Archive of Our Own

The first thing Sunday notes about this desolate planet he's been invited to, is that everything is white. The second thing is that it's very cold. It's nothing compared to the sweet dream of Penacony he's used to. But then again, nothing will ever compare to his old home, so he might as well start getting used to it. At least the harsh cold that was seeping into his skin kept him grounded.

As he walks, feeling the snow crunch beneath his boots, he rereads his letter, an invitation, sent by a Fool. At least he thinks it's a Masked Fool. After all, it was that crazy girl, Sparkle, who gave him the invitation. It's not from me, she had said, a friend of mine took interest in you, hehe. Quite rare, I must say!

An invitation to Jarillo-VI. Or, more specifically, a tour. That's what the letter said. He received it a day before the one from the Stellaron Hunters. He isn't sure if he would call this a coincidence.

Either way, the letter had written coordinates of where he should land and to what direction he should walk. Dear follower of Ena! the letter read, I'd like to invite you to my humble little above, a planet I hold dear and one that I suspect might interest you. Worry not, I am not your foe, more so an interested observer. I know other fractions have taken an interest in you, but wouldn't you give this poor old man a chance? I might not offer you an answer, or even a solution to your problems, but allow me to open your eyes, even if only for a moment.

The invite is vague, as is everything he could find on that man. Sparkle had said that him "taking interest" in anyone is rare, and she urged Sunday to accept the invitation. Hehe, don't worry Chicken Wing Boy, he's quite fun! she laughed, and reliable, if not a bit of a bore sometimes. Really, the world would be so much more... elating, if people didn't limit themselves.

Fun and a 'bore' don't go together. And from the invite they didn't seem all that different from that wrenched Fool, but something she said did intrigue him. 'The world would be so much more elating if people didn't limit themselves'. Obviously, she meant it in relation to the man who invited Sunday. Although, he has never heard of a Fool willing to limit themselves.

Either way, it's not like he has anything to lose. A small 'vocation' before joining the ranks of the Stellaron Hunters, because where else can he go? He is nothing but a criminal, a fugitive, what's stopping him from joining a gang?

He doubts this pit stop will do anything to sway his mind. It's easier to be comforted by the promise of Ellio's future. Have his wish for a better world fulfilled that way. If he dies in the process... Well, that is a sacrifice he's willing to take.

Lost in thought, the snow continues to crunch as he follows the letter's instructions. You'll see a Tall, Blue and Handsome man, it had said. Looking over the vastness of white, there, leaning against a barren tree, is a man.

He is tall, with blue hair that fades to white at the end. Next to him there's a few crates, about three of them one on top of another. Between his lips is a cigarette, smoke surrounding him as he exhales while looking at his phone, a small smirk visible. Sunday can't help but frown, it feels like a cruel reminder.

The man looks up from his phone just as the halovian is about to speak up. "Mr. Sunday! Good morning!" he smiles, pocketing his phone. "I trust your journey was without any issues?" he asks, his voice doing weird comedic loopty-loops.

Nodding, the winged man gets straight to the point. "Are you the man who sent me the invite?" he asks, crossing his arms and looking up at the man.

"Not even a hello for lil' ol' me?" the weird man exaggerates a pout, "that's fine, that's fine I suppose," he sighs, his voice awfully whiny. "I see you're a straight to business type a guy, I can work with that."

The dark blue-haired man pushed his bangs out his face in a showy fashion as he said, "the name's Sampo Koski," he introduces himself, "and welcome to Jarillo-VI!" inhaling the last of the cigarette, he drops and steps on it. "Now, shall we get going?" he asks, not expecting a response as he picks up the crates with ease.

Sunday decides to not say anything, just silently following the odd man. As they make their way towards a giant wall, the feathered man feels the cold seep further. He can't help but glare at the other's clothing choice.

This odd odd man is wearing scraps for a shirt that exposes his hips, a weird holster-like thing (?) over his chest and a jacket so so ridiculous. It has a small opening on the back, showing a bit of that scrap-for-a-shirt and a little bit of his skin. The jacket's sides lack fabric, exposing the skin of hips with no issue. How is this man not cold? And why wear such inappropriate clothing in this freezing, isolated planet?

Sampo is humming a song the other does not recognize, probably one native to this planet. "My eyes are up here, you know?" he laughs while adjusting the hold of the crates to better look at his companion. The golden-eyed man frowns at that, not amused by the other's antics.

"You didn't answer me," Sunday decides to ignore the 'joke', staring intensely at the other's face. The chilling sensation of the cold earning a shiver. Why would anyone prefer to stay on this planet?

The odd man just chuckles at that, "I suppose I didn't," he easily agrees as he takes a turn to the left. More snow, more barren trees, more cold, more white. "But I'm sure an intelligent fellow such as yourself has already figured it out, no?"

The feathered man frowns, his gaze traveling down to the snow-covered ground. Following his 'guide', he notes the other isn't leaving any footprints. What an odd man indeed.

"Why did you invite me here, exactly?" Sunday decides to ask again, picking up the pace after he spots a monster. It's far away from them, but unease still stirs in his gut.

"Ah, the Silvermanes are here!" Sampo says cheerfully, ignoring the other's question, instead eyeing a group of men in the distance, in front of an impressive-looking gate.

The halovian feels his frown deepen as he obediently follows the dark-blue haired man who pays him no mind. This man is getting weirder with every passing minute.

Shaking his head, Sunday looks over at the group of people in front of the gate. There's around ten men, all of them well build with weapons on them, spears and guns mainly. Their outfits consist of helmets, thick blue coats with silver accessories.

One man, however, stands out from the rest. He is wearing a full white uniform. A thick white coat with golden details. He has a shiny blue cape, black rubber boots and a gauntlet on his right hand.

He is intimidatingly tall, taller than Sampo by a few inches. His eyes are piercing blue, a scar running from his jaw to his nose diagonally and he is build like a damn wall. Broad shoulders and all. Honestly, he can't think of a single Bloodhound who could rival this man's intimidating aura.

"Who are those people?" the gold-eyed man decides to ask, turning his attention back to his 'guide' who is once more busy humming the same song. How he manages to stay cheery despite the stale environment surrounding them is a mystery.

"The Silvermane Guards," the odd man answers easily, "they are the peacemakers and military of Belobog. You know, upstanding and outstanding individuals who fight to protect their city. The law enforcement, basically. Or, in more familiar terms to you, my friend, the Bloodhound Family of Jarillo-VI."

Before Sunday has the chance to ask any more questions, the man in the white uniform greets them. "Good morning," the blond man says, his voice even and neutral. He eyes Sampo and the crates, "another delivery?" he asks, "I thought Natasha has more than enough now?" he looks rather worried.

The jade-eyed man smiles, the smile different from his previous ones, playful, yes, and amused as before, but there's something more hidden. "Nothing of the sort, Captain! Don't worry," he says as one of the guards offers to hold the crates for him. "Ah, no need... Steven, correct?" he asks.

"Just Steve is fine, sir," the guard nods. He seems nervous, going back to his place in the small group of guards.

The dark blue-haired man flashes a smile full of teeth before turning to the blonde guard - who's apparently the Captain - and addressing him once more. "I just decided to scavenge around the plains a little while waiting for my friend over here to arrive. You can never be too full of supplies, no?"

The Captain hums at that, his voice even as he nods. Then, he looks over to Sunday, his piercing eyes analyzing every part of the feathered man. "You must be Sunday," he states without a hint of emotion, completely neutral. "Sampo mentioned you would be coming. Gepard Landau, Captain of the Silvermane Guards."

The blond - Gepard - extends his hand to offer a handshake. "Delighted to make your acquaintance," he states in that neutral voice of his. The halovian can't tell if he's being genuine or not.

Shaking the offered hand, "likewise Mr. Landau," the golden-eyed man answers. He notes that Gepard's expression twists just a tad, barely visible and he also notes how the cold bleeds through his gloves as he shakes the other's hand.

Before anyone can say anything, Sampo decides to pipe in once more. "So what brought you out here Captain?" he asks, tilting his head a bit to have a better look at the other. "I thought your rotation doesn't start until next week."

"It doesn't," the blue-eyed man confirms, "Lieutenant Dunn was supposed to stay for another week and familiarize new recruits with the snow plains, but he got injured yesterday during a fight with the fragmentum," he informs, "I took it upon myself to train the recruits, and knowing that you would be in the plains today, I decided to stay at the gate a bit longer to make sure you and your guest arrived to Belobog safely."

"Aw, so thoughtful, Captain!" Sunday's 'guide' coos, an underlining teasing and playfulness filling his tone. "You won't stay for long, will you? Today is quite an important day!"

The scarred man nods, letting out a small 'hn' noise. "I won't," he answers. "You know I still have to get ready for today's speech. However I am expecting you to be on time with your guest."

"Are you impying I'm ever late to events of such importance? I'm wounded, Cappy, just what do you think of me?" the dark blue-haired man says dramatically, swaying side-to-side. It's honestly impressive how expressive his body language is even when he is holding three big crates.

At the battle-hardened soldier's eye roll, the odd man laughs, "I jest, I jest," he says with an easy going smile. "Either way, we ought to get going, it's a busy day today," he hums, turning to face his 'guest'. "Let's go, my friend!"

The feathered man nods at that, entering the city through the gate, the odd man walking behind him. As he is about to enter, he turns to the Captain once more. "Don't scare them off, Cappy!" he laughs and Gepard frowns at that, his face gaining a bit of colour.

Before the blond can say anything, the dark blue-haired man has already left, Sunday following close behind. Now, they are inside the wall, a long corridor with scattered machinery and dust. There's a few piles of snow here and there, but most of it is drown out by the gray of the stone walls and pavement. And just like that, gray replaces white.

The first 'level', for a lack of a better word, was almost as cold as the 'plains', as both Sampo and the Captain called the outside world. A few spots near some weird machines that glow a soft orange are warmer than the rest, but the warmth is as fleeting as a sweet dream.

The jade-eyed man starts humming the same song once more, greeting any guards he sees along the way. How he remembers the name of each one is a mystery to the halovian. Each guard in return greets the both of them, welcoming Sunday.

Once the duo starts approaching a more populated area with less guards to greet, the odd man speaks up once more. "You must be a bit lost," he hums, "I mean, fragmentum, Silvermanes, Belobog, all that jazz. Worry not, my friend!" he flashes a grin over his shoulder to face the other, "Sampo Koski just happens to be the most knowledgeable of volunteers in Belobog's History and Culture Museum!" he brags.

Sunday can't help but scoff at that. "I highly doubt it," he states, crossing his arms. Distantly, he notes that it has gotten warmer. Was it because of the stone builds surrounding them? Protecting them from the freezing winds of the outside?

"Ah, I'm hurt!" Sampo says theatrically, his voice a little higher. "But guess I'll have to prove myself, huh?" he says to no one in particular while chuckling. "Well then, listen carefully, my friend!"

The golden-eyed man rolls his eyes at that, but listens nonetheless. He relaxes just a bit, observing the central square they are in. There's many well-dressed people around, stylish coats and dresses. All so familiar yet so different.

