[He eats the potato with reverence. It's the best potato wedges he's had in a long time, which...on one hand, there's not that much competition. He's had potato recently, it wasn't that good. On the other hand, they're really good, and if Gepard was drunk this would be the point in which he'd try to pin Figaro against a wall and murmur sweet nothings into his ear. They're good. And they're hot, somehow delivered into his office, and he didn't have to pay for them: that makes them better.
Which means he's at a disadvantage, which means he just wrinkles his nose at Figaro instead of kicking him out of his office because this is illegal and he shouldn't be commiting crimes on top of all of the other crimes.]
That just makes me feel like I need to give you a nickname, and I refuse to use a pet name for a man whose real name I still don't know.
[Okay, he's trying the sandwich-
Gepard's eyes light up. He smiles, unable to hold it back. He takes a moment to say-]
This is...delicious, you're a very good cook-
[And gets back to stuffing it into his face with the same resolve of a Silvermane Guard slamming down lunch ASAP, just in case something happens and they get interrupted, stop him before he chokes on olm.]
[Who could've guessed that fried potatoes are the way to Gepard Landau's heart, and possibly also his pants? Not Sampo, that's for sure. He expected to be met with gratitude for his lunch delivery services, but being pressed up against a wall and seduced would certainly be quite the tip for all of his hard work. He might not even object, not when the man getting him up against a hard surface is as handsome as Gepard.]
Aw, don't be like that, sweet thing. Figaro's as good a name as any, but you can call me whatever you like.
[Well, Gepard isn't in a mood for very long, not after he takes a bit of that sandwich. Olm is a fair enough substitute for chicken and has a very similar taste and texture when fried, and when Gepard takes a bite? His whole face lights up. And, sure, Sampo knows that things are a little rough in ol' Belobog, but just how badly has Gepard been eating this whole time if a fried olm sandwich sends him to the moon? If this is all that it takes to impress him, than the good Captain's really going to be getting down on one knee after Sampo makes him dinner. He'll make a roast so good that Gepard is going to start picking out rings.]
I am, thanks for noticing, but you don't have to inhale it. It's not going to get up and run away!
[Gepard probably does have to eat quickly when he's on the front lines, in case something happens and he has to put down whatever he's doing, but he's not out there right now. He's in the safety of the city, and he can take five minutes to eat without shoving it all down his gullet like it'll be taken from him if he's too slow.]
[His nose wrinkles at sweet thing, and under different circumstances this would be the point in which he'd aim a kick at Figaro. (These circumstances would entail less blood drinking, for starters. Also knowing him as Sampo and not as Figaro. And also, a less effective bribe. These are not those circumstanes, so Figaro's shin remains un-kicked.)
Gepard does roll his eyes, though. It's hard to be annoyed - he's got delicious food, but by gosh is he trying.]
You're right, I should savor it...
[...is he bold enough for this? Is he?]
...babe. [Immediate regrets! His ears flush red! As does his cheeks! Why did he say that? He buries himself in a delicious fucking sandwich, which isn't hard, eating...slower, because someone actually made food for him and he didn- well, he's going to pay for it, but later. Mumble mumble, chomp, chew, swallow.]
[Well, Gepard tries to be bold, at least. Babe is a very entry-level sort of pet name, a beginner’s pick. A classic, but uncreative — C-, see him after class.]
[Sampo smiles indulgently at him as he tries to hide his embarrassment with his food. It’s not even a little bit successful, because a mere sandwich can’t hide how his face and ears flame red. It’s kind of cute, really.]
See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? A little unoriginal, but it’s a start!
[He sits his ass on the edge of Gepard’s desk, perching there while he opens his thermos and pours out some hot water to drink. Does basically nothing for him, again, but it’s something to do with his hands and it helps distract from the fact that he’s essentially got lunch sitting three feet away and can’t touch.]
While you’re here and I have some of your attention, how do you want to do dinner? If you don’t plan on working late, it might be easier for me to prepare it at your place. Less to lug around.
[Why is Figaro commenting on it, why is he paying attention to the pet name, why is he calling it a start, why does it feel like he made a major mistake and has no idea how to fix this...
But then Figaro offers a better(?) topic and Gepard latches onto it, a little at a loss as to how to deal with it.]
...I hadn't thought that far. [He wipes a bit of sauce from his cheek with a thumb, and then sucks it off of his finger, thinking for a moment.]
