Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gepard should not be surprised that Sampo Koski has become more of a nuisance than ever.

Over the past few months since the stellaron was sealed, since the Underworld was opened back up again and the newly appointed Supreme Guardian began to repair the Architect’s relationship with the Underworld, crime has increased. Well, specifically in the Overworld, actually; the barricade being lifted led to more opportunities, more people to steal from and scam. It was only natural that Sampo would become more active, spending more time harassing the Overworld and expanding his criminal network.

Gepard should not be surprised, but he is. Because this is starting to get excessive.

“Koski! ” Gepard yells out as he bolts down the narrow alleys of Backwater Pass, lip curled in a snarl. Sampo’s running form isn’t far in front of him but just far enough, flashes of his grin and his coattails as he turns around corners and leads Gepard farther into abandoned, decrepit streets. Gepard can hear the near sounds of armour clattering and heavy footsteps as his Guards follow close behind him. “Enough! You’re under arrest!”

Sampo’s cackle bounces off the brick walls behind him, almost too loud. “Am I, Captain?” He coos over his shoulder, clutching a bag of stolen Silvermane supplies. “I don’t feel like I’m under arrest!” Gepard responds with a growl, ice curling over his gauntlet. He strikes the left wall, sending ice crackling across bricks and along the pavement. Sampo dodges it before frost can crackle around his feet, around fierce shards of ice that form and pierce out towards him. 

“Woah!” Sampo  gasps, stumbling over ice and debris. He spins on his heels, lets out a whistle at the shards of ice jutting out from the wall between them now. “That was a close one, Captain! Almost seems like you're trying to skewer me now! Good thing ol’ Sampo Koski is so nimble--”

Gepard punches the ice, sending shards of it towards Sampo. The criminal jumps, yelping at the deluge of frost, all still with that damned wide smile on his face. “Oh fuck! That’s cold--” 

Gepard lunges out to grab Sampo's arm, trying to tackle him or pin him to the wall when Sampo inevitably dances out of his reach. “ Koski, ” Gepard growls out just as Sampo shoots him a wink before taking off once more. His cackling echoes down the thin alleys, bouncing off the walls too loud as if Sampo is behind him, beside him, all around him. Gepard doesn't notice how the few remaining Silvermane Guards that had kept up now fall back, stumbling and disoriented by Sampo's laughter. He's too fixated on the man himself, frustration and anger bitter like blood in the back of his throat as he gives chase. 

Gepard doesn't notice he's alone (nor the wicked way Sampo's smile never meets his empty eyes, or the way his body flickers to always stay just out of the Captain's reach, nor how Sampo's eyes are always on him even when turned away), not until Sampo jerks to a halt. His way is blocked, the fragmentum having corroded the walls of the neighbouring building and filled the alley with ashy debris and curling corrosion. Sampo's shoulders are tense as he wrinkles his noise at the corrosion as if it disgusts him--he falls into his lax, taunting posture when he turns to Gepard, one hand raised as if in surrender as the other adjusted the bag strapped over one shoulder. 

“A-ah! Well, Captain! Seems you've your pal Sampo cornered, huh?” He chuckles as Gepard huffs for breath. Gepard’s lungs ache, his face warm and he can feel sweat making the inner layer of his bulky uniform cling to his back; but Sampo looks like he’s not even ran, not even broken a sweat. It only makes Gepard grind his teeth together. “Koski, enough, drop the stolen supplies and put your hands out.”

Sampo laughs anxiously as Gepard approaches, still tense and ready for Sampo to lash out or try and bolt again. “N-no need for that, Captain!” Sampo stammers, glancing between Gepard and the blocked alley. “Why, there’s no need… How ‘bout we call a truce here, shake on it, and continue this another time? How’s 7 pm tomorrow work for you? We c-can meet here and--”

“In your dreams, criminal,” Gepard growls out, reaching for his handcuffs, “you aren’t evading arrest this time.”

Sampo’s sigh is overtly wistful, batting his eyes. “You’re already in my dreams, Geppie. ” Gepard doesn’t have the chance to blush, or stammer, or rush forward and grab him or whatever he was going to do; in a swift, blink-of-the-eye movement, Sampo pulls out a bomb. He throws it at Gepard’s feet, a metallic thunk all he hears before grey smoke plumes out, invading his mouth, his nose, his lungs. 

He wretches, doubling over and coughing as the smoke makes his eyes water. Sampo’s voice is a disembodied sound, his words feeling too close and too far away in Gepard’s disoriented state. “It’s been fun, Gepard! See ya around.” 

There’s a hand, a weightless touch that almost doesn’t feel real on his spine, right between his shoulder blades. Gepard tenses at the ghostly feeling of fingers pressing through his uniform, blindly whirling around only for his punch to make contact with nothing but air. Sampo’s last laugh is low, subdued, almost warm, before he goes silent and Gepard instantly knows he’s alone.

The smoke dissipates as quickly as it had appeared. It leaves Gepard’s lungs, his wet eyes no longer stinging, the strange smell of sulfur and something flowery vanishing altogether. Gepard knows he won’t see anything, but he still whips around, peering down the alley and up the walls and around everywhere for any sign of the conman. The confirmation that he’s alone makes his blood boil. 

For a split second, he’s glad that his Guards hadn’t kept up with him, at least so that they didn’t hear their Captain growl out and curse Sampo’s name. With a huff he kicks at the shattered scrap metal remains of Sampo’s bomb, sending it scraping across the floor and clattering into the wall. Then he thinks better of it, though, letting out a resigned sigh as he crouches and picks up the pieces of the metal casing. He holds up the biggest piece, the one he’d lashed out against, and frowns down at the sloppy heart painted across the black metal. It makes his face heat up. 

He gives himself just another moment before going and searching for the Silvermane Guards that had tried to chase Sampo with him. It’d become customary, at this point, for Gepard to have to retrieve them. He couldn’t understand how they kept getting so turned around, when so many of them patrolled these backalleys regularly, but something about the chase kept leaving them lost. This time he’d found one Guard quickly, not far behind and just leaning against the backdoor of an abandoned store of some kind. Gepard’s huffed order has her stunned awake, quick to apologize and duck her head in shame despite somehow still drowsy and bleary eyed. The second Guard is panicked, halberd held out and swung wildly as he stands in an open street. It takes Gepard a concerningly long time to calm him down, the man strangely paranoid and on edge even when Gepard walks with them back to the camp. He mentally reminds himself to rearrange his Guard's schedule and maybe encourage him to take some time off.

Later that evening, long after Gepard has managed to stop kicking himself for letting Sampo go again for quite possibly the hundredth time, after he’d taken inventory of their ammunition, supplies, and rations to discover Sampo had only stolen some medical supplies and food, a Guard comes running up to him. The bulging bag in her hands is familiar and makes Gepard pause, turning away from the other Captain he’d been conversing with.

“Captain Gepard!” She gasps out as she stops just in front of him, giving an unnecessary, rushed salute before holding the duffle bag up like a trophy. “Sir, while patrolling the area where you reported last seeing Sampo Koski, we found this bag stashed away in a building nearby! Is it the same one he was seen with?”

He doesn’t need to glance at it to confirm her question. “Yes, it definitely is. Good job, soldier.” Still, he can’t help but frown at it, feeling uneasy. Sampo rarely parts with his ill-gotten goods, especially this easily. “Although, I’m shocked he didn’t keep it on his person.”

She laughs, shrugs with one hand before grasping the zipper of the bag. “He must have tried to hide it and planned to come back for it later. As if he could hide this from the Silvermane’s! Now, let’s see what he tried to snatch--”

Gepard freezes as she rips it open, not quick enough to still her hand. “Wait! No, it could be--”

The bag bursts open with a load POP! like cackling firecrackers as it erupts into a thick fog of glitter and fluorescent pink paint. It invades Gepard’s every sense, sparkles coating his mouth, gritting like sand between his teeth, his nose as he heaves and coughs and sneezes it up. The people around who’d been intrigued by the Guard’s find fair no better, hacking up their lungs and gasping at the pink splattered across their uniforms. Gepard can feel it soaking into his own uniform as he spits out glitter, the grainy feeling never leaving his teeth. He wipes at the paint on his cheek, his chin, wrinkling his nose when he only feels it smear across his skin.

The Silvermane Guard holding the bag is coated in it, paint and glitter dripping from her helmet as she gapes down at the bag. “... Oh.”

Serval stays up later, much later than she should. Usually it’s a point of contention, yet another thing for Gepard to worry about. Most times Gepard reprimands her, sometimes visits her workshop to make sure she isn’t working on any projects or staying up late agonizing over the lyrics of her latest song. Most often he texts her a ‘get some sleep’ message and receives Serval’s annoyance in return.

He hates how she stays up so late, sometimes not sleeping until the sun rises. Now, though, he’s thankful. He hadn’t wanted to go home after his shift, after Sampo’s taunting and mischief was left marked across his uniform and his skin. Despite Pela recommending he leave early to ‘clean up’ and Lady Bronya’s blatant permission to retire for the rest of the day, Gepard kept to his post, ignoring the way people’s eyes caught on the sparkling pink still splattered across him. He didn’t want to go to his apartment, didn’t want to look himself in the mirror and see the glitter still sticking to his skin. Instead, he’d hunted down Serval and collapsed onto a stool she pulled out for him, a sort of knowing look in her eyes as she pulled out a bottle of wine.

