel like I'd be letting you down if I don't have the best sleep I've had all week.
[At this rate he'll be conked out until mid-morning.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-18 05:43 am (UTC)If I was trying to impress you, the room would be nicer.
[He'd rent a room at the Goethe or something, bring him someplace that at least had a bed big enough to comfortably fit two people on without one of them laying directly on top of the other. A room that actually had decor rather than a few pieces of mismatched furniture. He'd only brought Gepard here because he'd had no other option, not because he wanted the guy to see his barebones safehouse.]
[But, he also wants those clothes, so Sampo will dig through his drawer until he finds a slightly oversized t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. The shirt probably once had a logo on it, but it's faded so much after so many washes that it's basically unreadable; the fabric is soft, in the kind of way that fabric only gets after having been worn for years. But it'll do for his purposes, and Sampo hands off the bundle to Gepard.]
Here. If you want anything else, well, I probably don't have it! [He shrugs. This is the extent that his hospitality can extend to.] I don't really live here, you know?
no subject
Date: 2024-04-19 03:11 am (UTC)But also, relief: Figaro's sense of somewhere nice wasn't this shithole of a room. Because it's not exactly...it's very plain? Servicable. But also very plain and barren, and bleak, and if he had to live here Gepard wouldn't be able to take it.
He takes the bundle...]
Thank you.
[...and gets to taking off his shirt because they're both men, this is undoubtedly nothing that Figaro hasn't seen before, he's used to having to strip around other people. (Training means shared locker rooms, Gepard had long since stopped being shy about certain things.)]
I'm glad to hear that...I'd be worried if you lived here. I'd feel like I'd have to get you new furniture, at the minimum.
[And, sure. He's not going to peel off his pants right then and there for a few reasons, one being that he'd have to either stand or writhe on the bed to shimmy off what he was wearing, and that seemed like a mess in front of Figaro, but also he can burn that bridge when the time comes because like hell was he going to skip wearing sweatpants to bed in favor of his disguise, absolutely not.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-19 04:32 am (UTC)[He gets a weird little feeling when Gepard so casually mentions that he'd be worried if he thought that Sampo lived here-- that he'd feel obligated to make it better. The real, honest truth of it? He doesn't live here, but he doesn't really live anywhere. He's got a safehouse in the Overworld and one in the Underworld, and they're both just places to sleep. Places that he could immediately abandon if the guards got too close, or if an angry mob showed up with torches and pitchforks, and lose nothing. Travel light and always carry cash, that's the wise words that he lives by these days. So, arguably, this is the better of his two places to crash, if only because all housing in the Overworld tends to be better than the Underworld.]
[But, like, he's not going to tell Gepard that. Aside from the fact that he literally just met the guy, it's really not his life goal to be super pathetic at every hot man that he meets.]
[He leans against the doorframe and plasters a grin on his face.] Oh, I didn't know that you were offering to be my sugar daddy and my blood donor. You're really a catch! Lucky me.
[It's about time for Gepard to get those pants off. You going to tell him to leave, Gepard? Because depending on how riled up he can get you, it might be worth it to stick around for a second just to see the blush.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-20 07:43 pm (UTC)Gepard makes a face, grabs for a pillow like he's going to lob it at his head, and then doesn't because...all things considered, Figaro does seem like the sort of guy who'd take the pillow with him, forcing the captain to stagger after it or acknowledge it's gone.]
Sugar daddy? [???????????????????
...wait, he's got a slightly odorous shirt he just took off he can throw at Figaro. Gepard does that. Just fucking lobs it at his head.] Call me that again and I'll be rethinking not arresting you.
[And then the captain glances down at his pants, quick, and then glances up at Figaro. He's clearly changed his shirt. Old shirt went off (and was viciously thrown at Figaro's head), new pajama shirt on. There's clearly a next step, and Gepard's lack of shame (a body is just a body, why would anyone care to look at him?) only goes so far.