I'm not working late - I'm taking the night off. Everyone was very concerned. But are you sure you want to come over? My place is rather...well. Barren. But I don't mind having you over.
You did disappear for the night, so I guess they're right to be worried.
[Sure, he was fine, and in surprisingly safe hands, all things considered, but his colleagues had no way of knowing that at the time. For all they knew, Gepard could've been dead in a ditch somewhere, or kidnapped by a crazed stalker. Luckily for all of Belobog, he was just having a nap at a vampire's safe house.]
[Sampo shrugs and takes a sip of his water. Gepard smells delicious, better now that he's pleased and fed, and Sampo is very hungry. They're alone. People don't make a habit of bothering the captain of the guard, and his office is at the end of the hall. If he moved quickly--]
[He shakes his head, getting rid of those thoughts. Gepard asked him a question, anyway, he should respond.] It's fine, I don't mind. You've seen what my place looks like! If you really don't want me there, though, I can just figure out how to make a delivery.
[It's just a little harder to pack up a whole roast or something and bring it over. Lunch is a more portable meal in general.]
No, I'd like to have you over. [Gepard says this a bit quicker than, perhaps, Figaro might expect from him. A little eager, but...only a little. A tempered eagerness. He's reasonably into the idea of having company over; he kind of enjoys the thought of having Figaro join him for dinner, and having a conversation that doesn't involve work, maybe?
But then, Gepard shifts into something a little bit more resigned, taking another fucking delicious bite of the potato wedges, chewing, swallowing it, savoring the food. (And the company.) Because, after all, it's not as if Figaro can leave until he's done, probably...]
It's just...I thought I'd let you know what to expect. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to clean - I'm seeing the doctor in the afternoon. [Anyway.] Anyway. [Anyway.] So what...sorts of things do you like, Figaro? [Just...wondering- anyway.]
[It'll be a little bit of an awkward dinner, because Gepard's going to be the only one who's eating. Sampo's just going to have to hang around and watch, which is... well, probably not the weirdest thing that he's ever done in his life, but definitely not normal.]
[But Gepard wants him there, and it will be easier if he can make the dinner at the residence where it will be eaten.]
Really, it's fine.
[It's better that Gepard's spending that time getting to the doctor rather than cleaning, anyway. He needs someone with a medical degree to look him in the face and tell him to fix his sleep schedule.]
[Gepard surprises him, then, with a personal question rather than a practical one.] Oh, this and that! I try to keep busy. I used to play in a band, but I stopped getting invited to the practices. Somebody put in a bad word for me, I think.
[If only he were born on a planet which had a strong television culture, or holographs, or anything else. After their dinner (singular) they could sit on the couch and watch something...
...assuming Gepard would own a television, a holograph projector, or anything else. Maybe he wouldn't. And he had half-hoped that Figaro would (maybe) say something that he (possibly) could pick up on the way back to his apartment, but he didn't. He did bring up music, though, and Gepard perked up in surprise, shifting closer before it occurred to him to, well. Not.]
Really? What kind of music?
[...he should stop thinking or being interested in music, and get back to shoveling food into his mouth so Figaro can leave. He gets to that, knocking back some of that rye soda like he's in a bar taking a shot.]
[Gepard eats like... well, certainly not like what Sampo would expect out of a supposedly well-bred man. The Landaus are supposed to be basically nobility around here, and there Gepard is, eating like he was raised in a barn rather than a manor house. Incredible what a few years of being a soldier can do to a man's table manners.]
I was a bassist in a local rock band. I doubt you would've listened to them! It was a while ago, anyway, like I said.
[Because someone got wind that his sister was palling around with a guy who was rumored to run a few scams, and she cut him loose. Thanks, Gepard, for killing his social life. And it had been a pretty good way to scope out dinner every once in a while, because no one really was too worried when someone ended up passed out in an alley after a show. Just got chalked up to a little too much to drink and the person was sent on home, none the wiser to their brief stint as a snack pack.]
[This...sounds familiar, actually, but he's not going to admit that. Gepard just makes a noise, contemplative. He remembers his sister having a bassist. He remembers that the guy ran some scams - he warned her, she cut him loose.
...what was that guy's name again?
...it doesn't matter. He can talk to her later, after he sees the doctor. He can't say it's nothing, after all, his entire life hinges on him following up on his instincts (in all matters but his own needs), but also...he knows how to wait.