“I can’t stand him,” Gepard groans, holding his head in his hands. He slouches heavily on the work desk in Serval’s shop, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. “Again, Serval. Again. Hi-his stupid fucking bombs and how he always laughs and laughs and keeps--keeps manifesting out of nowhere! Just to steal and… and… urgh!” Gepard clenches his fist, Serval just managing to slide his now empty glass out of the way before he slams his forehead into the desk. He pounds his fist against the scratched, worn wood. Serval makes a cooing sound, patting Gepard on the back as he continues to ramble incoherently. 

Gepard doesn’t really know how many glasses he’s had now, and he doesn’t care enough to even think about it as Serval disappears in the room behind the front desk for a second and pulls out another bottle. “He’s sure a pain in the ass,” Serval hums as she pours him more wine, sliding the wine glass into Gepard’s waiting hand. “Now, try this one! It’s a flower wine. Used a bunch of rainbow flowers because they’re cheap but I still did a small batch because it took so many flowers. It smells nice but I haven’t tried it yet.”

He doesn’t really listen as she rambles, something more about the fermenting process and how the strange acidic, flowery smell has taken over the shop. He doesn’t even really give it a glance as he takes a massive gulp-- instantly regretting it as he tries not to cough, swallowing it down and shaking his head, his face pinched. Serval hisses between her teeth, wincing. “Ah, no good?” 

“T-tastes like… perfume.” Serval groans at his response, holding the bottle up and glaring down at it like she can unmake it with a glance. “Damn! Vaska will be disappointed,” she grumbles, vanishing into the back again while Gepard dumps the remainder of his glass into the nearest potted plant, a small succulent Lynx had gifted her. “Sorry.”

Serval has always had a tendency to dance between new and strange interests, things that grab her full attention for some weeks or months before she jumps to the next thing. Nothing has ever managed to catch on to her quite like her interest in mechanics or music, but the latest hobby has persisted for quite a while now. Gepard has no clue when it started exactly, just a month ago or so Serval had him help her lug around massive glass jugs, clearing out the side room all while she prattled on about the fermentation process and what kinds of strange things she could make wine with. 

It’s become a new sort of routine; on days that Gepard feels particularly worn thin he ends up late at night in Serval’s workshop, sampling whatever strange batch of wine Serval has concocted while his inhibitions get looser and looser. It took barely a glass this time for Gepard to complain loudly and unabashedly about the conman who’s been haunting his patrols. 

“I’m surprised you guys haven’t caught him yet,” Serval proclaims, reappearing with a new bottle. She sets it down, sticking her tongue out as she yanks the cork out with a satisfying pop! “I mean, he’s just a shady businessman, and you all are well trained to deal with fragmentum. Koski should be a breeze, right?”

“Right,” Gepard groans, digging his chin into his palm as he nods. He watches her pour the pale pink wine, lost in his own head as he frowns. “But he’s… ugh, he’s a nuisance. I have, technically, caught him a few times, but he’s always managed to escape somehow! I-it’s ridiculous, frankly. I--” He pauses as Serval slides him the glass, making her eyes widen when he grabs it and downs it all in one gulp. “--thanks. I should be dealing with more important things! Lady Bronya and the Architects have been preoccupied th-these last few months, with everything so… so different now. Open. I should be help… uh, helping re-establish the Silvermanes in the Underworld, or managing repairs for the f-frontlines and the wall, or… or anything! But nope, it’s mostly him. ”

His sigh is loud, his skin warm as he covers his face with his hands. He can still feel glitter, grainy between his palms and his face. He grumbles something unintelligible as Serval once again pats him on the shoulder. He looks at her between his fingers, his hair a mess obscuring his view the slightest bit. He notices a clump of dried pink in his hair while he looks at Serval’s pitying smile. 

“C’mon, Geppie! It’s not like you’re doing nothing. I heard you’ve had some meetings with Wildfire, have been overseeing some of the newest recruits coming from the Underworld, and not to mention… everything else! Don’t let that bastard bring you down. Besides, I doubt he’s actually everywhere. You’re just annoyed by him, that’s all. Also, what’d you think?”

“Think what?” She taps a nail against the wine bottle, raising an eyebrow. It takes a moment for Gepard to connect the dots, blinking rapidly. “O-oh, it was, uh…” He frowns down at his empty glass, biting into his cheek. “It was… kinda bitter, I think.”

“You think,” she says while she rolls her eyes, snatching his glass right from Gepard’s fingers. “That’s no help, Geppie! I need to perfect this batch or people will be disappointed! Should I let it ferment longer? Maybe more fruit… it’s made with some snowberries Lynx brought back and--”

“What d’you mean people w-will be disappointed?” Gepard interjects, dropping his hands flat onto the tabletop and narrowing his eyes. Serval snaps her mouth shut, not meeting Gepard’s gaze. “...Serval, yo-you know you can’t s-sell this to people, right? You’re not selling it, right? ”

“Of course not!” She scoffs, crosses her arms, still not quite looking at him. “You have no faith in your big sister! I just have some… friends who are interested in my newest hobby, that’s all.” She isn’t particularly convincing, a shrill lilt to her defensive words as she still can’t seem to look Gepard in the eye for long. It makes him narrow his eyes and pin his gaze to her, making her squirm. 

“Serval…” He says slowly, watching her as she turns her back to him and laughs something out about getting him some water. “we've talked ‘bout this!” He yells out so his voice can reach her, craning his neck to stare at the partially open door where he hears Serval opening and closing cabinets, the sound of running water. “Serval, it’s illegal to sell l-liquor without the proper… proper licensing and per-permits and--”

“Here!” She slides a glass of water towards him, spilling cold water over his hand as he catches it. Before he can protest, Serval speaks loudly with her hands on his hips. “By the way, you’re still shining like a disco ball. And you have paint behind your ear.

“Qlipoth!” Gepard growls, slamming his fist into the table. Serval jumps just as the glass does, spilling and pooling on the countertop. Gepard doesn’t pay any attention to it, nor the way Serval cackles with laughter. “That--that damned conman! I swear to the Aeons I will arre-arrest him the next time I--- the next time I see that damned c-cr-criminal!” He growls it out, offering a small and kind ‘thank you’ while Serval wipes down the counter and puts the glass in his hand, before continuing his tirade. 

His chance to capture Sampo arrives the very next day.

Serval, his saving grace, had dragged him, blathering and complaining about Koski, up to her apartment above the workshop. He woke up with a headache, a sharp piercing feeling behind his left eye that made him wince at the light. But it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been, made better by the water and painkillers Serval had left on the nightstand in the spare bedroom she keeps well kept for Gepard, or Lynx, or whoever else she has over.

There had been rumours of activity against the outer walls of Belobog. It’s nothing substantial, more likely someone on the routine patrols around the wall trying to shirk their duty, but Gepard humoured the young, newly recruited Silvermane Guard who pretended to be too afraid to venture outside the wall. It’s clear he didn’t expect Gepard to agree, but he’s especially shocked when Gepard decides to patrol the wall alone.

Captain Dunn had protested, tried to round up some Guards to go with him, but all it took was a pointed look and a miniscule shake of his head to have Dunn snorting out a laugh of understanding and clapping him on the shoulder. Gepard walks past him with a barely subdued grin, narrowing his eyes at the other Captain when he purposefully speaks too loudly to agitate Gepard’s aching head. The gate closed loudly behind him.

Sometimes, Gepard understands Lynx’s fixation with the outside world. He understands it more, now that the possibility and reality of worlds beyond the stars was opened to Belobog by the Trailblazers. The cold, desolate regions of snow and ice around the stalwart city are both haunting and beautiful. The cold, piercing wind and the snow falling like shards against his skin made him alert, made him feel a little more alive, made the hungover fog in his head clear into some sort of chilly clarity. He walked along the wall, the foreboding metal barrier to his back as he turned to stare out over the vast, blinding white mountain ranges, distantly wondering what else is beyond them. He thinks he can understand Lynx’s restlessness, just a little bit. 

The quiet was calm, until Sampo Koski interrupted it. 

Gepard is pretty sure it’s an accident, that Koski didn’t expect to see him here, either; he’d circled around the wall at a particular section that tends to go unguarded and unmantainted both due to lack of fragmentum activity and not enough Guards available. The gate there is a small thing, not the massive, daunting gates of the Frontlines. First, Gepard notices the door is propped open, something like a crate stuck in the gate. That alone makes him frown, pausing in his steps. Second, he notices he’s not alone.

“Okay, Qlipoth, I get the message! No need to be such a killjoy, you massive hunk of-- augh!” Sampo suddenly yells, walking up to the wall. His eyes were up towards the sky, oblivious to Gepard’s presence before he suddenly jerks his head down in a quick, violent movement. He screeches, recoiling and scrambling backwards and his arms pinwheeling. Gepard is certain he’s going to fall into the snow, but somehow he bends impossibly backwards and shoves himself back up, standing way too still and way too stiff.