"This planet wasn't the snow globe you see today," the odd man starts, "about seven hundred years ago, the anti-matter legion attacked Jarillo-VI and, during that time, a lot of the cities and villages were destroyed. As people were fighting those monsters, Alisa Rand, the first Supreme Guardian - basically the person in charge of both military and law - started hearing the voice of a Stellaron. It offered help, and considering they were losing the battle badly, she accepted."

"And the Stellaron helped?" the feathered man frowns, tearing his gaze away from a monument, a globe made of metal surrounded by bright blue crystals, to look at his 'guide', "I've never heard of such nonsense."

"Hey! Argue with the history books, not me!" Sampo barks, "anyway, her wish was to defeat the anti-matter legion. But Stellarons aren't exactly known for being kind and giving, now are they?" he asks rhetorically, "it caused the Eternal Freeze, a monkey's paw situation. Only Belobog, the city we are in right now, survived. And it's all thanks to this baby right here!" he states, shifting his weight a bit to hold the crates with one of his hands as he takes out an orange rock out of his pocket with the other one.

It's around the size of a pebble, its colour is not unlike those from the machines around the city. There's a small glow from it thanks to the sun, making it look like it's shining a colour lighter. Around the pebble is a copper-coloured layer, the rock is probably not processed.

Sunday eyes the rock carefully before the other stuffs it back in his pocket and holds the crates with both arms like before. "It's called geomarrow - some call it a blessing from Qlipoth THEMSELVES! - and, when burned, produces heat. It's used in heaters all over the city to keep the temperature habitable."

The golden-eyed man regards the other with a deadpan look. "If it needs to be burned to produce heat, why do you have such a scrap in your pocket?" he asks, his gaze lingering on a beautiful flower shop in the distance before he turns his attention to the stairs in front of them.

"To show you, of course!" the dark blue-haired man states, "this is just a sampling I picked up in the miner's site," he explains, walking down the stairs even though the crates blind his vision. "Besides, it's not even processed. This one has copper all around it."

The feathered man hums at that, following his 'guide' as he walks to some kind of metro station. It's full of people, although it's obvious that most of them come from less than fortunate backgrounds. The clothes aren't well-kept, with some tearing here and there and lots of dust.

"Anyway, because people need that ore to survive, Belobog split into two halves. The Overworld and the Underworld," Sampo pipes up again, continuing with his explanation while standing in front of the gap of the station "this is where we're going right now!"

There's a cart that is approaching the station, it's ascending from the downhill path. Once it stops, the doors open and a bunch of people get off, a lot of them, if not all, are in the same condition as the people waiting for the cart. Dirty, old clothes and tired expressions.

Entering the cart, the odd man is left standing as all of the seats are already occupied. "Eleven years ago, the then Supreme Guardian, Cocolia Rand, cut off the Underworld. No one could move up or down. The only exception being the ore would go up and the supplies that would go down. At least in theory," he continues his improve history lesson.

A man next to Sampo coughs loudly, bringing his elbow in front of his face. The dark blue-haired man seems unbothered, giving no attention to the sick man. Sunday decides to keep his distance.

"A year ago, the Astral Express landed here," the jade-eyed man continues. "At first, they were welcomed, but then due to a... misunderstanding, they were considered terrorists and with the help of a reliable old friend of theirs, they made it to the Underworld with the Supreme Guardian's daughter, the current Supreme Guardian, Bronya Rand."

The halovian frowns at that. Something doesn't seem right here. Sure, the Express does get into trouble with whatever government is in charge at times, Penacony is a great example, but they are never labeled terrorists. Such an accusation is...

"With a bit of help from Wildfire, an organization that formed after the travel between the two halves was banned, and some friends, they learned about the Stellaron," the dark blue-haired man says, "they went to confront Miss Cocolia, who took their side, and together they fought the Stellaron!" he exclaims excitedly, "however, during the battle Miss Cocolia sacrificed herself to save Belobog, forcing Miss Bronya to become the next Supreme Guardian."

That doesn't seem right either. Fighting a Stellaron? That's ridiculous, you can't fight a seed made by the Aeon of Destruction. You can only suppress or stabilize it, he should know. He's been in charge of one back home.

"Once she was officially declared the Supreme Guardian, she lifted the ban of traveling between the Underworld and Overworld," the odd man concludes. "How's that?" he asks proudly.

"Sounds like make-believe a child would think of," the feathered man states bluntly. "You can't fight a Stellaron. People of the Genius Society haven't found a way to destroy them, let alone fight them. I doubt a planet that has suffered from an intense ice age and has been isolated for centuries could find a way to fight such a thing."

The odd man shrugs at that, "that's what the Belobog history books say. If you disagree, you're not arguing with me, but the historically documented records," he continues, looking at the window of the cart behind the other.

Sunday wants to argue more, but the vehicle stops and the doors open. Sampo is immediately on the move, walking past the sick and tired people around him, avoiding their touch masterfully. The other isn't so lucky, bumping into people and uttering apologies as he tries to catch up to his 'guide'.

When he stepped out of the station, he wasn't sure what he expected to see, but whatever he could've thought of could never compare to the real thing. There is no sky, which is to be expected since they are in the Underground, but the lack of natural light made the scenery so much more depressing.

The only light was from the heaters and street lights, all of them lighting the place in a soft orange glow. The pavement was cracked in some places, just like the stone houses all around. Crates full of geomarrow adored corners of the streets. In alleyways and in front of windows stood trashcans and dumpsters. There was no other colour other than grey and orange with hints of red.

The people of the Underworld didn't seem the least bit phased by it, as if they were used to living in such filth. Miners are talking to each other, vendors advertise their food and children run around happily, laughing together. None of them are reacting to the unfair living conditions compared to the Overworld.

Sampo seems unaffected by the condition of the Underworld too, walking with ease and greeting people with a big smile on his face. Children smile at him and thank his as he gives them candies he took out from his pockets and a red-haired (?) boy approaches the duo.

On closer inspection, the boy's hair is closer to a redish pink, tied in a small and messy ponytail. His eyes are blue, his right arm is a prosthetic one and he has a red bandana on his left one. He's wearing light clothing consisting of a ripped shirt, a tank top and a flimsy jacket that, not unlike Sampo's, covers nothing.

"Hey Sampo!" the blue-eyed boy greets, "are you taking these to Natasha?" he asks, "and who's that with you?" he looks behind the dark blue-haired man and towards Sunday.

"This is a visitor from another planet," the odd man states, "my good friend, Sunday!" he smiles wide, "Luka, meet Sunday, Sunday, this is Luka."

The feathered man raises an eyebrow at that, "I wouldn't call us 'friends'," he says, a hint of annoyance passing through his features. "He's just been dragging me wherever he wants."

The boy - Luka - just laughs at that, "yeah, he does that," he says. He seems completely unbothered by the jade-eyed man's actions and the halovian is starting to doubt that Fool's words. Is it not a rare sight of Sampo dragging people with him to this small planet?

"Anyway, are you taking those to Natasha?" the redhead asks again the golden-eyed man's 'guide'. "I can take them for you, you know!" he states, although it sounds more like a plea.

"Don't worry, I can take them to Nat myself," Sampo reassures the other with a laugh, "I may be on the elderly side, but I'm not incapable of carrying a few supplies you know!"

Natasha... Nat... it seems the odd man is pretty close to this 'Natasha' person. Or he's using a nickname to annoy her. Either way, he's probably closer to her than this Luka guy is.

"Oh come on, we both know those grey hairs are not just for show!" the young man teases, "just let me take the crates and I'll be out of your hair!"

"Making fun of an elder, and you dare call yourself a member of Wildfire?" the jade-eyed man accuses, sounding exaggerated and playful. "Maybe I should have you reported to Natasha!"

"Please?" the Wildfire member pouts, "I've been stuck on babysitting duty for a whole month, I need to stretch my muscles somehow! Especially now that Fight Club shut down."

Sampo hums at that, exaggerating his 'thinking face' before he sighs in defeat, voice whiny once more, "fine, fine," he agrees reluctantly, handing the crates to Luka. "Be careful though! This stuff's fragile."

"I know, I know!" Luka huffs, accepting the crates with little difficulty. He starts walking away when he suddenly stops, "oh, by the way, new guy!" he say looking over his shoulder and at Sunday. "If you ever wanna grab a bite find me, I'm usually in front of Natasha's clinic or at the barracks, I know some great places for a snack!"

The golden-eyed man opens his mouth to say something along the lines of 'thank you for the offer, but I doubt I'll be staying here long enough to need a snack, I'll be leaving today'. He doesn't get the chance as the odd man cuts him off before he can even begin.

"I'm sure they'll be no need, my friend!" the dark blue-haired states playfully, "we'll be taking a small lunch break now since you so generously cleared my schedule."

"Psh, yeah sure," the redhead rolls his eyes. He turns to the outsider and whispers. "Don't listen to him, he hogs all the good places and tells no one, I still don't know where he got those god-tear piroshkis. And it's almost been a whole year!"

The blue-eyed boy's 'whispers', it seems, aren't as quiet as he would've hoped. Afterall, Sampo manages to hear him anyway, "not my fault you've been living in Bolder Town for years and still don't know a good place to grab a snack!" he says while shrugging, an ever-present smile on his face. "Either way, my friend and I are ought to get going. Try to not get startled by Hook!" he laughs as he starts walking towards a seemingly random alley.

In the distance, Luka nods and yells a 'have fun!', Sunday notes. Shaking his head, he decides to follow the odd man again. He takes strange turns and soon the two reach a quiet street with one lonesome stall.

A short man is behind it. He is littered with scars and his hands are shaky, but the aroma that fills the air is sweet. It smells delicious and the feathered man's mouth waters slightly, reminding him that he hasn't eaten all day.

"Hey Sergei!" the jade-eyed man greets, his smile wide as he waves his head, "how are you? How are the kids?" he asks, leaning against the counter of the stall.

"Sampo, my boy!" the man smiles back. He can't be older than fifty, with faded brown hair and warm amber eyes. "It's been going, it's been going. Tonia and Anton went on a school trip yesterday, actually! It was their first one, can you believe it?" he asks, eager to share his kid's experiences.

"So I've heard," the odd man's smile softens just a tad. "Alina was telling me all about it yesterday. She also told me they were selling small books with different cake recipes, I'm guessing Anton got one?"

"Oh, yes! He got so excited when he showed me that we spent all day yesterday baking different cakes!" the scarred man's smile widens as he recalls, "I even have some on me right now, give me a second!" he says as he ruffles through some hidden cabinets.

Sampo's eyes soften in a way that can only be described as fondness before he turns towards the halovian, a familiar playfulness returning in his gaze. "I haven't introduced you two, have I?" he asks rhetorically, "this is Sergei Ivanov, previous Captain of the Silvermane Guards and the best baker in the whole Underground!" he introduces with a theatrical flourish, "and this is Sunday, a new friend of mine!"

"Ah, no need to be this extra with the introductions, boy," the previous Captain shakes his head, dismissing the other, "nice to meet you, Sunday," he says, smiling softly and extending his hand, "you have a very peculiar name, I must admit. Are there any Mondays wandering around where you are from?"