And, besides, Figaro had given him delicious food. He deserves the benefit of the doubt. So. Gepard grimace-smiles, apologetically.]
Probably not. I can barely hold a tune. My sister's the musical one between us. And with my schedule, the only bands I know about are the ones she brings to my attention.
It seems a shame, though. It always seemed like fun, but maybe that's just me overlooking the hard work that goes into it. But I imagine your diet caused problems. [Tell him more.]
[If only all law enforcement were so generous as to give the benefit of the doubt because of a really good fried sandwich. But their situation is just special like that-- the very special relationship between a human capri sun and the man who'll be drinking from them.]
[Gepard mentions a sister. What was their frontwoman's last name, again? He'd played for them fairly soon after he'd arrived on Jarilo-VI, before he knew all that much about the locals. Did her last name start with an L, or was it something else? She never really talked about her family much, anyway, other than praising her cute little sister.]
Mm, it was a shame! I had a lot of fun with them, they were a good bunch. The line-up's changed now, though, I think.
[That big hunk of a man they had as their keyboardist got replaced with the cute little sister, if his memory serves. Ah... that delicious, delicious hunk of a man. A shame. But he was absolutely smitten with Serval, and it really just wasn't working for band cohesion, to say nothing of how he was barking up the wrong tree the whole time.]
It really wasn't that big of a problem. Not any more than it ever is, anyway. Like I said before, I really don't go around hurting people.
[Not really, not any more than a blood donation. That's how he justifies it to himself, anyway, and he's far better than other Emanators like him. He's practically a monk! Taking only what he needs to survive, using whatever work-arounds he can to avoid having to bite anyone. He should be praised for his discipline, but he's more likely to get a pitchfork-wielding mob after him regardless of how careful he is about his diet.]
[Why is he insisting on this? Why is this a point he's trying to make? He should just let it slide.]
You can't eat, so you'd constantly have to come up with excuses for why you're not eating around other people. If too many people are found passed out from blood loss, people will start to notice - I did, we all did. Not a lot of people would bother to ask before assuming the worst of you. Not only that, but once they reach a conclusion it's difficult to convince them otherwise. If the rest of the guard had seen you, then they wouldn't stop at anything to arrest you, or...
[He trails off into silence.
It's at this point that Gepard realizes that at some point he'd shifted in his chair, reached for Figaro, grabbed a hold of whatever Figaroish thing he could - an arm, a shoulder - because he was apparently in a mood, and that mood was a worked up one. And his voice hadn't gotten...too loud, but louder, with some feeling. At some point.
He's not sure when this happened.
He just only has one choice, which is to settle down again.
...Gepard settles down again.]
I'm sorry. I'm sure you know about all of this better than I ever could. The last thing you need is someone from the outside, someone like me, telling you something that you already know.
[Gepard's hand lands on his arm, and it's warm. He's getting a little worked up over there, but he thankfully has good enough control over himself not to get overly loud. There are a lot of feelings underneath that stiff white uniform and insistent veneer of professionalism.]
It's okay. It's not a bad summation, anyway.
[Including the part that he doesn't say. One option is that the guard would stop at nothing to arrest him-- another, more likely option is that they'd stop at nothing to put him down like a rabid dog. He's a monster, after all, and the Silvermane guard are trained to kill monsters.]
Usually, I'd be laying low right now, until all the fuss died down. But with things as they are at the hospital, I can't. [No stop-gaps, no workarounds. He either finds a person to snack on, or he finds out what happens when an Emanator starves.] Well. There is one other thing I could do, but it's not... really a very appealing option.
[There are some lengths that he won't go to unless he really has no other choice. And it probably provokes the same sort of visceral revulsion in people that biting a living person does, maybe worse. Is it worse to be a corpse-eater or a people-eater? A philosophical question, mostly. From a practical standpoint, the corpse is dead and isn't using its blood anymore. But it's also eating from a corpse.]
[He inhales sharply at that, eyes widening, and, then, softly exhales. Gepard forces himself to relax. He forces himself to settle back into something closer to professional, as getting worked up wouldn't help either of them. Getting emotional means making mistakes.]
-tonight. [But he says this, low, quiet, a little insistently. It's not an order, Figaro's hardly a member of the Silvermane Guard, he only has so much sway over him, but it's also not not an order. One of those things. He's used to being obeyed.] If you can hold out until then, one way or another, I'll feed you. Just enough you won't starve.