“G-Gepard!” Sampo stammers, laughs, somehow rubbing the back of his neck and coughing into his fists and crossing his arms and putting his hands on his hips simultaneously and in rapid succession. “Fancy meeting you here, oh Captain!” He doesn’t quite look at Gepard, clearly glancing around and assessing his escape routes. Gepard steps between Sampo and the open gate, hands already clasping for his handcuffs, clenching his fist as Sampo prattles on. “Always a pleasure, Geppie! N-nothing quite like your handsome face to cheer up Sampo’s day and make the world brighter--”

He looks up for the first time, then, actually looking Gepard in the face. Something flashes over his eyes, something sharp and pointed Gepard couldn’t grasp but could feel against his skin. Then he goes slack jawed, his words hanging limp from his teeth. Sampo always flits around the world, his focus never quite settling on anything; now, though, the full brunt of his attention makes Gepard feel warm. He bristles at the weight of it. It feels like too much, like his eyes are pinning through him, tearing him apart, ripping the molecules that make up his very being. It’s stars, the weight of planets, the all-consuming feeling of life and joy and sorrow and grief turned tangible and physical underneath his skull. It hurts. He hears laughter and music that doesn’t exist and a mechanical voice, a booming sound of rock and stone grinding together, an incorporeal arrow piercing his flesh but not quite his mind. Thoughts preserved in ice and the gaping jaw of a leviathan that should make him terrified but only makes him laugh as he’s swallowed whole. A wall of materials from the dawn of existence, spanning the universe and beyond it and books tumbling and turning and phasing through reality. He sees the flayed corpse of a god, masks and bells and confetti and cracked liquor bottles at the edge of the Nothing and--

The spell breaks, snapping Gepard to reality with Sampo’s sudden, booming laughter. His headache is gone, despite the shrill way Sampo cackles, eyes shining  as he doubles over and clutches his stomach. Gepard bristles, squares his shoulders and scowls as Sampo dissolves into giggles, the previous flashes of the weight of existence forgotten.

It’s easy to put the handcuffs on Sampo Koski, the conman barely trying to wiggle away before looking at Gepard’s face, the glitter he knows is still clinging to his face and in his hair and the pale pink stains in his uniform’s collar, and he chokes on his laughter all over again. His chuckling is muffled as Gepard shoves him into the cold, metal wall, holding his hands behind his back and cuffing him.

“ Koski, ” he growls out, baring his teeth when Sampo cracks his neck back to peer at him with a grin, a giggle. “What in Qlipoth’s name are you doing out here?” He finds himself asking, before pulling Sampo off the wall and huffing; “you’re under arrest, Sampo Koski.”

“Is it illegal to go for a stroll, now?” Sampo hums, “can't a fella just go for a nice walk every once in a while?”

“Is it illegal to go outside the city without proper allowance, protective gear, and leaving a gate open to possibly let fragmentum invade the city?” Gepard bites out, his hands tight around Sampo's arms. “ Yes , it's illegal. But it pales in comparison to your extensive criminal record. You're not getting out of arrest this time.” He grips him a bit too harshly, certain that he'll finally have Sampo held accountable for his crimes. He kicks at the crate holding the gate open, using himself to prop it open as he holds Sampo with a hand around his forearm and another clasping the back of his shirt, yanking him into the city.

“Gepard,” Sampo hums, making him pause, the wind of the Snow Plains invading behind him. He expects Sampo to taunt, maybe to grovel and play the victim, or even lunge out to either stun Gepard or run. Instead, Sampo is looking at him in a way that has Gepard staring back, watching the way green eyes trace over his uniform, over the faded, splattered paths of Pink the paint had left on white. He huffs a small laugh, an imperceptible sound like windchimes, and smiles so wide his eyes squint shut. “Pink looks good on you, Geppie! And the glitter! I’m a big fan of this new look you’re goin’ for.”  

Gepard hopes his face doesn’t go as red as it feels, gritting his teeth together. “That… explosive of yours was not appreciated, Koski, and you’re lucky it only damaged our uniforms. Frankly, preparing a trap for Silvermane Guards is another charge against you--”

“Aw, c’mon!” Sampo whines, jolting when Gepard lets the gate slam shut. Just as Gepard had expected, the gate is unmanned, completely left unprotected and all but abandoned. He mentally reprimands himself, trying to ignore Sampo’s wiggling as he drags him past unmaintained barricades and down the street. “You act like I tried to kill you! Sheesh, are you always such a buzzkill, Captain? Can’t you learn to have a lil’ fun every once in a while? Psh, of course you can’t. Did you enjoy my gift, at least?”

“Gift? I’d hardly call paint and glitter a gift--”

“No no no, not that!” Gepard looks over, meeting his dull eyes. “I had a present with your name on it, Geppie. The explosive was s’posed to be for any of your little Guards who’d get too curious, although if I’m being honest, I’m quite partial to this sparkly Captain of the Silvermanes.”

He opens his mouth, closing it again, twisting his face into a frown. Gepard doesn’t realize he’s slowed down considerably, walking far too casually for someone trying to bring Sampo under arrest. “... you mean, in the duffel bag?”

“Yep!”

“Ah.” They’d been quick to throw out the monstrous, destroyed bag, with a little bit of malice and frustration on Gepard’s part as he threw it into the nearest dumpster not long after it’d exploded. He hadn’t considered it worth looking through at the time, dismissed it as another one of Sampo’s sick jokes. It’s likely still just a joke, Sampo pulling at his strings once again, but he finds himself humming anyway. “If there was anything in there, it’s long gone now. I threw it out once it… tarnished our uniforms.”

He risks a glance at Sampo, mindlessly pulling him down an alleyway he instinctively knows leads towards Backwater Pass. Sampo is staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, chewing on his bottom lip. Gepard can almost convince himself that the criminal seems… disappointed, maybe. He tries to dismiss the thought, stamp it down, but finds he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” Gepard blurts out before he can stop his traitorous tongue. He shakes his head once he hears himself, reminding himself where he is, who Sampo is. Gepard’s grip tightens on Sampo’s arm, he picks up the pace, screws his expression into a frown. “Although I doubt you’re being truthful. Gifts aren’t given alongside explosives. ”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Gepard should shake him, tell him off for being so reckless, for breaking the law time and time again. He should shut him down and tell him there won’t be a next time now that Sampo’s going behind bars. For good, this time. He should stay silent, just drag him to Qlipoth Fort without a single word between them.

Instead, Gepard finds himself asking: “What was it?”

“Hm?” Sampo looks up, having been staring at his feet like the cobblestone underneath them is the most interesting thing in the world. Gepard doesn’t meet his eyes, looking straight forward. “The… gift, you claim you left me. What was it?”

Sampo slows and pulls to a halt, Gepard letting him against his better judgment. Gepard tries to keep Sampo in his grasp, even as Sampo turns to face him, not caring about the harsh, cold fingers of Gepard’s gauntlet digging into his arm. Sampo says nothing, Gepard nearly able to pretend Sampo hadn’t heard him if not for the way Sampo is looking at him. Searching, eyes darting over Gepard’s face. His eyes are always dull, an uncanny, lightless feeling to them, but now Gepard finds himself intrigued by how impossibly green they are.

He goes to say something, anything, to interrupt this weird game Sampo must be playing. But as soon as he opens his mouth Sampo moves, making Gepard go painfully still.

Sampo presses a thumb, strangely cold and smooth and light, across his cheek. His touch almost feels sharp, for a moment, like Sampo’s fingerprint is made up of thousands of rigid scales. But then he swipes his thumb across skin, under his eye and towards the bridge of his nose, the feeling of petals or velvet or porcelain. The touch sears Gepard’s skin, makes him shiver despite trying to bite it down. 

He goes to jerk away (or move closer) but a second, gloved hand on his jaw stills him, fingers pressing into his face and deep into his flesh like roots taking hold of him. “Hold still,” Sampo hums out lowly, eyes pinched with focus. He makes a soft noise in his throat, sticking his tongue out as he wipes something from Gepard’s cheek. His eyes light up, his teeth sharp as he smirks. “Aha!” 

Gepard watches him retreat the slightest bit, the points of contact gone. There’s glitter on his thumb, on the fingers of his black glove. “You’re a mess, Geppie,” he laughs, blowing the glitter away and sending it twirling between them. 

Gepard is… he… he’s something. He feels transfixed, confused, something broiling in his chest. His stomach feels tight, he feels like he needs to puke. Something curls up in his blood, under his ribs, illuminated by the gentle way Sampo touched his face yet how it felt like it dug deeper into him than skin contact. He tells himself it’s disgust, tries desperately to convince himself it’s disgust. 

Sampo hasn’t moved, neither away nor closer. Gepard isn’t holding him anymore, but he isn’t thinking about that. “What was it?” He repeats. Sampo smirks, shakes his head in a way that could be described as fond, if Gepard was a fool. Sampo just holds his hands up and shrugs, miming zipping his mouth shut.

It hits Gepard right then, suddenly--Sampo is supposed to be in handcuffs. 