Sunday can't help but smile awkwardly, extending his hand as well. "I'm afraid not," he says, "there's only one Sunday," he adds stiffly. As he goes for a handshake, he notices the brown-haired man to be sitting in a wheelchair. His eyes widen just a tad and his posture stiffens slightly.

The feathered man is not sure if the other two notice the minor change in his demeanor, but if they did, they don't mention it. Either way, Sergei goes on with no visible changes in his attitude. "It's a beautiful name," he compliments, handing a baked good, "your mother must've wanted you to stand out, then. If I had kids of my own I would've named them something unique like you."

The golden-eyed man feels a knot forming in his throat as he can pathetically choke a small 'thank you' before taking a bite of the... sweet? He's pleasantly surprised when he tastes potato and takes another bite, this time a bit bigger. As he chews, however, he does a double take. Swallowing, he asks, "wait, if you had kids? Are Anton and Tonia not your own?"

The previous Captain laughs at that, "they're my nephews, my brother's kids," he explains before cleaning his throat a bit forcefully, "I... I can't have kids. As Captain I didn't have the time to engage in relationships and I was forced to retire almost twenty years ago after a particularly hard battle," he recalls, "have been paralyzed from my waist down since then."

Sunday blinks at that, he wasn't expecting to actually learn why the man was in a wheelchair. He could've guessed, sure, but it was still a bit unexpected. He doesn't really have time to dwell on this as the dark blue-haired man speaks up once more.

"People in the Overworld still sing his praises!" Sampo says, taking a baked good in his hand. "As hard as that battle was, our Sergei over here still powered through!" he exclaims before taking a bite, munching happily. "There's even a monument in his honour!"

"Oh hush, you," the amber-eyed man waves a dismissive hand towards the tall man's direction. "I did what was needed of me to ensue my men's survival, something that every Captain in my position would've done."

The odd man just shrugs at that as he continues chewing on the baked goods. The halovian decides to follow his lead and shove as many of those pastries in his mouth as he can. For an ex-soldier, he is a great cook, something he would never expect. Kind of makes him wonder about another guard and if he had any skills he didn't know about...

Soon, the two are done with their snacks. The jade-eyed man stretches leisurely, his hands above his head and palms facing the ceiling of the Underworld. "Great piroshkis as always, my friend!" he praises easily, "but we ought to get going, our schedule is a little full today."

Sampo starts walking away, waving goodbye to the man behind the stall. Said man gets ready to say something, but he doesn't manage to as the feathered man cuts him off before he can even begin. "Aren't you going to pay him?" he asks.

"Oh, don't worry about it, lad," the brown-haired man smiles, "I don't sell my piroshkis, I give them out for free," he explains. "Been doing so since I've met this boy right here," he says, moving his head to point at the dark blue-haired man.

Sunday finds himself blinking at the man dumpily, like he has grown two heads. "...Why?" he decides to ask hesitantly, "your product is of great quality, you could easily start a small business if you advertise yourself correctly. Why would you pass up on that opportunity?"

"I get enough from my pension to live comfortably and then some," the amber-eyed man answers easily, "plus, the Underworld isn't in the greatest condition, other stall vendors need the money more than I do."

He says that, yet it feels like it's the whole true is something left unsaid. The dark blue-haired man knows this too, if his cryptic smile is anything to go by. The previous Captain's gaze is complicated, filled to the brim with confusing emotions and feelings, yet the feathered man can discern only one, shame.

"Either way, we really got to get going," the odd man speaks up with his usual cheery tone, "I wanted to talk to Natasha before the opening ceremony."

"Opening ceremony?" the golden-eyed man repeats, "what opening ceremony? You haven't mentioned anything about it," he frowns, looking at his 'guide' with a suspicious gaze.

Sergei chuckles at that, saying, "the Captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard Landau, is finally going to do something after becoming the head Landau," he explains, "there's an opening ceremony today, although we don't know what it is for. He said it's a surprise."

"I see, thank you, Mr. Ivanov," the halovian nods, thinking, just who is this Natasha? Is she a friend or is she one of the people organizing the event? before turning towards the jade-eyed man, who's still smiling, "you could've told me of your plans before dragging me all over Jar- Belobog, you know."

Sampo just laughs at that awkwardly and the brown-haired man shakes his head, "he's always like that, lad, don't take it personally," he informs, "you don't even know you're part of his schemes until you are five-steps in his plans and it's too late to back down," he laughs.

"Hey! There's no more schemes from good ol' Sampo Koski!" the dark blue-haired man proclaims, "Sampo Koski's a changed man!" with his hands on his exposed hips. Sunday raises an eyebrow at that, but he doesn't have time to ask as the other continues, "anyhow, we really need to go. See ya Mr. Sergei! I hope to see you at the ceremony!"

With that, the odd man starts walking towards yet another alleyway, with the golden-eyed man shuffling to catch up to him. More broken down homes and trash littered streets greet the duo, although one of them is still getting used to the unclean sight while the other is walking without a single issue.

The silence feels a bit suffocating for one of them. It seems the 'guide' has no problem walking in the quiet and is waiting for the other to speak first. The feathered man cracks easily as curiosity fills him. "That was not the whole story, was it?" he decides to ask, "with Mr. Ivanov I mean."

The jade-eyed man hums at that, hands in his pockets as he takes another turn. "Of course it's not, did ya expect him to spill his bleeding heart out to ya?" he asks with a chuckle, "that's a third meeting kind of thing, you know?" he laughs, earning a frown. "But since you're leaving soon I suppose I'll let you in on this little secret," he shrugs.

The golden-eyed man nods at that, letting Sampo continue. "I actually learnt this when I found him drunk at a bar," he states, "so don't go spreading this around," he says sternly before breaking into his usual smiley demeanor, "tension between the two halves of Belobog existed even before blockade of the Underworld, some Overworlders would even go as far as to call the Underworlders animals!"

The halovian hums at that, biting his tongue to avoid asking 'why are you telling me this' and telling the guy to get to the point. It felt a bit weird to him, to feel this impatient. Usually during confessions he knew all the background knowledge beforehand and the penitents got to their sins almost immediately. He has to remind himself this is not a confession.

"Well, Mr. Sergei was part of those Overworlders," the dark blue-haired man reveals, "he used to be pretty against the reopening of the Underworld, he told me," he hums, "I remember asking him what made him change his mind, it was pretty sweet, what he said, I have to say."

Sunday nods along, listening attentively to the other's words. "It's actually really simple," his 'guide' continues as he takes another turn into yet another alley. "His brother's kids, Tonia and Anton, got invited to Hook's birthday party, a girl from the Underworld. He went with them 'just in case'," he chuckles before shaking his head with a playful smile, "I was actually there, at the party I mean. Didn't get to talk to him though, the kids kept dragging me everywhere!" he complains.

The feathered man can't help but raise an eyebrow. Why would kids want this odd man's attention? If he was a kid, he certainly wouldn't trust a Fool. Robin, however, would. Yeah, she'd definitely enjoy his cheery demeanor and unserious behavior, she always liked silly things.

"Anyway, the kids had baked Hook some cupcakes since she had mentioned she likes sweets but doesn't get to eat them often," the jade-eyed man recalls, "they also mentioned that Mr. Sergei helped them make it and Hook went to hug the guy. He told me that for weeks after that he would dream of her smile and wake up just to throw up."

The golden-eyed man blinks at that, dumbfounded. "...Why?" he decides to voice his confusion shakily. He really hopes it's not for the reason he thinks. The man seemed really nice, it'd be a shame if he is right.

"Guilt, obviously," Sampo shrugs before waving at a passerby. "The guy loves kids, always wanted his own and all that," he continues, "imagine calling some people animals your whole life only for them to hug you and thank you with the purest and happiest smile you've ever seen?"

"So is that stand supposed to be an... apology of sorts?" Sunday asks hesitantly, speeding up a little to catch up to the other. "Is he trying to apologize for his earlier behavior by providing free food to Underworlders?" he clarifies.

"In a way, yes," the odd man nods nonchalantly. "The street his stall is on is one of the poorest in Boulder Town," he explains, "he gives a lot of residents free food and looks out for any shady activity or a lost kid and reports it to Wildfire. He sometimes goes to other streets but that is his usual spot."

Silently, the feathered man processes the given information all while following his 'guide'. He is glad his first assumption was wrong and the ex-soldier's intentions were pure, he has heard one too many instances where that wasn't the case.

His heart can't help but melt a little as he thinks about the issue more. This man, broken by the harsh conditions of the battlefield and the Stellaron, who could never get to experience his dream of raising a child found it in himself to find joy simply by... becoming a better person and helping others.

It's admirable, really. But he can't help but feel like there is a reason Sampo introduced him to Mr. Ivanov and told him about the old Captain's secret. You don't even know you're part of his schemes until you are five-steps in his plans, Mr. Sergei had said, so what is this odd man's plan? What is he telling Sunday all this? Why did he even invite here?

"And, we're here!" the dark blue-haired man stops abruptly, hands on his hips as he looks at a rundown building in front of him, snapping the other from his thoughts. "This is Natasha's clinic, one of them best ones out there!" he hypes the old dusty looking building, "she recently updated her medical supplies too, the Supreme Guardian herself made sure they were of top-notch quality!"

With that, he enters the clinic, the golden-eyed man following closely behind. The door bumps into a bell, making a small sound. Immediately, he is hit with the smell of a bunch of different cleaning agents and antiseptic with the smallest hint of vanilla, probably from a candle or something similar.

In total, there's two beds at the far back of the room and a few tables scattered everywhere with a bunch of books, medicine and cups that were once probably filled with coffee or a similar beverage. On the ceiling, a little bit before the two beds, is a sigh written in a language he does not know. It probably read 'Urgent Care' or something along those lines.

There's two nurses, one is speaking to a patient while another is cleaning up a nearby table. When Sampo and Sunday entered the clinic and the bell rang, both nurses turned their heads towards the duo. One of them, the one that was cleaning up a table, walked over to the two.

She has very light brown hair, borderline blonde, and big green doe eyes. She's pretty thin, unhealthily so, the feathered man worries, making her features look sharper and sicklier. She's wearing a light blue coat and plastic gloves that are a shade darker. She coughs into her elbow before speaking.

"Hello Mr. Sampo, is something the matter? Is your shoulder acting up?" she asks, her cheeks gaining a bit of colour as she smiles at the taller man. The other nurse has already finished up with the patient, giggling quietly behind the green-eyed nurse.

"No need to worry, Miss Eleanor, ol' Sampo Koski's fine! Perfect, even!" the odd man flashes a smile full of teeth. "I just have two questions for you?" his smile softens as he clasps both hands together and leans in a little.

The nurse - Eleanor - giggles at the other's antics, bringing a hand to hide her face as her cheeks get pinker. "Luka came by earlier, your package was received, don't worry," she smiles brightly, "and Doctor Natasha is looking over some documents before leaving for the ceremony."