[He'll fucking "borrow" a bag of blood if he must- anyway.]
What time do you want to meet up? And where should we meet up?
[Probably. This is the longest stretch that he's gone without feeding, or close to it, so it's a little up in the air. But he says it lightly, jokingly. Like this isn't a serious situation at all, they're just two pals talking about meeting up later. Easy.]
[The way Gepard says it, that they're going to meet tonight, brooks no argument. And, really, if he can find a way to feed him... it's better for him, too. Unless the good Captain has decided that this is the way he's going to catch his criminal-- bait him when he's desperate-- it's to his own benefit to show. Is the Captain so callous as to do that, when he's promised to help him? Sampo's banking on it being no. That Gepard's promises actually mean something.]
I'm already going to be at your place for dinner. Why not just make it dinner for both of us?
[That kills two birds with one stone. Two appetites with one dinner date.]
That sounds good. [A little alarming, perhaps, but in an exciting sort of way? Feelings are complicated. This situation has long since gone in a weird direction and he has no idea wher eit's heading to, plus, Gepard's learning something and it's this: thinking with his dick is terrible. He doesn't like it. But all of this makes sense.]
I'd just feed you now, but if I end up having to get a physical, I wouldn't want to have to explain any marks you'd leave on me. [And this is said very apologetically.] I don't think there's anything I could say that wouldn't make things worse.
[One way or another, and Gepard takes a moment to imagine what would happen if he tries to explain a bite as a love bite, and not a bite bite from the criminal they've been searching for, and the reaction, and he pales, ever so slightly. He takes a bite of the food in the same way one would eat their last meal. Only for a moment. Just only for a second. Grim.
But that's just a hypothetical, not something that will happen if he can help it. Moving right along. He's just going to grab his phone and shoot Figaro his address, just, moving right along, he's not considering the horror of what would happen if people thought he found someone, no, not at all, no.]
[If Gepard's still thinking with his dick even after Sampo made the insinuation about eating from corpses, than this guy really has it down bad. Truly, unreasonably down bad for a piece of ass that he only just met. Incredible. Gepard needs to get laid so badly if this is how he gets whenever he meets someone that he thinks is kind of hot.]
[Whatever scenario Gepard's conjured up in his head about explaining a theoretical love-bite to a doctor, Sampo only sees him go grim at the thought of it, eating more of his sandwich as though it's his last meal on this earth. Honestly? Can't relate. If their places were reversed, Sampo would very easily look any doctor in the face and tell them that the mark on his neck was from his kinky new squeeze who just was really into biting.]
Well, that settles that, then. [Gepard's address pings on his phone, and he saves it. Now he knows where you sleep, and that's totally not something that should keep you up at night.]
Any other questions for me, or do you want to save some for our dinner date?
[He should feel more worried about this than he does, but...call it the reassurance that he tastes disgusting and is the food of last resort for a very hungry Figaro. So. Gepard shakes his head.]
I can't think of anything. [...he can just get a nice bouquet of flowers to freshen up his apartment or something, that counts, right?] And you should go before someone tries to find out what I'm doing and finds you here.
[And, then:]
Please don't call it a dinner date. That- [He trails off into silence, because what is he supposed to say to that? What, exactly, is Gepard Landau supposed to say to that? It feels like he spent this entire meal looking like a tomato but, you know, Figaro's kind of an ass like that and it's easy to get flustered like that, so he probably shouldn't be kicking himself about it.]
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.]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-05-06 03:35 am (UTC)Which means he's at a disadvantage, which means he just wrinkles his nose at Figaro instead of kicking him out of his office because this is illegal and he shouldn't be commiting crimes on top of all of the other crimes.]
That just makes me feel like I need to give you a nickname, and I refuse to use a pet name for a man whose real name I still don't know.
[Okay, he's trying the sandwich-
Gepard's eyes light up. He smiles, unable to hold it back. He takes a moment to say-]
This is...delicious, you're a very good cook-
[And gets back to stuffing it into his face with the same resolve of a Silvermane Guard slamming down lunch ASAP, just in case something happens and they get interrupted, stop him before he chokes on olm.]
no subject
Date: 2024-05-06 09:38 pm (UTC)Aw, don't be like that, sweet thing. Figaro's as good a name as any, but you can call me whatever you like.