Sampo realizes the same thing, eyes wide and grin manic as he jumps back, Gepard very nearly grabbing him again. “Koski, you--” Gepard’s yell is cut off by handcuffs, chucked at him and hitting him square in the chest, making him cough over his words. As Sampo laughs and takes off, Gepard finally recognizes that curling feeling in his blood as frustration. He growls, clenching the handcuffs in his fist so tight they crack and bend. He’s chasing after Sampo without hesitation, thundering down the alleyway. 

“It’s been fun, my dear Captain!” Sampo yells over his shoulder, running full tilt towards the gate in the wall. He opens it a crack, slipping through only to pause and lean in, with a wink and a wave at Gepard. “See ya around!” He says before slamming it shut, right as Gepard practically barrels into the wall. 

“Koski, you bastard!” Gepard grits his teeth, yanking the heavy gate open with all his strength, too fixated on catching him to even consider how Sampo had done it so flawlessly. He yanks it open, letting the gate smash back into the wall, the harsh sound of clattering metal rattling in his teeth.

There’s no sign of Sampo, out in the vast expanse of white and snow. Gepard jumps out, wiping his head around for any sign of blue hair or that stupid, inappropriate red jacket. But there’s nothing, not even footprints left in the snow, no sign Sampo had even been there in the first place. 

Gepard’s face burns where Sampo had touched him. He unconsciously touches over his own cheek, his cold, metallic fingers a poor imitation of Sampo’s. He feels confused by his own actions, spilling over into frustration at having Sampo slip from his grasp yet again. Gepard is glad no one is around to see him grumble curses and kick at the snow.

Before, Sampo was an annoyance, another criminal to bring to justice, someone that grated on Gepard's nerves occasionally, but nothing more. He could have gone weeks, sometimes months without Sampo stirring up trouble right in front of him, probably working in the shadows or keeping a low profile. Sampo Koski was always their most wanted criminal since he’d started with his scams, he had an extensive record that would make any lawyer sweat, but he was still… different, before the Stellaron was sealed. 

Now, Gepard is lucky to even go a week or sometimes a few days without Sampo disrupting his patrols, being caught red handed pilfering supplies on the frontlines, peddling his scams in Overworld streets or scavenging through the snow out in the Cold Plains. It’s practically a daily occurrence at this point; Sampo has become a persistent thorn in his side, a headache he can’t get rid of. 

Gepard’s position doesn’t allow him to fixate so wholeheartedly on a single thing: he has patrols to maintain and delegate; he needs to account for the number of Silvermane Guards on duty, their hours and positions; assess numerous reports from both citizens and Silvermane’s themselves; oversee expeditions outside of the city, assure that research parties have escorts as requested or needed. The reestablished route between the Overworld and Underworld had added a slew of issues and responsibilities, from needing to figure out how the Silvermane Guards are going to establish themselves in the Underworld alongside Wildfire, to dealing with the flood of new recruits inspired by the Trailblazers. The increase in criminal activity was a given, too, with illegal trade now easier between the two layers of Belobog. 

But Sampo has been usurping Gepard’s time, his attention. When Gepard wakes up in the morning, Sampo is like a foggy, aching thought in the back of his mind. Gepard doesn’t dream often, or at least not ones he recalls, but when he blinks awake just minutes before his alarm goes off, he thinks he dreamt of the conman. The memory is vague, tired, incomplete, like he’s watching his own dreams through smoke, but pieces of it rise through the haze; laughter, glasses clinking together in cheers, inhuman green eyes, a grin full of too many teeth, low words sung in a language Gepard couldn’t understand, Sampo saying something that’s just outside of Gepard’s reach.

His chest feels weird, heavy as he rubs his eyes. As he wakes up, annoyance and frustration already settle like a pit in his stomach. It’s bad enough that Sampo seems to infiltrate every aspect of his job, but invading his dreams, too? 

He just sighs, sits up, staring down at his alarm clock right as it starts beeping once it hits 5am. He barely lets it make much noise, tapping it off before throwing his blankets off himself. Gepard goes about his typical morning; making his bed, getting dressed in something casual with full knowledge his (new, unstained) uniform waits for him in his office, watering his plants, grabbing something to eat out of his fridge, and taking another moment to stare at his plants and wonder why some of them are wilting with a soft frown. He still can’t seem to get the hang of any of the seeds Lynx gifts him, nor the potted plants the florist gives him with a pitying look. He gives his withering projects one last glance before stepping out of his front door.

His apartment complex is far enough from the Administrative District that he could take the tram, but Gepard enjoys the walk. The cold morning air always manages to pierce his skin and shake any last remnants of sleep that clings to him. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, the streetlights still on overhead and illuminating the empty streets. The world has a sort of quiet, subdued feeling to it this early in the morning, like Gepard is the only one around. Right now, he’s not the Captain of the Silvermane Guards, heading in to work. He’s just… him. The only person alive. 

It doesn’t last long, though. Gepard’s comforting isolation is short-lived, other early risers making their appearances in front of Qlioth Fort. Guards stationed overnight nod at Gepard, salute or shout out their hellos. Gepard is used to finding Silvermane Guards nodding off during their late night posts, but he’s glad to find he doesn’t need to this morning. 

“G’morning, sir,” one of the Guards hums as he walks up the stairs into the Fort, her partner stationed on the other side of the door nodding towards him. Gepard responds with a nod of his own, going through without a word, only for the Guard to jump to attention and make him pause. “Oh! Almost forgot, but I believe Pela has something to discuss with you.”

Gepard raises his eyebrows. Pela tends to be an early riser, even before she's meant to come into work, but her early mornings didn't often involve him. “She's here already?” 

“More like she never left,” the second Guard says with a sigh, her voice gruff with a sort of exasperated shake of her head. “Heard her ramblin’ while marching down the halls or in her own office, so she'll likely hunt you down in no time, sir.” 

Gepard's frown deepens, a sort of worried confusion making him hum and give a half-hearted thanks before vanishing in the Fort. Whatever has Pela's full attention now seems to involve him, somehow, and it makes him dread whatever it could possibly be. More than that, though, he's worried about how he's going to possibly convince Pela to rest or take the rest of the day off. Maybe he could enlist Lady Bronya's help, depending on how stubborn Pela will be.

Gepard's office is, despite his protests, one of the largest in the Fort. Excluding the Supreme Guardian's, of course. His office is on the second story, overlooking the training grounds where the Silvermane Guards undergo their routines. It was built less like an office and more like a small studio apartment, with a personal, private room no larger than a walk in closet attached and a bathroom. His desk filled in the center main office, a sad potted plant in the corner by the massive window overlooking the courtyard. Bookshelves lined the left wall, filing cabinets in the corners behind the desk. two armchairs sat For any guests facing his desk, although they usually ended up being stacked up with more papers and files when his desk was overrun. Gepard had tried to keep things in order, the mess always driving him crazy, but disarray always crept in not long after he'd cleaned it all up. 

Now, his desk is overrun by papers, reports and files. Gepard sucks in a breath, wincing at them; he knows they weren’t there the night before. Whichever poor secretary was working early had probably dropped them in his office not long before Gepard himself showed up. He picks up one report off the top, skimming over it; it seems to be a Silvermane’s account of the ‘paint bomb’ incident. Gepard drops it with a huff, quickly turning into the closet.

The new uniform he slips into is exactly like the previous one, no differences in design or style or the type of fabric. The only change being that it’s no longer stained pink or sparkly, something Gepard is absolutely grateful for. He’d gotten used to kids gawking and giggling, people raising his eyebrows at him or snorting behind their hands as he passed. But he was glad to be rid of it. 

Gepard settles into the chair behind his desk, cracking his neck and stretching his arms above his head with a groan before picking through the documents. He picks up the paint bomb incident report and puts it on the corner of his desk, putting it out of his mind. The next document has him frowning though. And the next, the next, and the one under that, all making him raise his eyebrows. 

A civilian’s account of a chase between Gepard and Sampo that resulted in Gepard knocking over a heater and causing it to malfunction. An inventory report with additional footnotes regarding a time Sampo stole medical supplies while Gepard was on duty. Another civilian, who’d witnessed Gepard experiencing the full effects of Sampo’s smoke bombs. A Silvermane Guard’s account of an operation Gepard led in the Underworld, where they had confronted a smuggling operation, only for Sampo to somehow appear and draw Gepard’s ire despite, for once, being uninvolved. Another Guard who’d patrolled the outer walls in the Cold Plains with Gepard, where Sampo once again sent them on a wild goose chase for hours. Sampo stealing, Sampo caught peddling some scam, Sampo smuggling something into the walls of Belobog, Sampo, Sampo, Sampo. All during Gepard’s shifts.

A knock on the door, small but steady, makes him jump. “Come in,” Gepard calls out as he snaps his head up, rolling his shoulders. He hadn’t noticed himself tensing up, curling over the documents as he poured through them.

The door creaks as it’s shoved open, Pela tilting her head into the office before stepping in fully and closing it behind her. “Goodmorning, Captain,” she says with a hum, holding another file to her chest. Her eyes glance down to the documents on Gepard’s desk, now disturbed and scattered around as he’d picked through them. “I see you’ve taken the chance to look them over. Sorry, I meant to be here and talk about the reports with you right away, but I got… sidetracked.”