"Ah, you know me too well, Miss Eleanor! You have my gratitude," the dark blue-haired man thanks the nurse, bowing dramatically with a hand on his chest, "I presume Miss Natasha is in her office then?" he asks, earning nod, "wonderful, wonderful! Well then, I'll go talk to her. Will I be seeing you at the ceremony or has your shift not ended yet?"

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm still on the clock," the brunette's smile falters as she plays with her gloves awkwardly, "I just started this shift, actually and have the evening shift all week, so I doubt you'll be seeing much of me."

"I see," the jade-eyed man hums. "Well then, here," he says, taking some candy out his pocket - seriously how many sweets does he have stored there - and handing it to Eleanor, "eat some when you start feeling lightheaded, okay?"

If it's even possible, the doe eyed nurse gets pinker as she accepts the sweets, uttering a nervous 'thank you Mr. Sampo!' as said 'Mr. Sampo' is already walking towards one of the many doors in this underwhelming lobby.

Sunday rushes after the other and both enter a small and dingy office. Tall bookshelves that reach the ceiling cover every wall except for a small opening on the right side around a window and small rocking chair and a smaller side table that has a small teapot and some biscuits alongside a book.

In the middle of the small room is a sizable desk where a gray-ish blue-haired woman sits. It's filled with paperwork, mountains of books and cups drained of their contents. On the desk's left there are the crates Sampo was supposed to deliver and in front of it there are two chairs.

The woman, Dr. Natasha from the looks of it, looks up at the two of them, giving the feathered man a good look at the infamous doctor. She has warm pink eyes and creases around her eyes with a bunch of moles on her face. Her eyes feature heavy eyebags and her cheeks are sunken. She's wearing a white coat with an insignia on her right collarbone.

"Miss Natasha!" the odd man says enthusiastically, "how is my most esteemed client doing these days? Getting ready for the opening ceremony I presume? Is it a new coat too? My, my, you are going all out, aren't you!"

The blue-haired woman's eyes soften as the other rambles, smiling a little, "Sampo," she greets with a nod. "And you must be Sunday, right?" she asks, looking behind the tall man to address the golden-eyed outsider.

Nodding, "yes, nice to meet you, Dr. Natasha," the halovian greets, "I've been hearing of you a lot all day, I must admit," he says. "It's nice to put a face on the name."

Natasha laughs softly at that, "all good things, I hope?" she asks playfully before taking a sip from one of the countless cups on her desk, frowning as there is nothing for her to drink. "It'd be a shame if I heard someone bad mouthing me to a visitor from the stars," she says, directing her gaze towards the jade-eyed man.

The dark blue-haired man pouts when he hears that, "hey! What are you saying?!" he whines, "you of all people should know Sampo Koski does not bad mouth his clients!" he flips his bangs in an exaggerated fashion before sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Especially such important clients such as yourself!" he says, pointing towards the doctor. "Now, may your favorite supplier know where you got this fabulous coat?" he bats his eyelashes, looking at the other in the eyes.

The pink-eyed woman exhales softly while shaking her head, "I got it at my graduation as a gift from the Academy," she answers, indulging the odd man as Sunday finds himself walking towards the last empty chair in front of the desk. "I'm afraid you won't be able to buy it anywhere," she smiles, "unless you decide to make a copy, of course."

Sampo frowns at that, leaning against the palm of his hand. He's not allowed to sulk for long as the gray-ish blue-haired woman speaks up once more, "do you mind checking in on the babies in the upper floor? It's time for them to sleep and they've been getting pretty fussy lately."

The feathered man can't help but find it comedic how the jade-eyed man's frown deepens, "wha- why me?!" he whines once more, leaning against the desk, "you have so many nurses now, why does poor ol' Sampo have to do all the work?"

Natasha regards the sulking man with a certain fondness, like she is used to his theatrics (she probably is). "They like you, Sampo," she states, "I wouldn't be making you do it if they didn't immediately calm down when you hold them," she shoos with a hand motion, "I'd like to leave the clinic knowing the babies are asleep."

"Ah, the lengths I go to satisfy a client such as yourself!" the odd man says dramatically, leaning the back of his head against his forehead like a damsel in distress. At the unimpressed look of the doctor paired with the raised eyebrow, he gives up with a defeated sigh. "I suppose visiting those little guys wouldn't trouble ol' Sampo Koski too much. I'll be right back."

For a man his size and as many connections as he has, he sure folds easily to the whims of a simple doctor.

The pink-eyed woman smiles as the tall man walks over to the exit. As he opens the door, she decides to speak up once more. "And, Sampo?" she says, gaining his attention, "you don't need to bring me supplies anytime you want to visit me."

The dark blue-haired man grumbles something, the golden-eyed man can't hear what exactly he says, and Natasha continues smiling. And just like that, it's just her and the halovian.

"Sampo told me about you," the doctor decides to start ominously, "not much, just the general details for me to know what to expect from someone like you," she clarifies. "Truth be told, Belobog has seen only a few visitors from outside our planet, just the Astral Express and the IPC so you can guess that we aren't really caught up in everything happening in the universe these past few seven hundred years."

Sunday can't help but frown upon hearing those words. Seems like the IPC can't leave even struggling ice covered planets alone, always getting involved in people's business and creating messes that they use to get what they want. Despicable.

"I think that from your expression alone you know from experience how troublesome the latter is," the grey-ish blue-haired woman continues smiling, although it has gained a small, dangerous glint. "Sampo didn't tell me much about you, leaving quiet a few details out. So I took it upon myself to look up your previous position, but, truth be told, I'm not really sure I get it."

The more this conversation goes on, the more it feels like an interrogation. "What exactly did he tell you? And what did you find?" the halovian decides to ask, careful with the choice of his words. "Maybe I can explain it on his behalf."

Natasha nods at that, taking another sip from her drink, this time from a different cup, that one empty too. "He told me you used to be a 'big shot who was in charge of basically everything' and from my small amount of research I learned you were the head of the 'Oak family of Penacony'," she recalls, "the articles I found didn't reveal much, only that you are supposed to be locked up."

Biting the inside of his cheek, the golden-eyed man nods at those words. It seems Sampo didn't tell much to the doctor Sunday's background, either because he didn't feel the need to or because he guessed said doctor would be able to pry the information herself. The only question is why is a simple doctor being so invasive?

Cleaning his throat, "what you know is not... wrong, per se," the feathered man starts. "Penacony, as the planet of festivities and a place that allows people to visit the dreamscape and act out their fantasies, has the obligation of being safe and magical for as long as guests are there. I was just looking for a more... permanent solution."

"To permanently stay in the dream or to find a way to have those dreams become a reality?" the doctor asks carefully, her words cautiously and mindfully picked as she stares into the other's soul. "Because both options are unrealistic."

As the pink-eyed woman's gaze sharpens, the halovian feels more and more as if he is a butterfly pinned to a desk and inspected. Swallowing, he distantly wonders if he can even lie to this woman. It feels as though she can see right through him.

No, that's not it, the golden-eyed man realizes. Her questions are on point because she already knows everything, either from Sampo or form her independent research. There's no way she doesn't, with her pointed gaze and victorious glint in her eyes.

Seeing no response, the grey-ish blue-haired woman blinks a bit. "I apologize, it's non of my business," she apologizes, shaking her head. "I realize I tend to be very... 'intense', as Sampo puts it, when it comes to asking for information," she takes another sip, again from a different cup, again empty.

With those words, Sunday feels himself relax. He didn't even realize when he tensed up. It felt weird to be considered a 'threat' outside of political reasons, foreign even. He is used to being influence thanks to his ranking within the Family, but being regarded as a man who can potentially hurt the community? He felt like an IPC worker at the lobby of the hotel.

"From my point of view, you are not a threat to neither Belobog or the people of the Underworld, otherwise Sampo would not bringing you here, he may be a bit reckless at time but he's not stupid," Natasha continues, clarifying her stance. "However, I've been taking care of the people of the Underworld for over a decade now. If I decide you're a threat in any way, no matter how pure your intentions are, I will see to it that you are dealt with."

Again, the feathered man found himself tensing up at the threat. Her voice is cold and unfeeling, staring straight at his soul as if analyzing the very matter he is made of. How can a doctor this scary, he has no idea.

Sighing, the pink-eyed woman massages her temple. "The last person who posed a threat to the community tried to make a medicine that can make people withstand the Eternal Freeze. The moment I learnt he caused uncurable suffering upon my patients, I banished him to the snow plains," she informs sternly, "I won't hesitate to do the same to you. If you don't believe me, just ask Sampo, or anyone else for that matter, about Vache Harrower."

This woman is strange, the golden-eyed man decided. How can a doctor have this much power? Is she a former doctor for the Silvermane Guards or is she maybe somehow involved in this Wildfire business his 'guide' mentioned?

"I assure you, I'm not planning on doing anything malicious, this is merely a temporary visit," the halovian starts, trying to reassure this strange doctor. "I'll be leaving soon, either tonight or tomorrow morning. The only reason I came was because a... an acquittance of mine kept insisting on coming here."

At that, the grey-ish blue-haired woman seems to relax as she nods. "Alright then, I'll keep that in mind," she says, taking another sip from another different cup, this time with a little bit of something left in there. Taking a long sigh, the pink-eyed woman stands up. "Let's go see what Sampo is doing," she says as she starts walking towards the exit of the office. "He has a habit of riling up the kids without realizing it," she laughs.

The feathered man makes a baffled noise at that. "How do you rile up babies without realizing it?" he asks as he starts following the other. Together they exit the office.

Natasha locks the door before answering. "Honestly, I have no idea," she admits, "I don't think he knows how he does it either, he gets very flustered when he can't get them to sleep," she smiles softly, fondness visible. "It's a rather entertaining sight, I must admit."

The golden-eyed man decides to stay silent and follow the doctor. The two pass the nurses Sampo greeted when they arrived. The doe eyed nurse is busy unwrapping one of the candies that the odd man had given her while the other was writing something on a random desk.

The other nurse has long dark brown hair tied up in a bun. Just like the other nurse and Natasha herself, her cheeks are somewhat hollow and she seems a little too thin to be considered healthy. Her eyes are grey and she's wearing glasses. She is wearing no make up, giving a clear view of the eyebags she's sporting.

"Dr. Natasha," the grey-eyed nurse straightens up once she notices the two. "Mr. Sampo went upstairs to help put the babies to sleep, if you are looking for him. He said that you send him there but you can never be too sure with him."

"Hey, be nicer!" Eleanor protests, candy in her mouth as she shoves the wrapper inside her pocket. "He's been helping with the supplies for years now! You could show him a little faith!"

The dark haired nurse rolls her eyes at that as the pink-eyed woman nods. "Thank you, Galia, Eleanor," she smiles, "don't worry, I sent him there a few minutes ago. I just wanted to be sure the kids are asleep before I leave."

Both nurses nod, and with that, the doctor and the halovian continue walking towards the stairs. Distantly, Eleanor could be heard gushing over something, saying she 'got a picture' of something, or maybe someone.

As they take the first few steps, Sunday thinks back to what one of the nurses said and decides to ask. "Miss Eleanor said that Sampo has been helping you with supplies for years, but from what he has told me, during the lockdown transportation between the two halves was impossible," he starts, careful.