Gepard doesn't say the obvious, because why would he need to say the obvious? It's so obvious. He does raise his eyebrows, though, a little expectantly. Because clearly this is the point in which conmen should be going, yes? This is something understood, not something that needs to be said.]
Well?
no subject
Date: 2024-04-21 06:00 pm (UTC)What would you call it, if you're getting me dinner and buying things for me?
[Sounds like a sugar daddy to him! Granted, most sugar daddies aren't literally for dinner, but hey. Semantics.]
[He catches the unsubtle glances and the quirk of his eyebrows, of course, because Sampo's an ass, not an idiot. He pushes himself away from the door frame with his shoulder and reaches for the doorknob.]
I'll let you get your rest, then. Good night, Captain, and thanks for the shirt.
[He'll close the door after, leaving Gepard to his changing. There you go, Captain-- your privacy! And Sampo can figure out how he's going to spend an uncomfortable night on the couch, without pillow or blankets. At least the geomarrow heater will keep him from getting too cold during the night, and he's got the Captain's shirt now.]
[The shirt, which hangs over his shoulder. It smells like him, and Sampo can really get the nuances of that scent when he brings the collar to his nose. He smells good, and not just in the sort of vaguely appetizing way that pretty much everyone smells good to Sampo nowadays-- there's something in it that just slots right in his brain. Something in it hits the ol' olfactory receptors in just the right way to make him particularly... pleasant?]
[Still has a little tinge of stress in it, though, and that sours it a little. Man, this guy needs to relax or something.]
[Sampo shakes his head; he's standing here sniffing at a guy's shirt like a weirdo, he needs to stop doing that. It's been an objectively poor night, and he's got his would-be dinner getting ready for bed in his bedroom, and he's going to sleep on the couch. Wow. Wow. Yeah, at this point? There's nothing more for him to do but get ready for bed as much as he can in the given circumstances, crash on the couch, and wait for it to be tomorrow.]
[He ends up using the Captain's rolled-up shirt as a pillow, out of necessity. It's all he's got out here, don't judge him for it.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-22 03:25 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-22 04:41 am (UTC)[And his head is on Gepard's rolled up shirt, so all he smells all night is Gepard. It's... the lesser of two evils, maybe. His options are no pillow and a sore neck or a slightly less sore neck and Gepard's scent in his nose, making him kind of hungry. And also kind of relaxed? It's weird, Gepard is weird.]
[Sampo wakes up the next morning at a reasonable hour, with the smell of someone in his nose; he rolls and reaches out for them like he would for any bed partner, and pitches himself right off of the fucking couch. It's a hell of a way to wake up, zero out of ten, do not recommend.]
[He sits up and leans his back against the foot of the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face and feeling like shit barely warmed over. He's really too old to be spending uncomfortable nights on bad couches, his back kind of hurts and his knees really didn't appreciate being bent up all night to fit and just. Man. All this, for a guy that he didn't even get to eat from. He really hopes that Gepard's plans work out, because he's hungry. He'll have to do something about it sooner rather than later.]
[He also doesn't hear any movement from inside his bedroom, so Gepard's probably still asleep; that's fine, he could use it. Sampo leaves him be for the moment and grabs his keys, making a quick trip down to a nearby cafe for coffee and... something that Gepard would be able to eat when he wakes up. The girl at the counter recommended some kind of pastry filled with cheese that reminds Sampo of a danish, and it feels very Belobogian. These people drink rye bread soda and put yogurt in it, sweet cheesebread sounds right up that weird, perpetually cold alley.]
[When he gets back to the apartment, maybe the smell of coffee and breakfast will rouse the sleeping Captain.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-22 06:58 pm (UTC)Gepard sees Figaro and reflexively flashes him a smile - it's sleepy and sheepish, a little shy. Then, he frowns as his brain catches up to him and Gepard remembers the entire neck-biting thing and how his sisters might be worried (maybe, maybe more exasperated than anything else) and how he slept in a strange man's terrible bed, and, and, and-
Then, he sees the food (a pastry and coffee), and Gepard's entire...everything lights up. He relaxes, his eyes light up, he blushes a little because this is the nicest thing anyone has done for him - let him sleep for a full however many hours (he doesn't even know how many) and then bring him food? Considering how they met this is a sad thing, probably, and he knows it, and yet he can't help the fact he's charmed. It's just...charming.