“No need to apologize, Officer Pela,” Gepard responds, trying to shuffle the papers back into some semblance of order again. “I haven’t been in long, and only really got a chance to look them over.” Pela raises an eyebrow at that, a sort of inquisitive shine in her eyes that makes Gepard squirm. “Oh? Good! Tell me, did you notice anything?”

“Is… this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Gepard knits his eyebrows together, looking between the documents and Pela. “I am well aware of Koski's criminal activities, especially considering I was present in some way for most of them--”

“Precisely!” Pela yells with a hop, clutching the file to her chest. “Gepard, Sampo Koski’s activities have been strange lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed it. I was filing the latest… incident away last night when I started noticing a pattern--”

“Officer Pela, have you actually been here working all night?” Pela claps her mouth shut at Gepard’s words. The bags under her bright, wide eyes are obvious, even when she ducks her head slightly and the sunlight shines on her glasses. “Well, yes, but for good reason! Look.”

She rushes to the desk, hovering over it beside him. She starts shuffling through the numerous documents herself, picking a report out seemingly at random and holding it up between her fingers. “Here, an incident where Sampo Koski was caught in the back alleys of Backwater Pass, intending to meet with someone interested in purchasing his smuggled goods. Such was what he said, when you interrupted him and documented what he’d said when trying to apprehend him. But allegedly no one ever showed up when we posted Guards to keep watch for this ‘client’. Or here!” She drops it unceremoniously, grabbing another one and holding it in front of them. “You were on a patrol of the outer wall, and found Koski, only to lose him in the Cold Plains. Or this!” 

Pela whirls on Gepard, waving a file in his face. “When clearing out an encroaching group of fragmentum at the frontlines, you found Koski already fighting them! Even then, he was there! For no blatant reason. Why?”

“I… recall that, yes,” Gepard says slowly, taking it from Pela’s hand to at least keep her from smothering him with it. It’s true, he remembers it clearly, as he does with most incidents he’s involved with; the fragmentum had been erratic since the Stellaron was sealed, and had grouped up unusually and far too close to the city. Gepard had struggled to organize a well rounded group of Silvermane Guards to handle it with him, many of them too inexperienced or unwilling to go into the Cold Plains and confront the monsters. The region they were in was difficult, narrow ravines and glacial bodies that made it difficult for a large group to navigate. By the time he’d lead them there, though, the fragmentum were disjointed and scattered, many injured or dead and crackling in the snow. Gepard almost didn’t see Sampo, catching barely the sound of a sharp inhaled laugh and a curse before Sampo had bolted through a narrow fissure in the glacial ravine. 

It had puzzled Gepard, and still does. They’d investigated the area for a long time after clearing the rest of the fragmentum, expecting to find a cache or hideout Sampo left behind, maybe one of the many unknown paths he would take to the Underworld. But there had been nothing, no blatant reason for Sampo to be there.

(Someone on patrol had questioned if it was supposed to be a trap, if Sampo caught wind of their patrol and planned to ambush them at the ravine but was surprised and attacked by the fragmentum. Gepard had shut down that theory, explaining that Sampo rarely was surprised and most likely would have run rather than fight the monsters. He wasn’t lying, but he did omit the fact that Gepard couldn’t find it in himself to imagine Sampo attacking Silvermane Guards like that.)

Gepard stares at it a moment, opening the pale beige file to stare down at his own writing. No one else had seen Sampo, then, obviously distracted by the fragmentum. Some had questioned if he’d seen him at all, Pela being skeptical especially. But Gepard could recognize Sampo Koski anywhere. He bites his cheek, looking up at Pela. “... What are you trying to say, Pela?”

“Every report here involves you. ” She taps the file in his hands, gesturing to all the others on his desk with a wide motion. She’s practically vibrating where she stands. “I’ve gone through all incident reports regarding Sampo Koski, and every single one with his involvement being confirmed and not speculated, it all is on your shift and with you present.”

He doesn’t really find himself surprised. Not entirely. Some annoying, frustrated part of his brain knew that Sampo was always around when he was working, pulling him away from his duties and causing him grief. It’s not a surprise, really, but he isn’t sure if it really means anything. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to express. There are reports of him when I’m not present, isn’t there? I’m not the only Silvermane Guard who’s been subject to his… activities.”

“You’re not technically wrong,” Pela hums, “but that’s not the only thing.” She holds the file up, a thick thing stuffed with papers that rustle as she opens it and flips through them. “Here I have collected all Koski-related incidents within the last year. I’ve excluded the ones that are suspected to involve him, such as that abandoned forgery workshop we found or the unmarked stash of relics near one of the Cold Plains outposts. These ones here don’t have you all over them.

“But.” Pela pauses, looking Gepard dead in the eyes before pointing to the mess of papers on his desk. “These are all the confirmed instances of Koski’s activities since the Stellaron was sealed.”

Gepard froze, eyes wide as he looks at the file Pela holds, down to the slew of reports and papers and files on his own desk. They practically spill over, some already having made their way to the floor. It’s easily three times as much as what Pela holds. “He… it’s only been four months.”

“Four months!” Pela throws her hands in the air, the file snapping shut as papers fall out of it and around her. “ Four! In the last year before the Stellaron, we compiled 48 confirmed reports of his criminal activities. But in the past four months? 135! He’s been seen and reported by both Silvermanes and civilians nearly three times the amount of reports before! And they all involve you. ”

Leaning back in his chair, Gepard rubs a hand over his face, dragging at his skin. He doesn’t have the opportunity to say anything before Pela is rambling more, something he’s glad for; he doesn’t quite know what to make of this yet, how to explain it. Pela is pacing back and forth, the file flapping around in her grip as she gesticulates. There’s the sound of papers crunching under her steps every once in a while. 

“Not to mention he’s been more… I don’t want to sound like I’m complimenting the criminal, but he is very good at staying undetected or leaving barely enough evidence for us to properly connect him to his crimes. Or at least he was. In the past few months it’s like he’s become… sloppy. Before, Silvermane Guards rarely if ever stumbled upon him in the middle of a misdemeanor, but now? It’s like you can’t walk through an alley without him trying to break into a building or transporting illegal artifacts. And it’s always you, Captain.”

“Yes, fine, I admit it seems… suspicious,” Gepard interjects, his hands crossed over his chest, “but why is my involvement in his reported activities so suspect to you? It could be coincidental. Not to mention I work often and with little respite… as some people say, I mean.”

Pela sighs, finally dropping the file down onto the desk. Half of its contents are on the floor at this point. She presses her lips into a thin line and huffs. “Okay, fine, you have a point. I did consider other factors. It could be that he’s just become more active and more relaxed now that the barrier between the Underworld and Overworld is lifted. Or maybe you’re just always stumbling upon him because you are a workaholic and don’t know what it means to have a work-life balance.”

You’re one to talk, Gepard almost blurts out, biting his tongue when Pela shoots him a pointed, sharp look like she read his mind. “But even so, it’s… a lot. Too much. It’s more likely that he’s purposefully active around your shifts and patrols.”

“That makes no sense. Why?”

“I think he wants your attention.” There’s a strange lilt in her tone, a teasing smirk on her face as if they’re no longer talking about one of Belobog’s most wanted criminals. “I mean, it seems like he almost wants you to catch him, at this point. Although it’s uncanny, how he always seems to find you.” Gepard scoffs at that, shaking his head already. 

It’s simply ludicrous, unimaginable, a ridiculous theory that he can’t believe Pela has entertained like this. Sampo Koski is a thorn in his side and it is annoying how much of his attention has been monopolized by him, but Sampo is still just a criminal. He’s a skilled one, definitely, and good at evading arrest. Not to mention he’s strong and agile and quick thinking, all things Gepard wouldn’t say aloud, but he’s just a criminal. To act like Sampo is something more than an ordinary man, that he has intentions beyond skirting the law and making money, is absurd. 

“That’s nonsensical, Pela.” She narrows her eyes at him, crossing her arms as if mimicking him. “This is all circumstantial at best, and that’s not a sound motive to explain why he’d be… seeking me out.”

“I knew you’d say that!” Pela huffs, pointing at him. “Come on, Gepard! Even you have to admit there’s something strange with Sampo Koski. I mean, I can’t exactly say you’re wrong. But this is something we need to look into. Gepard, if we change up your usual schedule, maybe lay a trap--”

“Woah woah, hold on now!” Gepard laughs out, standing up and putting his hands up. “Officer Pela, please. We don’t have time to chase this… whatever this is. And I really don’t think using me as bait is the best use of my time.” She deflates at that, pouting, tapping her foot rapidly on the floor. “B-but--” She goes to say, but cuts herself off with a yawn that shakes her thin frame, bringing tears to her eyes as she holds a hand over her mouth. Gepard can’t help but give a small, soft smile.

He steps out from behind his desk, up to Pela. She jumps when he places a hand softly on her shoulder, trying to rattle the sleep out of her eyes by shaking her head. “Pela, you’re exhausted,” Gepard hums out lowly. Pela glowers up at him but doesn’t argue, a sign that she really is out of sorts. “You should leave early, go home and relax. The Supreme Guardian would be more than okay with it.”