Natasha doesn't answer, looking at the other carefully, analyzing. They pass by a few rooms and she checks each one, yet it's obvious she is paying attention, they manage to reach the stairs when she hums, gently hovering her hand over the railing as she slowly makes her way up. "I suppose he didn't tell you," she muses.

"His job for us, Underworld folk, was to bring us medicine and other supplies from the Overworld since there was always a shortage thanks to the ruling of the previous Supreme Guardian," the doctor explains easily. "What he was doing was illegal, but if not for him, many of us would be dead. Even now that his services are not needed, he still goes out to find anything he can."

Sunday wants to ask more, to prob and to pry. Ask why he did that. What's his goal? What's his motive? After all, it is unheard of a Fool going to such lengths for a dying planet. However, unfortunately for him, the two reach a somewhat rundown door. From the inside he could hear shuffling and hushing sounds as well as giggling. Next to him, the other exhales a soft, exasperated sigh as she opens the door.

In front of them is Sampo, rocking two babies in his arms as he is surrounded with cribs of sleeping babies. The sight is a bit comedic, as he can certainly touch the ceiling, making the odd man look even more out of place as he struggles to get those giggling babies in his arms to fall asleep.

The dark blue-haired man is a bit frantic with his movements, and the moment he catches Natasha and Sunday looking at him, his cheeks heat up, saying, "I promise, I didn't do anything! They just started giggling when I picked them up to put them in their beds!" he tries to explain lamely.

The grey-ish blue-haired woman shakes her head fondly, watching as the other is back to rocking the two babies in his arms gently, trying to get them to sleep. "Thank you for the help, Sampo," she smiles gently, walking over to the other cribs. " I think I can take it from here. I assume you want to get ready for the ceremony yourself?"

Sighing with a whiny tone, the odd man nods. "Yeah, yeah, I have to change and touch up my make up a bit," he agrees easily. "Cappy will be very mad if I show up like this," he hands one of the babies to the doctor and put the other one, who's closing its eyes tiredly, in an empty crib. "Do you mind entertaining my guest while I'll go get ready? I promise I won't take long!"

The jade-eyed man says that while completely ignoring said 'guest' that is right next to him. Natasha nods, "I can ask Luka to keep him company, he's currently on patrol a few blocks away from the entrance of Rivet Town," she says, pulling out her phone and typing something quickly. A notification sound is heard almost immediately after she sent the text. "He's waiting at Rivet Town's enterance," she states before turning towards the guest. "Don't worry, he's not going into Rivet Town."

Why should he be worried about entering a town beats him, but that's not what Sunday is focused on. He feels like a child in the middle of a conversation between two parents figuring out what to do with their kid for the weekend.

"Ah, I knew I could rely on you, my friend!" Sampo exclaims, clasping both hands together, making a small clap sound as he smiles widely at the doctor. "Now, I really need to start getting ready! Thank you again! Let's go, my friend!" he says, rushing towards the exit and motioning for the golden-eyed man to follow.

Sighing in defeat, the feathered man goes after his 'guide' who is speed walking towards the stairs. He bids farewell to the other two nurses, both Eleanor and Galia saying 'see you later, Mr. Sampo'.

Soon, the two are back in the dirty, rundown streets of the Underworld. The dark blue-haired man is walking in big strides with the other rushing after him like a lost duckling. "Ah, I apologize for the inconvenience my friend, I had something else in mind on how today would play out," he even talks fast, as if even his breath is in a rush. "Unfortunately, Cappy had to change the date of the ceremony due to some unforeseen problems and it was moved to the day of your arrival. But! On a more positive note, at least you'll be seeing Miss Serval preform today for free! Isn't that exciting!?"

It could be, if the halovian even knew who this 'Miss Serval' even is. He stopped himself before saying that, he should watch his tongue more, it's been getting looser ever since he lost his position as the Head of the Oak Family. He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that.

Soon, the two reach the familiar red-head. Luka is on his phone, scrolling, when the two arrive. "Luka, my friend!" the odd man greets once more, "I apologize to bother you on such short noti-"

The blue-eyed boy cut him off with a hand motion, saying, "shut up, you can make it up to me with those piroshkis later, okay?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and walking towards Sunday's side.

"Ah, of course, of course!" the jade-eyed man agrees easily, clasping his hands together like a mediocre salesman. "I'll be back in an hour, max. Shouldn't take too long, unless the metro is late."

"Just go already, old man," the Wildfire member rolls his eyes, shooing the other away. "Me and Sunday are gonna be around the area, don't worry! Just call me when you're back and we'll meet you here."

Sampo nods enthusiastically and in a blink of an eye, he is already at some alleyway, waving and saying 'thank you again!' before disappearing in said alley. A little baffled, the golden-eyed man can't help but wonder how fast this man is, and why.

Just like that, it's just him and Luka. It feels a little awkward as the later is adjusting his prosthetic, leaving the former to just. Stand there, looking at the depressing buildings around him aimlessly. A few moments pass before the red-head speaks, "Alright, let go, eh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

The feathered man nods at that, "yes, lets," he agrees easily. Unlike his 'guide', the Wildfire member's pace was slower, enough so that they are walking together instead of one following the other.

The silence remains for a bit as background chatter is heard until the blue-eyed boy decides to speak up. "So, you're like the Astral Express, right?" he starts, looking over at his companion. "You travel the universe and all that, it must be really cool."

The halovian hums at that, saying. "Not... exactly. I don't traverse the universe," he states, "at least not as much as the Astral Express. They follow the path of Trailblaze so it's in their nature to explore, connect and learn," he continues, sparing a glace at the underworlder before looking ahead, "I mostly stayed in Penacony, unless I had to go on business trips."

"So Belobog is another business trip to you?" the red-head asks, tilting his head. "Man, no wonder Sampo has been all over you since you arrived," he snickers. "As he says, 'where there is business, there is Sampo'!"

Sunday chuckles quietly at that, observing another passerby. "I'm afraid it's not a business trip this time," he sighs in defeat. "I'm... unemployed currently. Consider this a... vacation of sorts."

Turning around a corner, Luka looks over at his companion, "oh fuck, I'm sorry dude," he quickly apologizes, his relaxed posture stiffening a little, "didn't mean to rub salt on the wound."

The golden-eyed man shakes his head at that, motioning with his hand dismissively. "It's fine, looking back, it was going to happen sooner or later," he looks ahead, avoiding the other's gaze. "It was just a matter of time."

Looking back, it was truly a matter of time. Even if his plan was a success, Robin would've woken up eventually. She would've realized it her life was perfect, too perfect. She would've urged others to join her cause one way or another. Would she ever truly forgive him, he wonders?

The blue-eyed boy frowns at that, his brows knitted together in confusion. "Why do you think that?" he asks, kicking a stray rock as he walks. "Was the job really that bad?" he looks at the other, his eyes big and full of curiosity.

The feathered man thinks about his response. Looking at his companion, he ponders what to say. Should he say the truth? Will it make the rest of the walk awkward? Will he even understand? But then again, the chances of seeing the boy are small, none existent even, as he will be gone by tomorrow morning without looking back even once.

"Penacony, the place where I used to live and work at, is run by the Family," Sunday starts carefully, looking at the passerby around them. "There are different Families, all responsible for different departments, like security, economy, research and such. I used to be head of the Oak Family," he explains, "responsible for the rules and regulations."

His companion nods and remains silent, eyes wide and full of curiosity. It reminds the halovian of the meetings he used to attend, where everyone was paying attention to what he has to say, the only difference is that there are no hidden agendas. At least he hopes that's the case.

"I was responsible to keep the sweet dream of Penacony to continue existing, essentially," the golden-eyed man continues, and at the other's confused stare, he goes on to explain the 'strange' planet more. "Penacony is known as the 'Planet of Festivities'. It's a glorified hotel, really, with its main attraction being the collective dream everyone can enter, that's what people go to Penacony for."

Calling Penacony a glorified hotel feels wrong, foreign on his tongue. It's a paradise that he and his sister were adamant on building, calling it a simple hotel feels like throwing away all the hard work both of them put into their collective dream. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

If it's even possible, the red-head's eyes widen even more as he takes the information in. He looks around absently, thinking about his questions. Sunday lets him.

"So..." the blue-eyed boy starts slowly, his eyebrows knitted together, "if you fall asleep, you get transported to a dream that everyone is in too?" he asks, tilting his head and looking at the other. "Can you just not take a nap? Do you go to that dream the moment you fall asleep? That sounds exhausting. Mentally, at least," he adds the last part like an afterthought.

The halovian is a little stunned, blinking a bit as the other's words settle in his mind. Usually, when the main attraction of Penacony is presented, people jump with excitement at the prospect of a dream they can visit anytime they want. Seeing someone hesitate and think of it as 'exhausting' is a first to him.

"You have to lay in a specific tub that is in every room to enter the dreamscape," the feathered man smiles softly. "Either way," he shakes his head, "the Family of Penacony believes in Xipe, The Harmony. THEY believe that the strong should always protect the weak and, to THEM, it's the only way of achieving peaceful times and for the universe to live in harmony and tranquility."

Luka stays quiet, waiting for the other to continue. From his expression, his companion can tell that he has the blue-eyed boy's full, undivided attention. Again, the familiar feeling of giving a speech makes itself known in the back of his mind. However, it's different now. More honest, more personal. More real. It's not a meeting or a celebration where his attendance is necessary, he reminds himself, it's a conversation. Simple as that.

"Are you at all familiar with Ena, The Order?" the golden-eyed man decides to ask, earning a headshake in return. "THEY are one of the oldest Aeons that we know of, and THEY were assimilated by Xipe when The Harmony first formed," he informs. His companion nods at that, mulling over the information in his head. "Even though the Family follows The Harmony, there was a group that believed in The Order as the best path for Penacony and humanity as a whole."

The Wildfire member knocked a rock at his feet, said rock making a sharp sound as it rolls away. He hums and look at Sunday, waiting for him to continue. The feathered man will do so, but not before eyeing his surroundings once more.

With a deep breath, he realizes they are further into the town that he thought as he sees a few food stalls in the distance and mothers and fathers talking to their kids, and although their voices are not any louder than some murmur, he can tell the parents are scolding. They are wearing surprisingly fancy clothing, creating a sharp contrast to their surroundings.

"I... was one of those people. We tried to upstage the other people in the Family and let everyone sleep forever in their dreams, so that no one feels the pain of reality ever again. To create a paradise accessible to human kind," the halovian confesses.

His hands shake slightly as he rubs them for comfort. He was so close to giving people the paradise they needed. So close to freeing everyone from the confides of the harsh reality and its pains. So close to letting people live with no misfortune.

"The Harmony, as a concept, holds great promise, and yet, it has proven to be faulty," the golden-eyed man goes on. "If the role of the strong is to protect the weak, then why do they need to shield themselves with wealth? If the weak are truly under protection of the strong, then who is responsible for their damnation? If The Harmony can truly achieve tranquility, then why is our world filled with misery? Only The Order has foreseen a way for humanity to persist, not surviving like we do now, but live."