Part of him insists the pastry isn't for him, and the rest of him helpfully notes that if Figaro could eat pastries then they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.]
Good morning.
[But the fact he's feeling soft, charmed, and well-rested shouldn't get in the way of manners. He sits, because what else is there for a polite captain to but sit and smile at Figaro like they're longterm friends and roommates and not...near-strangers and predator/prey?]
How did you sleep? [He can't even ask if Figaro slept well because the answer is obviously a no, one glance at the couch is enough to confirm that he wouldn't have slept well, the question is how badly he slept.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-24 04:11 am (UTC)[But, well, Sampo can't exactly complain when he's got a handsome man smiling at him, coming out of his bedroom sleep-rumpled and soft. He looks better in the morning light than he did last night, though that could also be from the restorative effects of getting more than four hours of sleep in a night. Maybe if he keeps it up, he'll be able to get rid of those bags under his eyes for good! That would do wonders for Gepard's good looks.]
[Sampo pushes the pastry and coffee over towards Gepard; he keeps one of the coffees for himself, a gamble that he's going to take this morning. For a minute or two, he's just going to warm his hands on the paper cup, letting the heat sink into his fingers.]
Aw, Captain, are you worried about me? [He smiles over the rim of the coffee cup, coyly.] Maybe I would have slept better with company.
[And there would have only been one source of company available! Whatever charm his reply might have is probably ruined when he takes a sip, though, and wrinkles his nose a little at how it hits his palate. Nothing tastes like it used to, but some days he tolerates the changes better than others. Some days, a hot liquid will settle well enough in his stomach, even if it isn't blood-- he's not sure if today's one of those days yet.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-25 02:09 am (UTC)Gepard's surprised. He's...very flustered. He hides it by taking a bite of the pastry, which doesn't help as it's tasty, nice, nicer than what he usually eats in the morning, it's actually more substantial than toast and coffee. He has no idea what to say to that. What should he say to that?
Help comes from the most unexpected place: Figaro himself, as he wrinkles his nose. It would be charming if it wasn't concerning. But, it gives him something easy to latch onto as he chews and swallows.]
Of course I'm concerned. [He wrinkles his nose right back at Figaro, taking a sip of the coffee. (Which is quite good! But maybe his standards aren't exactly high.) What now, asshole?] When's the soonest you need to feed? And what would I need to do to get ready for it...assuming you can stomach me.
[No, Gepard will never live down tasting like shit. But he can bluster through it, a captain and also someone thinking with his dick, and also someone generally concerned as for all his...dietary requirements, Figaro's not the worst company (not in that way) and he's got nice eyes.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 12:27 am (UTC)[When Gepard asks the question about his feeding schedule, well... it's a pertinent question. A smart thing for him to ask, really. It's just an uncomfortable one, too.]
Ah, well. Sooner rather than later, probably! [He has the decency to at least look a little apologetic about that.] I was kind of already pushing it. I don't have to eat as often as people do, but I have to eventually.
[Or else he'd die, presumably. He hasn't really tested it that far, because he likes not being dead, but one has to assume. Anything that needs to eat can starve, if given enough time.]
No pressure! I'll figure something out, if I need to. It's not like you're going to taste better immediately anyway, it'll probably take a little while. [Better health doesn't happen overnight, after all. It's the result of consistency, of a commitment to changed behavior. One day of eating well and getting a good night's sleep won't cut it.]
Getting you to a doctor is the first thing. They'll probably tell you the same things that I have, but maybe they can give you something that'll help?