Pela opens her mouth, pausing and closing it again harshly. Her shoulders slump as she bows her head down. “Lady Bronya already told me to get some rest,” she mutters. Gepard lets her stew in her thoughts a moment before she steps back and groans. “Okay, fine! But we’ll talk about this more tomorrow, Gepard!”

“Yes, yes, I look forward to it, Office Pela.” She seems content with his nodded answer, yanking the door open and stepping out. She hovers a moment, though, leaning back into Gepard’s office and pointing at him. “I’m serious! I know there’s something weird with him, and you can’t deny it forever!”

Gepard’s laughter is cut off by the door slamming shut, his ‘get some rest!’ unheard. Gepard just hums a moment as he listens to Pela’s rushed footsteps vanishing down the hall, until he’s left in early morning silence again. He looks down to his desk and frowns. Sampo’s name stares back at him dozens of times, like the letters are burnt into the pages. 

He wonders, distantly, if Pela is on to something. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed Sampo being… Around more. Maybe it is strange, suspicious, like Pela seems to think. And if she’s right about it only being when he’s working or patrolling, that no one else keeps stumbling upon him, then maybe there’s something more going on. 

The idea that it’s because of Gepard that he’s so active now is ridiculous. It makes him scoff, gulping down at some strange feeling in his chest. There must be something else, some other motive behind Sampo’s activity. It isn’t possible for Sampo to know his schedule so well, what he does and where he is stationed. Even Gepard doesn’t know where he’ll end up some days, so there’s no way Sampo could keep tabs on him like this.

He feels antsy, suddenly, a sort of uneasy anxiety making his heart beat. Gepard considers going to the training grounds, maybe taking part in the training regimes even though his presence would make the new recruits squirm. He makes up his mind, ready to head out of the door before looking down at the mess and groaning. Pela long gone, Gepard grits his teeth and starts organizing Sampo’s extensive records.

The next time Gepard sees Sampo, he should be worried about Pela’s suspicions. They should make him uneasy, make him anxious, make him feel like he’s the one being hunted with by Sampo, played with like a mouse. But Sampo’s actions make his thoughts stutter.

Gepard is alone, this time. He’d oversaw the new recruits’ training that morning, said some encouraging words when prompted by the drill sergeant to give a pseudo-speech that felt clunky and awkward. For once, his attention isn’t strictly required anywhere in particular, leaving him somewhat listless. They were a bit short on Guards to patrol the back streets and alleys in the residential district, so Gepard finds himself walking around. He hopes it’s not obvious that his ‘patrolling’ is more of a distracted wander, but the people don’t seem to mind; Gepard is stopped on the busier streets frequently, kids wanting to touch his medals or elderly people thanking him with a stiff salute that makes him bite off a frown. 

The back roads are quieter, people busy with work and children in school at that time in the morning. The alleys are thin, rough and empty behind apartment buildings and thin, tall duplexes. That’s where he finds Sampo, leaning against a wall and flipping something between his fingers. 

Gepard stills as soon as he rounds the corner, barely getting a chance to even think when Sampo’s head snaps up violently. His eyes widen just barely, his gaze piercing on Gepard, that smarmy grin on his face as if he expected Gepard to be here. It makes him tense,  his hackles raise. Sampo’s fiddling hand goes still. 

“Ah, Geppie! My friend! You’re not the one I was expecting to meet here,” Sampo laughs out with a wink, sliding off the wall. “Sorry, Captain, but if you wanted my attention so bad you shoulda made an appointment! Sampo Koski is one busy guy, so I’ll have to take my leave.” He reaches for something on his back belt, tensing and clearly about to bolt. Gepard growls and matches him, feeling for his own handcuffs before he inevitably gives chase.

Sampo doesn’t move, though. He goes completely still.

His stare is… different, now. He stands up straight, tense, a sort of strange energy to him. The hairs on the back of Gepard’s neck stand on end, completely thrown off by this. Sampo is supposed to run, and Gepard is meant to chase him. That’s how these things go, that’s the proper order of this weird situation they’ve found themselves in time and time again. But Sampo doesn’t move, and somehow Gepard feels like he’s the one caught.

“Koski, what is wrong with you?” Gepard barks out, holding his fists up and keeping a close eye on the criminal. Sampo is frowning, now, his smile gone. It’s strange how he’s never noticed it, but Gepard has never seen him with anything other than a smile; whether it’s a slight teasing grin or a maniacal flash of teeth, Sampo is always smiling. His lips are a thin line now, and it unnerves him.

Sampo is staring at his chest. It makes Gepard feel warm, resisting the urge to cover up like he’s afraid he’s too exposed. He feels exposed, and it makes frustration bubble hot in his stomach. “Sampo Koski,” he says slowly, a growled attempt to return to some normalcy, “you are under arrest for numerous--”

“You’re not pink anymore?”

“--Crimes committed against Belobog and… What?”

“Pink.” Sampo was pointing straight at him. “The pink is gone. And the sparkles.” Gepard frowns, glancing down to his clean, new uniform. It is, indeed, not pink and not sparkly, that’s true. Why Sampo thinks it’s important enough to be so shocked by it makes Gepard feel like he’s missing something. “Ah… yes. I… acquired a new uniform to replace the one you ruined.”

Sampo doesn’t respond right away, not until Gepard just starts questioning why he’s humouring Sampo and not tackling him to the ground and dragging him back to the Fort. “Awww, really? But pink looked good on you! I wasn’t joking about that, Geppie. You know I’m always honest.”

“You’re a chronic liar and I never believe a word you say, Koski.”

“Why’d you get rid of it?”

Gepard has the distinct, creeping feeling that they’re having two different conversations here. Sampo is frowning in a dramatized way, holding his chin and staring at Gepard’s uniform like it’s a puzzle he needs to solve. Gepard crosses his arms, trying to feel less vulnerable. “What are you talking about, Koski? You ruined my uniform, not to mention those of multiple of my Guards’ as well, and you think I’d walk around stained pink forever?”

“Well, yeah! ” Sampo groans, throwing his hands up in the air and letting them fall to his sides with clear exasperation.  “All that effort, wasted! And here I thought, ‘oh Sampo Koski is gonna do the lovely Captain a huge favour and add some zest to his boring uniform!’ But nooooo you had to go and ruin it.”

Sampo huffs, blowing at the blue hair hanging over his face and putting his hands on his hips. He narrows his eyes at Gepard, making the Captain feel like he’s being scolded for… whatever this is. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, staring back at Sampo.

He’s pouting, a clearly dramatic display, an act. But for some reason a part of it feels almost genuine. Maybe in the way his eyebrows are knitted together, in how he keeps glancing down at Gepard’s uniform like he’s hoping pink and sparkles will reappear, or just the general way the criminal hasn’t taken advantage of Gepard’s shock to run off. It makes Gepard almost feel bad.  

“Oh… ah. Sorry.” Gepard says, the words barely leaving his mouth before he’s snapped back into reality. He feels like slapping himself, disbelief making his face warm; he’s here, the Captain of the Silvermane Guards, apologizing to a wanted criminal for getting rid of the ruined, paint stained uniform. He huffs, tensing his shoulders and clenching his fists. “That’s not important, Koski! I-it would have faded eventually. It wasn’t permanent and-- nevermind that! You’re under arrest.”

Sampo cocks his head to the side, clearly thinking and ignoring the last of Gepard’s sentence. Gepard grinds his teeth, handcuffs held out as he lunges at Sampo. But his eyes suddenly widen and a (familiar) grin lights up across his face like he’s had an epiphany. “ Oooh, you want something more permanent? Got your message loud and clear, Geppie!”

He jumps back out of reach, avoiding Gepard as he clenches his fist and strikes out, hitting nothing but air. Gepard makes a frustrated, guttural noise in the back of his throat, Sampo’s responding cackle making his exasperation worse. “Koski! Enough talking nonsense--”

“No need to play all coy and cute, Geppie,” Sampo purrs out, side stepping the surge of ice Gepard throws towards him like it’s nothing. Gepard sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Sampo’s proximity, poking his cheek. “I’ll do better next time, something more permanent. ”

He whirls and tries to tackle Sampo into the wall, the criminal already running. “Koski!” Gepard yells out as he gives chase, following as Sampo turns the corner onto the main street. He bursts out onto the sidewalk, huffing and jerking around as he looks around, trying to catch any glimpse of blue hair and a red jacket and a taunting smirk. But Sampo is nowhere to be seen, not a trace of him left but the burning point of contact Sampo’s touch had left on his warm cheek.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

Gepard frowns at his sister, seated in his usual place on a rickety stool at the massive desk in her workshop. It’s earlier than their usual times together are, Gepard having been essentially forced into a day off by Bronya. A day off is, technically, long overdue, Gepard having fixated on work for the past seven days without pause. That morning when he’d arrived, Bronya had been waiting at his door, blocking his entry and ridiculing himself for ‘running himself ragged.’ Gepard had, of course, protested until he made peace with Bronya out-stubborning him, then slinking away to bother Serval instead.

Serval looks at him with a pinched expression now, though. It makes him frown in turn, confused by her concern. “What do you mean? I’ve mentioned that he’s become a very pressing nuisance before, haven’t I?”

“Well, you did,” Serval gives in with a click of her tongue, “say that he’s showing up everywhere. But I assumed you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m never dramatic.”