Again, his companion remained quiet. An unreadable look crossed his face as he was processing and assessing the golden-eyed man's words. His lips form a thin line as he mulls over the other's questions.

Distantly the feathered notes that his hands are starting to shake more and more. He shoves them in his pocket. It feels like the speech he gave the Astral Express is trying to burst out of him, like he needs to tell the other everything. He needs his stance, his experiences, everything, to be put on the table.

"When I was little, my sister and I found an injured Charmony Dove," the feathered man reminisces and at his companion's confused look, he opens his phone, scrolling through the gallery until he finds a picture of himself and his sister with the little dove, showing it to the other.

The red-head's expression shows adoration, a small 'wow, it's so pretty' getting out before he even realizes. The other can't help but smile, that Charmony Dove was pretty. Prettier than any other bird he has ever seen and prettier than any other bird that he will ever see.

"It was weak and frail, abandoned by its parents, probably. We decided to nurse it back to health and, once it was ready, let it fly with the others of its kind," the golden-eyed man recalls, "we fed it every day, took care of it to the best of our ability and, when it was time for it to be let out, we did so. I sat there, looking out my window for three days, watching as it failed to take flight time and time again."

His mind immediately supplies the imagines. It's so deeply engraved in his mind, his memory, his being, that it feels like he is back there, holding the small bird with trembling hands and tears in his eyes. He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Hard.

"Finally, after the hundred and thirty-seventh attempt, it flew. I watched it, as it desperately tried to stay where it 'belonged', in the sky. It couldn't keep up with the wind currents and it ended up falling, shattering its wings and losing its life," Sunday concluded. "The same way some birds don't belong to the sky, so do some people not belong to reality. I tried giving those people the dream where they would live in bliss, protected with no need for the strong. At least, that was the plan, until I was stopped by the Astral Express and my sister."

The memory is as lively and real as it was that fateful day. He can still hear the choir, feeling power curse through his veins, his thoughts were never as clear as they were that day, his mind set on one goal - free the people from their suffering. Give the people the life they deserve.

"And that's how you lost your job," Luka finishes the story, finally speaking up. His expression is complicated as he processes all the information given to him. It feels a little out of place, almost as if he is more used to smiles and grins that conversations like these.

At that, the halovian simply nods, letting the other think. The blue-eyed boy and his companion walked the streets in silence, knocking over the occasional rock and eyeing alleyways. "I don't think I like your idea of Order," he finally says, earning a raised eyebrow from the other. "Or well, Order in general I guess. I don't like the idea that our lives are mapped out by some, no offense, dead God, you know?"

The golden-eyed man's lips form a thin line and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking. He wants to argue that having your life 'planned out' by an Aeon is not as bad as it might sound, that it can help the person find the right path for themselves. He stops himself, however. This is supposed to be a conversation.

The red-head turns towards his companion. "And I don't like the idea that the only way for humanity to be happy is to forever live in a dream. It kind of makes everything we do pointless," he argues, determination obvious in his tone, "like Wildfire being formed to help people! O-Or the Silvermanes fighting against the fragmentum, or the Supreme Guardian's sacrifice, hell it makes even Sampo's actions of sneaking medicine and food for us pointless!"

Does it really though? The feathered man wants to ask. Thanks to those actions, the people would be safe when they fall asleep, it's just that their services... wouldn't be needed anymore. He said nothing, however, listening to the other.

"I know to you these actions seem small in comparison to Penacony or, even the whole universe for that matter! But..." the blue-eyed boy hesitates, lips forming a thin line and his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to find the right words. "These things matter to me, and they matter to everyone on this planet. It might not be a lot, and it might not be perfect, but it's a paradise that we made ourselves!"

A paradise is supposed to be perfect. It's supposed to be safe haven, a place with no hardships where everyone is equal and happy. This place, the Underworld, is none of those things. It is imperfect, oftentimes looking structurally unsafe where trash is everywhere and the living conditions seem terrible. How can someone call this place a paradise?

Sunday blinks, and he blinks hard. He bites the inside of his cheek again, drawing blood, as the other's words echo through his mind and a heavy feeling settles in his chest. He clenches and unclenches his hands, looking at his companion as he continues talking.

"I don't think I fully agree with Harmony either," Luka admits, tracing over a screw of his prosthetic. "It feels too black and white, too narrow. Like, where do I belong? I'm not weak, at least not by a lot. I can fight to protect myself and the people around me. But I'm also not strong, I mean, Seele can beat me easily in a spar and sometimes I get out of breath when training with the Silvermanes. I'm not as strong as I could be but I'm not weak either."

The golden-eyed man can't help but frown at that, looking down at the stone ground. There's an old and torn flyer promoting a 'fight club'. He can't help but feel like his companion doesn't really understand the kind of 'strong' and 'weak' that he is talking about. The other is talking about strength, but strength is nothing compared to political power. Especially in a corrupt society.

"And besides, sure the strong protecting the weak is good and all, but weak people shouldn't rely just on the strong," the Wildfire member continues to reason, looking at his companion with determination. "Almost no member of Wildfire knew how to fight and deal with the fragmentum when it first formed, we were weak, and yet we still defended ourselves and we still found a way to live, even in shitty conditions."

The frown stays on the feathered man's face as the other continues. What he is saying may be true, but his sentiments mean nothing if he still needs extra help, no?

The red-head looks towards some kids playing in the distance, "sure, when the Trailblazers came our lives got better, but it's not like we stood by and let everything happen! We fought with them, side by side," he concludes, turning to face the other. "That's gotta count for something."

"But you still needed them, didn't you?" Sunday asks, staring at the other's face intensely. "Sure, you managed to survive for as long as you did, but for long could you go on like that? What if something happened to Sampo and he couldn't bring you medicine? What if there was a sudden increase of fragmentum?" he continues. "In the end, you needed the Trailblazers, no matter how much you organized and prepared yourselves, you still needed outside help."

The blue-eyed boy blinks and before he can say anything, the halovian is already apologizing. "I apologize, I overreacted," he starts, hugging himself slightly. "I didn't mean to-"

"You're right," the Wildfire member cuts him off, his eyes glued to his prosthetic. "We did need the Astral Express, we probably still would've been locked up if it weren't for them," he agrees, although his words sound... hollow, almost.

"I mean, obviously we did. But that doesn't mean what we did doesn't matter or isn't 'as important'. If it weren't for Sampo knowing how to go up and down, they would've never gotten down here," the red-head continues. "And if it weren't for Wildfire they would've learned about Svarog way later. And if it weren't for Sampo, they wouldn't have made it to the Robot Settlement. And if it weren't for Clara, they wouldn't have been able to reason with Svarog. And if it weren't for Natasha saving them they would've lost to Svarog. And if it weren't for Svarog, they wouldn't have known there was a Stellaron. Do you want me to go on? Because I can."

The two stay somewhat quiet after this, walking around the now familiar buildings. It seems they already made one round around the area Luka is supposed to patrol. Said man just knocking rocks away from him whenever he passes one and running his index finger over a screw of his prosthetic every now and then.

Either way, Sunday wasn't really paying attention, more so focused on his companion's opinions. They are not ground breaking by any means, quite simple if you think about it, but... something about this simplicity was charming, for a lack of a better word.

Maybe it's because he grew up surrounded by believers of Xipe and Ena, but he hasn't met a lot of people disagreeing with THEIR beliefs. At least not in such a polite manner. Most of the people who disregarded The Harmony or Order did so out of malice, bad faith, pain or frustration.

It was like a breath of fresh air. A very frustrating, suffocating breath of fresh air.

Of course, all good things must come to an end it seems as the blue-eyed boy's phone started ringing. "It's Sampo," he informs, to no one's surprise. As he picks it up, "hey dude, where are you?" he asks casually, as if not altering his companion's view of the world with a simple conversation. "Oh, already? Okay, do you want me to meet you in front of Natasha's?" he waits a bit, some noise coming out of his phone but not enough for the other to make out words. "Okay, okay, don't worry, we'll be there in a few."

With that, the phone call has ended and the Wildfire member is looking at the feathered man with a smile. "Sampo just reached the Underworld station, we'll meet him in from of Natasha's clinic," he informs easily, "we should hurry though, the metro waits only for ten minutes and you gotta wait thirty to forty minutes for the next one."

With a nod, the two rush towards Natasha's, passing by kids, parents, workers and some sparse Silvermanes. Distantly, the golden-eyed man notes that more and more people are heading towards the metro, all dressed nicely, or at least, as nicely as they can. There's not a lot of extravagance, but it's enough to show that they are going to a special event. Are all of them going to the ceremony?

Soon, they spot Sampo amidst the crowd. He is once again smoking, standing completely still as people around him rush and speed walk, Luka and Sunday including. He is standing in the middles of the road, yet no passerby so much as glances at his direction, all too consumed in their own lives.

The jade-eyed man has changed to something else, more modest clothing. He is 'wearing' a long, maroon, leather coat with fur on the inside. He hasn't stuck his arms inside the sleeves, the coat just hanging on his shoulders with a simple and weak silver chain 'preventing' it from falling down.

On the inside, he is wearing a black suit with a matching vest and a maroon dress shirt, although the first three buttons are unbuttoned (he really can't live without showing at least some of his skin indecently, can he?). He has a black tie hastily made, the end of it hidden by the vest, silver, spine-like chains dangling from said tie. Lastly, his gloves are white, with upside down hearts on the back of his hand and silver lining.

"Wow, you are really taking this whole ceremony thing seriously, aren't you!" the red-head laughs once they are close enough to the odd man. "Did the Captain make you wear something normal for once?" he jokes.

"Yes, yes, laugh all you want, my friend," the dark blue-haired man rolls his eyes. "Our dearest Captain kept insisting that I have to wear 'modest and fitting for the event' clothes since I'll be helping some of the people settle in. Really, what about my clothing says 'outrageous and inappropriate'?" he complains before sighing in a defeated tone and shaking his head. "Well, at least I got a new coat out of this whole ordeal."

Luka simply laughs at that, "well anyway, you guys should hurry," he grins, one hand on his hip. "The metro will probably be packed by the time you get there."

"Of course, of course," Sampo nods eagerly, clasping his hands together. "We can't afford to be late, let's go, my friend!" he turns towards Sunday.

With a simple nod, the golden-eyed man bids his previous companion farewell as he rushes after his 'guide'. How can this man avoid bumping into people and be meters away already, the feathered man has no idea.

Either way, the halovian rushes to catch up to the jade-eyed man, bumping into people and awkwardly apologizing. By the time the two reach the station, Sunday is a panting mess, palms on his thighs as he tries to regulated his breathing.

The dark blue-haired man has the audacity to just stand there, not even a dread of sweat. He smirks, "didn't think the former head of the Oak Family was this out of shape," he jokes, looking around. "Let's go, the metro leaves in two minutes.

Reluctantly, the golden-eyed man stands straight and follows his 'guide' closer towards the edge. He feels like a mess, his bangs stick to his forehead, his feels tired and his throat is dry. And all he did was rush to the metro station!

Thankfully, thanks to the odd man's maneuvers, they find one unclaimed seat that the feathered man thankfully occupies. He relaxes and Sampo is gripping a hanging strap with an easy going smile. "So, did you enjoy your time with Luka?" he asks, his smile cat-like.