[Well, Gepard isn't in a mood for very long, not after he takes a bit of that sandwich. Olm is a fair enough substitute for chicken and has a very similar taste and texture when fried, and when Gepard takes a bite? His whole face lights up. And, sure, Sampo knows that things are a little rough in ol' Belobog, but just how badly has Gepard been eating this whole time if a fried olm sandwich sends him to the moon? If this is all that it takes to impress him, than the good Captain's really going to be getting down on one knee after Sampo makes him dinner. He'll make a roast so good that Gepard is going to start picking out rings.]
I am, thanks for noticing, but you don't have to inhale it. It's not going to get up and run away!
[Gepard probably does have to eat quickly when he's on the front lines, in case something happens and he has to put down whatever he's doing, but he's not out there right now. He's in the safety of the city, and he can take five minutes to eat without shoving it all down his gullet like it'll be taken from him if he's too slow.]
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Date: 2024-05-07 12:09 am (UTC)Gepard does roll his eyes, though. It's hard to be annoyed - he's got delicious food, but by gosh is he trying.]
You're right, I should savor it...
[...is he bold enough for this? Is he?]
...babe. [Immediate regrets! His ears flush red! As does his cheeks! Why did he say that? He buries himself in a delicious fucking sandwich, which isn't hard, eating...slower, because someone actually made food for him and he didn- well, he's going to pay for it, but later. Mumble mumble, chomp, chew, swallow.]
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Date: 2024-05-07 02:08 am (UTC)[Sampo smiles indulgently at him as he tries to hide his embarrassment with his food. It’s not even a little bit successful, because a mere sandwich can’t hide how his face and ears flame red. It’s kind of cute, really.]
See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? A little unoriginal, but it’s a start!
[He sits his ass on the edge of Gepard’s desk, perching there while he opens his thermos and pours out some hot water to drink. Does basically nothing for him, again, but it’s something to do with his hands and it helps distract from the fact that he’s essentially got lunch sitting three feet away and can’t touch.]
While you’re here and I have some of your attention, how do you want to do dinner? If you don’t plan on working late, it might be easier for me to prepare it at your place. Less to lug around.
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Date: 2024-05-07 03:11 am (UTC)But then Figaro offers a better(?) topic and Gepard latches onto it, a little at a loss as to how to deal with it.]
...I hadn't thought that far. [He wipes a bit of sauce from his cheek with a thumb, and then sucks it off of his finger, thinking for a moment.]
I'm not working late - I'm taking the night off. Everyone was very concerned. But are you sure you want to come over? My place is rather...well. Barren. But I don't mind having you over.
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Date: 2024-05-09 03:12 am (UTC)[Sure, he was fine, and in surprisingly safe hands, all things considered, but his colleagues had no way of knowing that at the time. For all they knew, Gepard could've been dead in a ditch somewhere, or kidnapped by a crazed stalker. Luckily for all of Belobog, he was just having a nap at a vampire's safe house.]
[Sampo shrugs and takes a sip of his water. Gepard smells delicious, better now that he's pleased and fed, and Sampo is very hungry. They're alone. People don't make a habit of bothering the captain of the guard, and his office is at the end of the hall. If he moved quickly--]
[He shakes his head, getting rid of those thoughts. Gepard asked him a question, anyway, he should respond.] It's fine, I don't mind. You've seen what my place looks like! If you really don't want me there, though, I can just figure out how to make a delivery.
[It's just a little harder to pack up a whole roast or something and bring it over. Lunch is a more portable meal in general.]
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Date: 2024-05-10 03:44 am (UTC)But then, Gepard shifts into something a little bit more resigned, taking another fucking delicious bite of the potato wedges, chewing, swallowing it, savoring the food. (And the company.) Because, after all, it's not as if Figaro can leave until he's done, probably...]
It's just...I thought I'd let you know what to expect. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to clean - I'm seeing the doctor in the afternoon. [Anyway.] Anyway. [Anyway.] So what...sorts of things do you like, Figaro? [Just...wondering- anyway.]
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Date: 2024-05-10 04:42 am (UTC)[But Gepard wants him there, and it will be easier if he can make the dinner at the residence where it will be eaten.]
Really, it's fine.
[It's better that Gepard's spending that time getting to the doctor rather than cleaning, anyway. He needs someone with a medical degree to look him in the face and tell him to fix his sleep schedule.]