“You are when you have wine, Geppie.” She lets out a snorted laugh, smirking at Gepard as he huffs and crosses his arms but doesn't otherwise argue. Serval's teasing doesn't last long, though, concern making her expression pinched once again. “Seriously, though. I wish you'd told me sooner that it is that severe.”

Gepard can’t help but huff. Serval’s concern isn’t exactly characteristic of her, considering he’d been complaining about Sampo for a while now. It’s completely unnecessary too, and he makes sure to tell her as such: “I suppose I didn’t stress it because it’s really not a big deal, Serval. Sampo’s frustrating and annoying and Qlipoth knows how persistent he is, but he’s just a criminal.”

“Just a criminal,” she scoffs, crossing her arms and leaning heavily against the desk. “Yet he's been everywhere you are lately? And his criminal activity has just been getting bolder too? C'mon, Geppie, Pela has a point. It's concerning that he seems to be fixated on you.”

“He's not .” It's strange to be defending Sampo, of all people, but Gepard can't help but feel Serval getting a rise out of him. He crosses his arms and matches her scowling expression. “Pela is just tired and seeing patterns where there are none. It's entirely coincidental that I'm present often when he's doing something questionable since I work so often--”

“You are a horrible workaholic but--”

“--so the reports just… look bad. Besides, it's nonsensical that he would shadow me! What in Qlipoth's name could a criminal gain from following around the Captain of the Silvermanes?” 

Serval scoffs, shaking her head and making choked, annoyed noises deep in her throat. She alternates between crossing her arms, putting her hands on her hips, and waving her hands around with the angry words that are evading her. “That's-- you absolute-- of course it's nonsensical! Sampo Koski is weird! He doesn't make sense! Surely you have to admit that at the least.”

“Sure, he's strange!” Gepard huffs out, throwing his hands in the air. “And a horrible nuisance and a drain on Silvermane resources! But you and Pela seem to think he's anything more than that! You don't need to worry about him--I can handle Sampo Koski and he'll be held accountable for his crimes in due time.” Serval's eyes narrow. Her frustration is blatant; in an exasperated line bending her brow, the rigid angle of her shoulders, how she looks down at Gepard from where he sits. Gepard bites down the urge to stand up, feeling like a kid getting scolded by his big sister all over again.

“Gepard, please. That is not what I mean. Something is weird about Sampo Koski, and I mean more than that. The fact Pela sees it too should make you alarmed! I don’t understand why you won’t even consider that he’s up to something… more than just petty crimes and scams and messing with people. And the fact it seems to be getting worse --”

“How much did Pela tell you?” Gepard butts in, alarmed by how much Serval has been told. He knows as well as everyone that Pela and Serval are close, but this was starting to feel like Pela went to his sister to try and get to him. “Frankly, I know Pela tells you a lot, but if she’s showing you reports and documents that are not supposed to leave Qlipoth Fort, then this may be negligen--”

“Fucking hell Geppie!” Serval barks out, slamming her hand down on the desk with a loud BANG! that makes him jump. “Don’t try and hide this behind your rules and regulations! That’s not important right now! What’s important is getting through to you that Sampo could be dang--”

“Why are you guys yelling?”

Both of them freeze, turning to the door behind the small front desk. Lynx stands in the doorway, one hand on her hip as she holds the door open with her other. Gepard blinks at her, feeling sheepish under her scrutinizing, reprimanding frown. He knows Serval feels it too, from how she sucks in a breath and rubs the back of her neck, letting out an awkward laugh. “Ah,” Gepard gulps, “I, uh, didn’t realize you’re here, Lynx.”

“Well I knew you were here, considering I could hear you two yelling from upstairs.” She says it with a huff, marching into the workshop as the door clatters shut heavily behind her. “Seriously, what are you two so loud about? I’ve been trying to prepare to leave the city for the past hour but you both are giving me a headache.”

Gepard opens his mouth to dismiss it, say it’s nothing, but Serval beats him to it and blurts out the opposite: “Geppie is being harassed by that conman Sampo Koski but he thinks it’s fine.”

Lynx’s eyes widen as Gepard shakes his head harshly, waving his hands. “No, no! Don’t listen to her, Lynx. I’m not being harassed. Pela is convinced that Koski is up to something that involves me because he’s been causing more trouble lately, and I happen to be around or in the area when he does.”

“That’s such a simplification of it,” Serval says with a huff, rolling her eyes, “it’s happening too often for it to just be by chance! You know it is! Stop playing stupid.”

“Serval, I am not --”

“If either of you start yelling again I will lose my mind,” Lynx rubs her hands down her face, squishing her cheeks as she scowls between the two of them. “Don’t you guys have jobs? Serval, you said you were supposed to be fixing the gate mechanism out on the frontlines, aren’t you?” Serval’s eyes widen, her mouth hanging open. “Oh, shit!” She gasps out before launching through her workshop, muttering to herself as she grabs various tools and mechanisms Gepard is unfamiliar with. 

“Thank you,” Gepard whispers to Lynx, only to wince away when she harshly jabs him in the cheek. “You’re being stupid, too,” Lynx scolds, “honestly, Gepard. Shouldn’t you maybe be taking Pela and Serval’s worries seriously? I mean, even you said that Sampo guy is causing more trouble than usual.”

“Yeah!” Serval yells out as she scampers into the side room, the sound of metal clattering behind her. Gepard grumbles under his breath, rubbing at his face. Lynx doesn’t look impressed, shaking her head slightly at him like Gepard got caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to. “Not you too, Lynx. Trust me, if Sampo Koski was something worth worrying about, I would be worried. I mean it.”

He says it sincerely, holding Lynx’s gaze and hoping she understands him. Gepard has had the misfortune of becoming intimately aware of Sampo Koski’s behaviours, from what kind of tricks he pulls to where he shows up to what kind of crimes he’s partial to. And in Koski’s long, long criminal record, Sampo had not once hurt another person. The worst he’s done is knock people out with smoke bombs, leave other criminals to take the brunt of Silvermane’s attention, or wrestling with Silvermane Guards to avoid arrest. Mostly him, though, if Gepard thought about it. He couldn’t think of a time another Guard got close enough to Sampo to get in a physical altercation like he has. 

Frankly, Sampo could probably hurt them. Gepard could never say it to either Serval or Lynx or Pela, maybe even Bronya, but there had been times Sampo could have taken Gepard out of the picture. But he didn’t. Maybe in the future Sampo will, maybe he’ll have enough of being pursued by Gepard and actually fight back, but something in Gepard’s gut makes him frown at the thought.

“Well,” Lynx says with a hum, pulling Gepard from his mind, “... okay. I trust you. You’re the Captain here, anyways. Right, Serval? ”

Gepard looks over, finding Serval just stepping out of the side room in her coveralls, her hair tied up neatly. She looks between the two of them, eyes darting back and forth before she groans and deflates. “Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll drop it. But, seriously, Sampo Koski isn’t normal. He’s…” She frowns, tapping her purple nails against her chin as she thinks. “I… I don’t know, but I just have a feeling there’s something not quite right with him. You should still be careful of him.”

“Don’t worry,” Gepard says with a resolute nod, “I’ll keep your feeling in consideration.” Serval bristles just slightly at that, wrinkling her nose. “Of course I’m going to worry! You’re my baby bro--”

“Ah, sorry, hold on.” Gepard holds his hand up as he digs around in his pocket and pulls out his phone, the buzzing capturing his attention. He looks down at the notification, eyebrows raised. “Pela’s messaged me.” 

Gepard i know it’s your day off but theres something i need you to check out as quickly as possible.
Has to do with a smuggling case. We busted what was a stash of sorts for illegal goods and
IDK whatever just come here now

“That’s kind of cryptic,” Serval hums from over Gepard’s shoulder. He just nods in response, hoping off his stool. “I need to go, then. Lynx, are you leaving as well?”

“No, I still have more things to get together,” she sighs, clicking her tongue. “Now that you two aren’t yelling, that is.” 

Gepard’s only half listening to her, his worry now making him distracted. Lynx just waves him off with a sigh, letting Gepard rush down the street. 

It’s not really that far; Pela directs him through back streets and dilapidated alleys until he approaches the restricted, fragmentum-ridden outskirts of Belobog. He barely makes it past the Silvermane’s barricades before he turns down a street and sees Pela.

She stands in front of a small, worn down house with boarded up windows. The door must have been boarded up too, torn wooden planks shattered down the front steps. Gepard rushes forward towards them, quickly slowing his steps when he notices Pela’s lack of urgency. She speaks with another Guard, their helmet tilted down to see her. A handful of other Guards walk in and out of the house, some milling about and talking, others lazily looking through the building like they’re walking through a museum rather than a supposed smuggler hideout. 

Pela catches his eye as he walks up, looking around with a sigh. “Uh, what’s this? I thought something horrible happened, Pela. But this looks almost like everyone is on lunch break instead.” Two Guards talking to the side go quiet as his gaze falls over them, looking away as if not making eye contact will make Gepard oblivious to them. 