The golden-eyed man mulls over the question, taking to account what happened in their little time together. What he told Luka was... public knowledge, essentially. If he decided to look it up, he just had to search up the name 'Sunday', he would've learned the exact same information. Yet, even though he didn't go into depth about himself, he still managed to have such a... honest conversation.

It feels like it's been years since the feathered man was able to talk freely, no hidden agendas, no expectations, no false pretanses, no nothing. He was just a simple 'traveler', speaking of past experiences with a stranger that he will never see again. He was able to have a true conversation, no matter how small it was in length. It felt freeing.

Not only that, but Luka answered earnestly and honestly, speaking his mind without hesitating. He gave the halovian a chance to hear a unfiltered, unbiased opinion. It felt much more important than it should've.

"I suppose I did," Sunday answers slowly, staring at the window after speaking, watching the vehicle go up, up, up. "It's not everyday that you get to talk to such a pure soul," he confesses. "He would've made a great Bloodhound."

Sampo simply laughs at the other's words, his smile wide yet blank. It's a bit weird, it's like laughing is his 'default setting'. "There's a reason he's training right now to become a guard. Wildfire and the Silvermanes have merged recently and all Wildfire members are required to train under the Silvermane Guards. You could say he's a Bloodhound in training."

The blue-haired man smiles blankly after speaking, nodding to some passerby that greet him. In this cramped space, the - arguably - largest man is able to avoid all skin-to-skin contact, almost like there's a barrier between him and the crowd. Such a strange Fool, the golden-eyed man can't help but think.

The conversation ends there as the vehicle slowly but steadily approaches the surface. Or maybe it wasn't all that slow and the halovian just hated being in such a crammed space with so many strangers and unknowns in a foreign territory.

Either way, ten minutes later the duo is rushing towards the opening ceremony. There's a lot of people and a bunch of guards, some standing attention while others patrol the area. Underworlders and Overworlders alike are mingling, talking or avoiding each other while kids run around in their nice clothes (or as nice as they can be).

The feathered man accidently bumps into a passerby, uttering a small 'sorry' and hurrying after his 'guide'. Soon, they are closer to a small podium in front of an impressive mansion, looking straight out of a fairytale. "What is this ceremony, exactly?" he decides to finally ask, catching the other looking at a small pocket mirror fixing up his appearance. What is there to fix, he doesn't know. "Seems pretty important, considering how many people have gathered."

"Not important exactly, my friend," the jade-eyed man says, closing the pocket mirror with a 'clank'. He is looking around, searching for something, or someone. "See, our dear Captain happens to be a Landau, an aristocrat family," he explains, fully turning to face the other. "Recently, his father was arrested and since his mother wasn't in the will, all of the money goes to Cappy since his older sister is disowned and his little one isn't interested in any of that."

Sunday hums at that, taking it in. No wonder the Silvermane Captain had a negative reaction when called 'Mr. Landau', that's what his father was referred to as. Knowing how high ranking families function and knowing that his older sister was disowned... It doesn't form a pretty picture. It makes sense that people are interested in what's going to happen next. The only question is...

"Why are there Underworlders too?" the halovian asks, running a hand thought his hair awkwardly. "I can get Overworlders, they are probably very invested in what a rich and aristocratic family does or says, but what does the Underworld gain from coming here?"

The blue-haired man has gone back to searching the crowd while the other was speaking. He brightens up for a second before turning to his companion. "I'll catch you later, okay, friend?" he says, turning towards his companion, "I'm sure you'll get it soon, you are quite sharp," he grins, all teeth. He has pretty sharp fangs, the feathered man notes.

Sunday doesn't have the time to respond as his 'guide' has already disappeared. He can't help but frown, for a man that invited him to this small, isolated planet, he sure isn't sticking around enough to be showing his guest around. The question of why he was even invited reemerges in his mind.

Sighing, he notices the odd man talking to the Captain. He's out of uniform, yet he looks no less terrifying. He's wearing a baby blue three piece suit with embroidered flowers that are a shade darker. Even his white button up has a few embroidered flowers, although not as many as the main piece, probably so it's more comfortable.

A white one-shoulder cape is on, hiding his right arm. The cape itself is not all that long, reaching only up to his midsection. The bottom of the cape features light blue snowflakes, lighter than the suit itself. It is held by a golden chain linked to a matching golden insignia, it's hard to see from afar but the golden-eyed man guesses it is the Silvermane Guard insignia. He is adored in golden jewelry, actually, rings on a white glove, an earning on his right ear, linking his higher earlobe with the bottom with a golden chain and a snowflake design.

Even with those beautiful clothes in a lighter colour scheme, he still looks like a soldier, and a rather tough one at that. His right hand still has that gauntlet and it makes the feathered man wonder if there's a reason he is wearing it, is it paranoia? Is it a security measure? Is he attached to it? Or maybe it is a prosthetic of some kind.

It doesn't matter, he looks intimidating with or without his gauntlet, the scar on his face not doing him any favours. His eyes are sharp as he scans his surroundings, looking for potential threats as Sampo chats his ear off. He can't hear what they are talking about but the Captain seems a bit more relaxed than when he was in the snow plains, for good reason, probably.

"Hey there!" he hears a feminine voice say loudly enough to get the halovian's attention. Turning around, he sees a blonde woman with blue and pink strands painted on her hair. She is tall, as tall as him, with blue eyes similar to the Captain's, only sightly darker.

She is wearing a dark blue turtle neck and a loose, dark grey - and ripped in a few places - dress shirt. The first three buttons ignored and not buttoned. In the places where there are rips there's something akin to glitter and paint in bright blue, pink and purple, almost as if someone threw paint onto the shirt. On top of all that sits an oversized leather jacket. It's old and obviously it has seen better days as parts of it are lighter, as if accidently bleached.

She is wearing low rise, baggy, ripped jeans that also have paint stains in pink, blue and purple. She is wearing black stockings, surprisingly not ripped. They look like they have fur inside, keeping her warm and unbothered by the cold.

For accessories, on her hands she is wearing fingerless gloves, similar to those from of motorbike user's gloves and a bunch of silver bracelets. There's a bunch of piercings and earrings, all of them silver and matching her bracelets and other jewelry.

"I'm Serval, Serval Landau," the blue-eyed woman introduces herself quickly, leaving the feathered man a little wide-eyed as he registers the striking difference between her and the Captain, "what's your name? You look familiar...," she continues, curiously eyeing the other. He notes that her nails are painted in blues, pinks and purples too. Is she the singer Sampo mentioned previously?

She definitely leaves an impression, that's for sure. She must be the disowned sister, if her appearance is anything to go by. Privately, he wonders if it's on purpose, that she wears such clothing, bold and attention grabbing in all the 'wrong' ways. Is it a statement against her family or is that simply her style?

Either way, he is about to respond, but the blonde woman - Serval - cuts him off before he even has the opportunity to open his mouth. "Wait, you're Sunday, right?" she asks excitedly. "Man, I have been getting into your sister's music recently, she's super talented! If you two lived in Belobog I would've already snatched her and had her join my band!" she laughed.

An uncomfortable feeling settles in his back as regret crawls on his spine. He didn't expect to be recognized in this isolated planet, only now does he realize how stupid his thought process was. Even if this planet isn't that technologically developed and just came out of a seven century long Freeze, thanks to the Astral Express and the IPC, the inhabitants of this small, cold floating ice cube now have phones and other gadgets like that. And considering all you need to listen to Robin's music is a phone and an internet connection... it's not surprising that her influence has reached to such small and icy corners of the universe.

Chuckling awkwardly, the golden-eyed man nods. "I'm happy to know that my sister's talent has reached the ears of such a talented artist such as yourself," he smiles, his jaw tight as he tries to deflect. "Unless you're not the Serval that will be preforming today?"

"The one and only baby!" the multi-coloured-haired woman grins, placing her hands on her hips confidently. "I might not be as much of a bigshot as you might be used to, but I'd say I'm pretty good at what I do!" she says with a big smile, her eyes sparkling brightly.

She seems genuine in what she is saying, and excited too. Her smile is bright and her eyes are shining as she speaks, but the golden-eyed man can't help but frown internally. It could just be a ploy, a way for this 'up-and-coming' star to seek audience with his sister. It could be that the moment she realizes that the other has no way of communicating with his sister, she'll leave.

"I'm sure you'll be great, Sampo has spoken highly of you," the feathered man continues, by which he means the dark blue-haired man mentioned her once off handedly, but she doesn't need to know that. Inwardly, he relaxed just a tad at the change in topic.

The singer looks surprised for a second, as if not expecting that, before a grins snakes up her face. Alongst the crowd of faceless sinners, her crooked smile shines bright, turning a few heads. It's somewhat commendable, how she manages to grab passerbys' attention just by standing.

"Oh?" the energetic woman raises and eyebrow, looking around until she spots the jade-eyed man. "Would ya look at that, he actually showed up," she chuckles, squinting at the far away man, who's still talking to the Captain.

The dark blue-haired man is handing the other a bottle of water, his smile patient as he is saying... something. The feathered man can tell from the distance that whatever the odd man said was stupid, if the scarred man's deep sigh and disapproving stare is anything to go by.

Sunday is about to ask the other about Sampo and why would she think he wouldn't show up, but, again, he doesn't even get the chance to open his mouth as Serval continues. "You know, if ya told me the two of them would be on good terms a few months ago, I would've taken ya for a drug test," she laughs, looking fondly at the blonde in the distance. "Who would've thought that it would take one case for them to stand each other."

The halovian blinks at that, looking at his companion in confusion. "Case?" he asks, causing the other to turn and face him. "Is Sampo a detective? Or involved with the law enforcement somehow?" he theorizes.

It would explain the surprising amount of connections that he seems to have. It would also explain why it is unusual for him and the blonde soldier to be on friendly terms - soldiers and detectives are usually at each others' throats, at least in the feathered man's experience.

The blonde woman laughs loudly at that, earning a few weird glances, setting the golden-eyed man on edge. "I mean I guess you could say he is involved with the law enforcement," she snickers, uselessly hiding it behind her palm. "Just not in the way you're thinking."

The golden-eyed man frowns at that, waiting for the other to elaborate. "He used to be a criminal," she says bluntly. "Mostly sneaking in where he shouldn't, scams, pranks and what have you. Pretty harmless all and all," she waves her hand away, "the only issue was that he's one slippery fella, to this day, he has never visited a holding cell, even with my brother after his tailcoats."

Turning his attention towards the odd man that has now moved to talking with some other workers, he can't help but be surprised that he didn't figure it out sooner. His shady personality, his connections, his weirdly chummy personality. At first, he chummed it up to just a Fool's usual demeanor, but what is a Fool if not a criminal?

The thought leaves a bitter sensation that he can feel lingering on his fingertips, making his skin crawl. Distantly he wonders what the odd man is really planning, why is he acting like a changed man? Why did he befriend the Captain? What scheme is he brewing?