[Gepard surprises him, then, with a personal question rather than a practical one.] Oh, this and that! I try to keep busy. I used to play in a band, but I stopped getting invited to the practices. Somebody put in a bad word for me, I think.
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Date: 2024-05-10 11:07 pm (UTC)...assuming Gepard would own a television, a holograph projector, or anything else. Maybe he wouldn't. And he had half-hoped that Figaro would (maybe) say something that he (possibly) could pick up on the way back to his apartment, but he didn't. He did bring up music, though, and Gepard perked up in surprise, shifting closer before it occurred to him to, well. Not.]
Really? What kind of music?
[...he should stop thinking or being interested in music, and get back to shoveling food into his mouth so Figaro can leave. He gets to that, knocking back some of that rye soda like he's in a bar taking a shot.]
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Date: 2024-05-10 11:53 pm (UTC)I was a bassist in a local rock band. I doubt you would've listened to them! It was a while ago, anyway, like I said.
[Because someone got wind that his sister was palling around with a guy who was rumored to run a few scams, and she cut him loose. Thanks, Gepard, for killing his social life. And it had been a pretty good way to scope out dinner every once in a while, because no one really was too worried when someone ended up passed out in an alley after a show. Just got chalked up to a little too much to drink and the person was sent on home, none the wiser to their brief stint as a snack pack.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 01:09 am (UTC)...what was that guy's name again?
...it doesn't matter. He can talk to her later, after he sees the doctor. He can't say it's nothing, after all, his entire life hinges on him following up on his instincts (in all matters but his own needs), but also...he knows how to wait.
And, besides, Figaro had given him delicious food. He deserves the benefit of the doubt. So. Gepard grimace-smiles, apologetically.]
Probably not. I can barely hold a tune. My sister's the musical one between us. And with my schedule, the only bands I know about are the ones she brings to my attention.
It seems a shame, though. It always seemed like fun, but maybe that's just me overlooking the hard work that goes into it. But I imagine your diet caused problems. [Tell him more.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 01:33 am (UTC)[Gepard mentions a sister. What was their frontwoman's last name, again? He'd played for them fairly soon after he'd arrived on Jarilo-VI, before he knew all that much about the locals. Did her last name start with an L, or was it something else? She never really talked about her family much, anyway, other than praising her cute little sister.]
Mm, it was a shame! I had a lot of fun with them, they were a good bunch. The line-up's changed now, though, I think.
[That big hunk of a man they had as their keyboardist got replaced with the cute little sister, if his memory serves. Ah... that delicious, delicious hunk of a man. A shame. But he was absolutely smitten with Serval, and it really just wasn't working for band cohesion, to say nothing of how he was barking up the wrong tree the whole time.]
It really wasn't that big of a problem. Not any more than it ever is, anyway. Like I said before, I really don't go around hurting people.
[Not really, not any more than a blood donation. That's how he justifies it to himself, anyway, and he's far better than other Emanators like him. He's practically a monk! Taking only what he needs to survive, using whatever work-arounds he can to avoid having to bite anyone. He should be praised for his discipline, but he's more likely to get a pitchfork-wielding mob after him regardless of how careful he is about his diet.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 02:17 am (UTC)[Why is he insisting on this? Why is this a point he's trying to make? He should just let it slide.]
You can't eat, so you'd constantly have to come up with excuses for why you're not eating around other people. If too many people are found passed out from blood loss, people will start to notice - I did, we all did. Not a lot of people would bother to ask before assuming the worst of you. Not only that, but once they reach a conclusion it's difficult to convince them otherwise. If the rest of the guard had seen you, then they wouldn't stop at anything to arrest you, or...
[He trails off into silence.
It's at this point that Gepard realizes that at some point he'd shifted in his chair, reached for Figaro, grabbed a hold of whatever Figaroish thing he could - an arm, a shoulder - because he was apparently in a mood, and that mood was a worked up one. And his voice hadn't gotten...too loud, but louder, with some feeling. At some point.
He's not sure when this happened.
He just only has one choice, which is to settle down again.
...Gepard settles down again.]
I'm sorry. I'm sure you know about all of this better than I ever could. The last thing you need is someone from the outside, someone like me, telling you something that you already know.
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Date: 2024-05-11 02:39 am (UTC)It's okay. It's not a bad summation, anyway.