Gepard goes to say something, maybe reprimand them or complain about Pela nearly giving him a heart attack, but Pela speaks up before he can. “Don’t worry Gepard, we’ve already thoroughly investigated the area and confiscated anything suspicious. Not that there was much of anything, really.”

“What happened? Why am I here, then?’

“Well.” Pela’s expression is far too ecstatic for Gepard’s liking, as if she’d been proven right about something or finally cracked a case that had been puzzling them for months. “You were technically meant to assist in this case, a supposed hideout smugglers used to stash things. We were tipped off anonymously last night, someone passing a note to a Guard. I’d meant to ask you about it this morning, but, well…”

“Sorry,” Gepard says, but Pela is already shaking her head. “It’s fine! It was probably better I took up this instead! You see, we came to investigate, heard someone inside, and broke in. Sampo Koski was here.”

Gepard can’t help it, stilling his wandering gaze to snap his attention fully on Pela at the criminal’s name. He pointedly ignores her smug expression. “He was here? Did he--”

“Escaped, yes.” The Guard standing with Pela hums, her voice a deep rumble behind her helmet. Gepard hadn’t noticed it before, but she’s cradling something in her hands. “He’d very much been waiting for us, though. Seemed… disappointed, when we busted in the door. Threw a smoke bomb and vanished without much of a word. We honestly don’t know how he did it, considering we haven’t found any other exits. But he somehow left and emptied the place long before we showed up.”

Gepard could feel a headache coming on; Pela’s erratic grin was starting to make more sense, and it made him want to groan as she smiled up at him. “Pela, I still don’t see why you think this involves me.”

“Well, I theorize he was expecting someone else. A certain Silvermane Captain who was supposed to be on duty to day and had been dismissed from Qlipoth Fort only a few hours ago.”

At that, Gepard does let out a long suffering groan. “Pela, please. You can’t assume that. What makes you think he wanted me to be here at all?” He notices then the weight of other people’s attention, eyes on him making goosebumps rise on his skin. Gepard looks around, noticing most of the other Guards having gathered around them to hover. Some look away and act like Gepard isn’t staring, others stare unabashedly with a sort of giddy, humoured energy. “...what is going on.”

“He was expecting you!” Pela says with a jump, pointing straight at him. She motions to the Guard beside her, who steps closer to him and holds her hands out. Gepard’s eyebrows raise to his hairline when he sees the massive blooming flower cradled in her hands.

It’s strange, absolutely abnormal. The stalk is a wicked shade of green that feels too deep and too dark to grow anywhere in Belobog. The flower looks almost like a rose, almost like a dahlia, with dozens of curling petals open wide and intertwining together towards the center. The colour of it is shocking, though, an impossibility. Gepard has never seen such a bright, deep shade of blue. He could almost say it was glowing, if he looked at it for too long.

Gepard’s fingers twitch. A rogue part of him wants to know what the petals feel like, if the massive flower is too heavy for its stalk, if it’s as delicate as it looks. Instead he gulps down the urge, keeping his face carefully neutral as he looks towards Pela. “I still don’t understand what a flower has to do with me.”

“You’re an idiot,” Pela says plainly. Gepard gawks, scoffing a protest as Pela grabs the flower from the Guard’s hands. A small note dangles between her fingers, connected to the flower with a thin nearly imperceptible ribbon. She grasps it, flips it over, and practically shoves it in his face. Gepard blinks before reading the words, written in a messy, wavy sprawl.

A Gift! 

Promise it wont explode
AND its permanent!!!!!

For Geppie 

Gepard is at a complete loss for words. He reads the note over and over and over as if it will change into something that makes more sense. A Guard behind him says something Gepard doesn’t catch, but it makes the other Silvermanes’ snort and try to muffle their laughter. Gepard’s face feels warm, red hot, although he hopes it isn’t obvious. It must be obvious though, how his hands shake as he takes the flower from Pela’s hands. 

“My theories of him wanting your attention aren’t so far fetched now, are they?” Pela’s voice is a curling, snickering sound. Gepard doesn’t pay her much attention, though; the flower feels strangely warm against Gepard’s palms, the petals sharp against his fingerprints. The phantom feeling of Sampo’s thumb, his fingers pressed against his face from a few days ago makes his stomach flip. 

“Anyways, I wanted you to take your gift so I can bring up possibly using you to lure Sampo into a--”

“I can’t take this.” Pela blinks up at him from behind her thick glasses. He pays neither her nor the whispering Guards any mind, shoving it towards Pela again. “I can’t… this was found on the scene, and is therefore evidence. I can’t interfere with the investigation by mishandling evidence.”

“Gepard,” Pela sighs, clicking her tongue, “that’s a flimsy excuse and you know it. There’s honestly nothing left here. Sampo, once again, cleared out without a trace. The few things we could investigate have already been taken back to Qlipoth Fort, and I can assure you this flower isn’t one of them.”

“But--”

“Take it,” Pela growls out, shoving Gepard’s hands back towards himself, “or I’ll give it to Serval and tell her all about this.”

The threat makes him nod, his lips a thin line. Pela looks content with that, nodding towards him. She clearly sees the way Gepard keeps glancing down to the flower like it’s captivating him. “Okay, glad that’s settled! You’re off duty, so you can leave. You should leave, actually. Don’t you dare try and work.”

For once, Gepard doesn’t want to protest. “Okay… uh, okay.” He hums a goodbye, nearly walking into the Guard who’d first held the flower out to him. She snorts something out but Gepard is gone, listlessly walking down the street once more.

The Guards by the barricade into the restricted zone don’t say a word, but their curious gaze is heavy as he wanders past them. Gepard just walks, holding up the flower.

 He snaps the ribbon carefully and pockets the note, careful not to crumple it. The petals are smooth, perfect without any marks or blemishes. The edges of the petals are harsh and feel like they should pierce his skin, but leave no marks as he runs his fingers over them. The head of the flower tilts on its stalk as he holds it up and spins it around, the flower always ending up facing him.

Maybe he should throw it out. Couldn’t this be considered bribery of some sorts? That Sampo is trying to get into his good graces? Maybe that’s what this is, that Sampo wants Gepard to loosen up around him, let his guard down so he can get away with whatever he’s actually trying to do. Maybe Gepard shouldn’t even humour the thought of keeping it, should crush it under his foot and leave it like a message.

The thought makes him feel sick, though.

He ends up back at Serval’s workshop, shouldering his way in the front door. Serval is nowhere to be found, something he’s definitely glad for. Lynx is present, seemingly packing her things and organizing her supplies on the desk. He isn’t sure if he’s glad to have caught her before she left or not, but she looks to him as soon as he walks in. her gaze drops to the flower and her eyes widen.

“What!” She drops her things unceremoniously, rushing up to Gepard. “Woah! What is this?” She reaches for it and Gepard bites back the strange urge to pull away from her, to keep it to himself. Instead he lets her softly take it from him, watching as she inspects it. “It’s… what Pela wanted me to see.”

“Really?” Lynx lifts the flower up, carefully looks at the petals and pulls them apart. Her frown deepens, a sort of delighted confusion on her face as she looks at the severed base of the stalk. “Why?”

Gepard doesn’t respond, instead pulling the note from his pocket. He holds it up, Lynx glancing at it before doing a double take and gaping. She opens and closes her mouth, making a huffed, disbelieving laugh. “I… wow. Pela was right, he wants your attention!”

“She told you that?” Gepard wonders if it’s possible to spontaneously burst into flames; he feels like he’s about to. “Just… do you know what kind of flower it is?”

“The petal formation looks kinda like a ball peony,” Lynx hums, tilting her head to the side, “but there is a lot of petals and they’re much smaller. Maybe a kind of rose? But I’ve never seen something so blue before!”

“Could he have painted it?” Lynx’s response is a cackling laughter, making Gepard smile even as he takes it from her hands to keep her from crushing it. The strange warmth it exudes makes him pause all over again. It feels almost like a still living creature in his hands, far from a plant. 

“Soooooo,” Lynx says, her tone smirking and teasing in a way that has Gepard scowling, “I assume you don’t want Serval to know.”

“ Please. ”

Lynx’s smile makes him flush. “My lips are sealed, then.” She pats him on the arm, giggling as she goes back to her supplies. “As long as you take care of it! Maybe it’ll last a long time. That conman did write that it’s permanent, whatever that means.”

Later, once Lynx has left and Gepard made his way back to his apartment, he follows Lynx’s instructions. For a lack of any vases, Gepard fills a tall glass with lukewarm water, just enough for the stem to be covered by a few inches. He tries to cut the stalk at an angle just as she said, but his scissors don’t even leave a mark on the deep green stem. He chalks it up to his scissors being old and dull.

He kind of wants to leave it somewhere forgettable, maybe hidden among the wilting potted plants so that he can let it wither away. Instead he puts it beside his bed, on the nightstand right in front of the window. He finds himself staring at it a bit too long, the note held gingerly like he held the flower in his hands. Eventually he snaps himself out of it and turns the flower to face the window, towards the sun. He’s not sure if that will help, but looking straight at it makes bubbles rise up in his stomach, his lungs. 

(The flower persists, even when Gepard doesn’t change the water or one instance where he knocked it off the nightstand. It becomes a new routine, turning the flower to face the window. It always ends up facing him, somehow.)