[A course of vitamins, maybe, or something to help him sleep if he has a hard time keeping a consistent schedule.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 03:31 am (UTC)If it's easier. [He says this at last.] I could see about trading pints of my blood for pints from strangers. It would be... [What's a good word for it?] Difficult to explain, but I'm sure I can come up with an excuse - Fragmentum monsters, a new strategy. That way, you might have something...tolerable, to eat.
[Opposed to him, who's disgusting, terrible, horrible, better to starve than to eat him why does this bother him so much.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 03:46 am (UTC)[Gepard's suggestion is certainly an interesting one-- a blood donation with a lot of extra steps. And ones that could get a lot of questions.]
Mm, that doesn't sound like it's much easier for you at all.
[He goes back to just warming his hands on the coffee, rather than using it for its true intended purpose. Once it cools, he won't be able to drink it at all, but it's not like it does much for him even if he does drink.]
You know this isn't just about how you taste, right? I don't just want to wait because of that. You really aren't okay, Captain, and you have to go out and fight Fragmentum monsters. If you have to do that while you're like this and missing a few pints of blood... well, that's a bad spot for you to be in, isn't it?
[What would happen if Gepard got injured or, Aeons forbid, killed because Sampo needed blood? That would certainly ruin all of their plans, and Sampo really doesn't want a Gepard-sized weight on his conscience.]
I'd have to swoop in to save you, and all your guardsmen will have so many questions about why such a handsome guy like me is showing up to save the day!
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 04:11 am (UTC)...anyway, that he's been in worse situations and dealt with far worse, and, in the worst case, is prepared to sacrifice for the good of Belobog because that's what being a Landau means. And if sacrificing means his health, then, well...
As long as it's for Belobog. And Gepard's all prepared to say as much - say something empowering and determined. Stubborn. And then fucking Figaro says that he'll swoop in to save him and Gepard chokes on his coffee.]
What? [He breathes it out, trying (and failing) to will away the embarrassment. He can feel his cheeks start to burn up. There's only so much drinking coffee can cover up. He still takes a vigorous bite of pastry, in the hopes of having to bite, chew, and swallow a pastry would keep him from having to respond.
...it only lasts so long. The pastry is swallowed.]
Don't you dare. For Qlipoth's sake- don't even joke about that! Do you have any idea of the problems that sort of thing would cause?
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 04:24 am (UTC)[He's imagining some lady, of course, because Gepard only seems to respond to his flirting with bewildered offense. And while that's not a surefire test as to whether a man is interested in other men or not, it's a data point to the contrary.]
If it would cause so many problems, I guess you'll just have to make sure that you won't ever need my help, right?
[He places a hand dramatically over his heart.] Otherwise, I'll have to start following you into the Fragmentum to keep an eye on you. But don't worry, you won't even know that I'm there! Not until I have to do the whole saving the day thing, at least.
[He could do it. He's an Emanator, there isn't much in the Fragmentum that would really give him pause. He could handle a few monsters, especially if they try to make mincemeat out of his handsome meal ticket.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 04:58 am (UTC)Very funny.
[Because what kind of person could talk about crawling inside of the Fragmentum with the same ease someone else would talk about pissing in a public toilet? What sort of person could hide undetected up until the point that he was needed to save the day? No one, that's who.
...it's fine. A joke for a joke.]
If you do end up saving me I'll be sure to show my appreciation. I have enough sway - I'll convince the Supreme Guardian to throw a parade in your honor. [Belobog's appreciation more than his appreciation, but same difference.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 05:22 am (UTC)[Let Gepard think that it's a joke, up until the very moment that he thinks his ticket is punched and there's a handsome rogue there at the very last second. Perfect timing, right on script.]
Oh, no, nothing like that, that's not my style. [He waves a hand dismissively.] All that vanity! It's kind of gauche, isn't it? I'd prefer cold, hard cash. I'm sure you could convince your Supreme Guardian to give me a nice reward for saving her favorite captain!