[Including the part that he doesn't say. One option is that the guard would stop at nothing to arrest him-- another, more likely option is that they'd stop at nothing to put him down like a rabid dog. He's a monster, after all, and the Silvermane guard are trained to kill monsters.]
Usually, I'd be laying low right now, until all the fuss died down. But with things as they are at the hospital, I can't. [No stop-gaps, no workarounds. He either finds a person to snack on, or he finds out what happens when an Emanator starves.] Well. There is one other thing I could do, but it's not... really a very appealing option.
[There are some lengths that he won't go to unless he really has no other choice. And it probably provokes the same sort of visceral revulsion in people that biting a living person does, maybe worse. Is it worse to be a corpse-eater or a people-eater? A philosophical question, mostly. From a practical standpoint, the corpse is dead and isn't using its blood anymore. But it's also eating from a corpse.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 03:07 am (UTC)-tonight. [But he says this, low, quiet, a little insistently. It's not an order, Figaro's hardly a member of the Silvermane Guard, he only has so much sway over him, but it's also not not an order. One of those things. He's used to being obeyed.] If you can hold out until then, one way or another, I'll feed you. Just enough you won't starve.
[He'll fucking "borrow" a bag of blood if he must- anyway.]
What time do you want to meet up? And where should we meet up?
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Date: 2024-05-11 03:25 am (UTC)[Probably. This is the longest stretch that he's gone without feeding, or close to it, so it's a little up in the air. But he says it lightly, jokingly. Like this isn't a serious situation at all, they're just two pals talking about meeting up later. Easy.]
[The way Gepard says it, that they're going to meet tonight, brooks no argument. And, really, if he can find a way to feed him... it's better for him, too. Unless the good Captain has decided that this is the way he's going to catch his criminal-- bait him when he's desperate-- it's to his own benefit to show. Is the Captain so callous as to do that, when he's promised to help him? Sampo's banking on it being no. That Gepard's promises actually mean something.]
I'm already going to be at your place for dinner. Why not just make it dinner for both of us?
[That kills two birds with one stone. Two appetites with one dinner date.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 04:14 am (UTC)I'd just feed you now, but if I end up having to get a physical, I wouldn't want to have to explain any marks you'd leave on me. [And this is said very apologetically.] I don't think there's anything I could say that wouldn't make things worse.
[One way or another, and Gepard takes a moment to imagine what would happen if he tries to explain a bite as a love bite, and not a bite bite from the criminal they've been searching for, and the reaction, and he pales, ever so slightly. He takes a bite of the food in the same way one would eat their last meal. Only for a moment. Just only for a second. Grim.
But that's just a hypothetical, not something that will happen if he can help it. Moving right along. He's just going to grab his phone and shoot Figaro his address, just, moving right along, he's not considering the horror of what would happen if people thought he found someone, no, not at all, no.]
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Date: 2024-05-11 04:30 am (UTC)[Whatever scenario Gepard's conjured up in his head about explaining a theoretical love-bite to a doctor, Sampo only sees him go grim at the thought of it, eating more of his sandwich as though it's his last meal on this earth. Honestly? Can't relate. If their places were reversed, Sampo would very easily look any doctor in the face and tell them that the mark on his neck was from his kinky new squeeze who just was really into biting.]
Well, that settles that, then. [Gepard's address pings on his phone, and he saves it. Now he knows where you sleep, and that's totally not something that should keep you up at night.]
Any other questions for me, or do you want to save some for our dinner date?
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Date: 2024-05-14 03:19 am (UTC)I can't think of anything. [...he can just get a nice bouquet of flowers to freshen up his apartment or something, that counts, right?] And you should go before someone tries to find out what I'm doing and finds you here.
[And, then:]
Please don't call it a dinner date. That- [He trails off into silence, because what is he supposed to say to that? What, exactly, is Gepard Landau supposed to say to that? It feels like he spent this entire meal looking like a tomato but, you know, Figaro's kind of an ass like that and it's easy to get flustered like that, so he probably shouldn't be kicking himself about it.]
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Date: 2024-05-14 04:14 am (UTC)[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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Date: 2024-05-15 03:17 am (UTC)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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Date: 2024-05-15 04:46 am (UTC)[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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Date: 2024-05-16 03:32 am (UTC)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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Date: 2024-05-16 04:11 am (UTC)[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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Date: 2024-05-17 02:17 am (UTC)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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