[For him to have that much sway with her, that he'd joke about how she'd do as he asks... maybe he's aiming high with his affections, and that's why no one else has snapped him up. Well, good for him for being ambitious. From what little he's seen of her, Miss Bronya would be a nice catch for anybody, especially a well-born captain.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-26 09:16 pm (UTC)So, Gepard settles back into...well, being himself. Captain Gepard Landau. He knows how to be himself. So, really, this is just business as usual, which is what he should've done instead of-
Anyway. Anyway, Gepard takes another drink of the coffee, slow and measured, and reminds himself that he's sitting across from a criminal - one who deserves to not starve, one who deserves to not be hungry, one who's- anyway. Anyway.]
There's easier ways to make money than to stalk me everywhere I go in the hopes I get into an accident, Figaro.
[And what he should do: finish breakfast, change back into his clothes, report, see a doctor, and go about his day. He'll have to figure out a way to feed Figaro, but that can wait until later, at leisure. And that's not even getting into the mounds of paperwork waiting for him, or the fact he simply can't announce, "The criminal has been caught no more people will be attacked!" He'll still have to do patrols, and-
Gepard bites back a curse, more of an inhaled breath than it is a noise, and gets to stuffing the pastry in his mouth.]
We should work out plans before I go. I'll inevitably have to do patrols to catch you - that might be the best opportunity for us to meet up in the future for your feeding.
[You know, something relatively impersonal - business, not pleasure.]
no subject
Date: 2024-04-27 01:02 am (UTC)[He'd really rather that his meal ticket didn't lose any blood. That's literally taking food out of his mouth, after all, and the Captain is a kind of charming man. He'd hate to see that pretty face get marked up by some nasty beastie.]
[But if he did have to step in, and they're talking about rewards from grateful Supreme Guardians, well... he might as well get paid.]
Give me your phone, I'll put my number in. [Aren't you lucky, Gepard? You get to have his number. You can text him whenever you want.] We can coordinate whenever you're on patrol.
[Have a lively little chase, get Gepard away from the rest of his men, and Sampo can nip in for his meal. It's like having a lunch date, except that if anyone found out about it, there would be a lot of very difficult questions.]
Ah, if you're going to chase after me, I'll have to be in disguise when I bring your meals. Otherwise, if one of your guardsmen sees me while on patrol with you, I'll never be allowed near you again. They'll just try to arrest me on sight!
no subject
Date: 2024-04-27 02:24 am (UTC)Gepard then pats his pocket. He then glances down with alarm, because where the hell is his phone, and then he remembers the events of the last 24 hours. The restful sleep in the terrible bed. The fact he's wearing a strange man's clothes. Gepard touches his neck, he remembers the biting thing. He looks at Figaro again.]
...I don't have my phone with me. [It's really hard to act like a Silvermane Captain when he fails basic things like that.] In fact, I'm pretty sure...hold on.
[He gets up from the table-] Wait right here. [-retreats back to the bedroom, finds his stuff, fishes his wallet out from his normal clothes, and flips through it as he walks back in and settles back in his seat like they're friends and Figaro's not just in it for the benefits.]
Ah. [Ah. That gets slid across the table to Figaro.] I even was issued a fake ID...in case something like last night happened, but I didn't feel like cooperating with the suspect. See? [The identification proclaims that the owner is one Johan Smith. No picture, and he's two inches shorter than the information on the card, and the information implies that he's five years older than he actually is, but it's functional enough and reusable.] But I can write down my number for you?
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Date: 2024-04-29 01:52 am (UTC)[Gepard returns with no phone but with a fake ID, and Sampo takes a look at it for a moment. It’s a convincing fake, of course, because it’s not really a forgery— has all the watermarks and security features of a real government-issued identification card. It’s just falso info, a man who doesn’t really exist.]
Well, I guess it wouldn’t make sense for you to be walking around with your badge in your pocket.
[Sampo takes out his own phone and opens up a new contact prompt, entering the name in as New Snack. Maybe one day he’ll get upgraded to Tasty New Snack.]
Just tell me your number and I’ll add you in.
[Sorry, Captain, he doesn’t trust you enough to hand his phone over to you.]
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