"Anyway, Geppie's about to give his speech," Serval snaps the other's focus, "I gotta go back stage and do some prep work," she states. "Make sure to stay for the big finish, I promise, ya don't want to miss it!"

And just like that, the performer runs off, leaving Sunday alone once more. He is left to dwell on the mostly one-sided conversation he had with this strange local. The conversation, or, more specifically, the mention of his sister, had set him on edge. It felt like talking to executives and artists dying to collaborate with Robin just to jump on the 'hype-train'.

He always had to look out for shady producers and backstabbing liars, and the brief exchange with Jarillo-VI's singer left him with the same wariness and suspicion that plagued his mind whenever he had to talk business. He's not sure if the familiar feeling is welcome or not.

Either way, he doesn't have that much time to dwell on those thoughts as the Captain rises to a small podium, looking as serious as when he was back in front of the giant walls of the city. Sampo is behind him, hands behind his back with the same idiotic smile he's been wearing all day.

Clearing his throat, all eyes are on the scarred soldier. "Good evening and thank you all for coming," he says evenly, voice polite and neutral. "Ever since the reopening of the Underworld, I've been made aware of the homelessness problem Belobog is suffering from. Poverty and the spread of the Fragmentum has created many problems and while we, the Silvermane Guards and Wildfire, are trying to find ways to fix this increasingly worrying issue, we must rely on less long term solutions as of right now."

The crowd is talking in hushed whispers, all of them discussing the Captain's words. They are talking and talking and talking, so much so that the feathered man almost doesn't hear what else is being said.

"I hope all understand, what I'm about to show you all if not by any means a solid solution," the blonde soldier continues, voice stern and focused, if not a bit awkward. "But, I am happy to announce that Wildfire and I have collaborated to open a homeless shelter for everyone that has suffered due to the Silvermane Guards' negligence thus far."

Overwhelming claps from the crowd, flashing lights and clicks from outdated cameras and a bunch of voices merging together and not making sense erupt the moment the blue-eyed man finishes speaking. They are loud and so much alike to the noise that Sunday himself dealt with anytime he so much as took a step outside. He doesn't notice when he hugs himself for comfort with his trembling hands.

Gepard remains steadfast, standing and raising one arm, saying, "one at a time, please," he states sternly. Looking over all the journalists in the front row, he turns towards someone that the golden-eyed man can't see, regarding them with a small and warm smile. "You, front row fifth from the left."

A young voice is heard as the crowd quiets down, listening to a... child? as it tries to find the write words. "Hi Captain Geppie!" a little girl says, the feathered man spots Sampo hiding a giggling behind his palm, clearly amused as he looks at the small 'reporter'. "It's me, Pitch Dark Hook the Great! I'm here to repre- repress... represent the second Elementary School of Belobog!" she states proudly.

The crowd is divided in two at child's introduction. There's coos and awes, clearly amused and delighted to see a small child act important, of course. But the halovian can hear dissatisfied murmurs and annoyed huffs, clearly some people have no patience to entertain a child.

The Captain nods with a small smile, waiting for the other to continue, his ears a little red. "My question is, will this place be good and fun?" the young girl - Hook - asks.

The scarred man hums at the question, mulling over the answer. He is tap, tap, tapping the side of the podium with his gauntlet as he thinks, and behind him Sampo is waving at the 'reporter', mouthing a 'hi' with a small, soft smile.

"Our homeless shelter is designed for both long-term and short-term stay, we have special rooms dedicated to both, as well as special accommodations for families, the disabled, the elderly and such," the blonde man answers evenly after some time. "We've secured caretakers, therapists and even medical staff for the people who will reside in spare rooms for free. Furthermore, we have activities planned for whoever wishes to participate, from dance lessons and libraries to free education of all kinds and even courses on languages and cultures of other planets."

The crowd is talking once more. They are surprised, awed and suspicious as they theorize on how the blue-eyed man managed to secure classes and deals. There's spiteful rumours of foul play and involvement with the IPC or the Supreme Guardian.

A small 'woah' is heard from the little girl as she takes it all in. "That's so cool!" she says shortly after, "are you gonna have candies too?" she asks excitedly and the golden eyed man can see Sampo in the background practically melting, fondness visible on his face, as if he isn't even trying to hide it.

Sunday seems a few old ladies giggle and coo at the question, eternally amused by the child's innocent questions.

Gepard nods once more, smiling with indulgence at the kid, "we have cooks and fresh ingredients for our residents to enjoy and we are being mindful of people with allergies," he informs the crowd, "any future residents must write down any allergies for our staff to make sure the food is safe for everyone. But I'm afraid we won't have that many sweets," he looks down at the 'journalist' with a soft smile.

A few disappointed 'aws' are heard in the crowd, all coming from small kids dressed in heavy coats and with scarfs hiding the small, red noses.

"Thank you for the answers, Captain Geppie!" the small child thanks, the blue-eyed man's ears pinkening once more as the dark blue-haired man coos in the background, giving Hook a thumbs up and mouthing a small 'great job'.

A mother next to the golden-eyed man sighs dreamily next to him. She has a small kid in her arms, around two years old, 'if only your daddy was this attentive as that gentleman, huh?' she whispers to her daughter. Predictably, the child does not respond.

Clearing his throat, the Captain speaks once more. "Of course, Miss Pitch Dark Hook the Great, it was a pleasure answering your questions. Please raise your hand if you have any questions for me" he commands, eyeing the several raised hands. "Second row second on the right, you may ask."

It's a pink-haired short woman, from what Sunday can see, only two rows behind her. "Charlotte Cryonova from the Crystal Daily," she introduces herself. "Several people believe that the reason for this ceremony is to overshadow your father's arrest from a few months ago and put your family name back in the good graces of the people," she states. "What do you have to say to those accusations?"

Again, the crowd is talking. It never isn't. Charlotte's words just sparked a new wave of theories and accusations between the people in the crowd.

At the mention of his father, the scarred man's face hardness and the halovian can see the subtle way in which his hands clench and unclench. He takes a small sigh, "what my father has done is unjustifiable and I do not condone his actions in any way, shape or form," he start, slow and even. "However, this project has been in the works for months now, every since I've become the head of the Landau household, and while part of the reason I decided to open the shelter was because of my father's actions, it is not the only reason."

The voices around Sunday quiet down as they focus of the soldier's answer, all of them far too interested in what he has to say. To the feathered man, it's a blessing as he gets a bit of room to breath.

The blonde continues, his posture stiffer than before. "In the course of the investigation with Miss Seele of Wildfire that resulted in my father's arrest, I spent most of my time in the Underworld and witnessed their living conditions first hand," he rubs the wrist of his gauntlet, probably to soothe himself. "During that time I was also in charge of observing and dealing with the fragmentum in Rivet Town. Sadly, I've become intimately acquainted with the housing crisis thanks to the fragmentum here in the Overworld, so seeing it affect the Underworld too was disheartening."

The golden-eyed man still for a moment, taking the information in. He assumed to that monsters were taking more land by pushing the Guards back little by little, so how can the Underworld be affected too? Unless there's a piece of information that he doesn't know yet.

"I discussed the issue with Wildfire and the two of us settled on this solution," the blue-eyed man states, his face not betraying a single emotion, a perfect poker face, if not for his twitching fingers. "Calling it a political stunt is disrespectful for both myself and the people the shelter was designed for. As the Captain Silvermane Guards it is my duty to make sure the people are safe within the walls of Belobog and as a soldier that spends most of his time in the front lines, I do not need a manor for myself. The Landau Manor will be of more use to the community than it will ever be to me."

The moment the scarred man stops talking, the crowd erupts in whispers once more, all of them talking and talking and talking. The halovian is tempted to covers his ears to hide from all this noise, but years of enduring this kind of environment leave him standing still, looking at the man on the podium and Sampo, who's observing the crowd with mild amusement, as if analyzing the reactions.

Th feathered man observes the journalist nod at the other's words, her hands moving rapidly, probably writing down his answer. "I see... but what about all the servants that were working for your father, like cooks, cleaners and such? What happened to them?"

The people have not quieted down, at least not significantly, leaving Sunday agitated as he tries to distract himself by listening to the blonde soldier's answer.

The tension in Gepard's shoulder lessens, yet his face remains the same, neutral as before. "We've kept as many servants as we could," he answers, "those that didn't make the cut for whatever reason were assisted by Sampo Koski to find a stable source of income."

Charlotte nods and her head movements make even the golden-eyed man dizzy for a second. "Thank you for your time, Captain Landau."

The moment the pink-haired woman is done talking, a bunch of hands are raised, not wishing to lose even a second of the head Landau's attention.

The Captain nods right back at her, looking at the sea of raised hands, "you, first row in the middle," he looks at a tall man in expensive looking clothing, at least from the back it looks expensive. He is shaking, which the halovian found a tad strange, it wasn't that cold for the man to be shaking with how thick his clothes look. Maybe it's some kind of medical condition.

If the feathered man focused on the blonde soldier's features, he would see the slight grimace in his face, as if he is being forced to interact with that wealthy man. And in the background, he can see Sampo sporting a tight smile.

"Daniil Lzhets, a member of the Dark-Blue Scam Victims Association and son of Yekaterina Lzhets, you're familiar with her, no?" the man introduces himself, all prideful and condescending. "I've heard rumours that a wanted criminal is helping with your little project. At first, I thought it was preposterous to suggest that a man of your standing, the Captain of the Silvermane Guards at that, would ever even humour working with a scoundrel like this 'Sampo Koski'. But now that I am seeing it with my own two eyes, I just have to ask for the sake of Belobog and its citizens, how can you explain the fact that you are working with our beloved city's most wanted criminal?!" he asks, shaking with rage, Sunday realizes.

The crowd erupts at that, all of them talking and sharing their opinion, much louder than before. Demands, hushed whispers and so much more. The golden-eyed man just wants to go back to his spaceship and hide in the silence.

The scarred man frowns at that and, in the background, Sampo's smile tightens, earning a sharp edge. "While it is true that Mr. Koski has committed crimes in the past, Miss Seele and I would've never uncovered all the secrets of the case if not Mr. Koski's input and help," his voice was stern and cold, "he has proven himself reliable in investigating, intel gathering and much more."

More cameras than it is reasonable are almost shoved into the man's face as he keeps his tone politely bland and even, talking only facts as his icy gaze freezes all whispers.

"Moreover," Gepard continues, gaze sharp and disapproving, "I recently was made aware of the help he provided to the Underworld during the lockdown. Mr. Koski risked his life to retrieve medicine and other supplies outside the walls whenever there was a shortage. He has helped Wildfire in more ways than one, and I, as the Captain, owe Mr. Koski my apologies for not helping him or the Underworld during those harsh times."

The jade-eyed man is sitting in the background, his smile softening just a tad, full of mirth, playfulness, his expression slowly changing into one of amusement. The feathered man has seen this expression on a lot of Fools, yet this one feels the most natural, somehow.

With a deep sigh, the blue-eyed man stares at Daniil coldly. "Lastly, Mr. Koski has served his time in community service as punishment for any crimes that didn't have to do anything with the wellbeing of the Underworld or any odd cases," he explains easily. "Today concludes the first month of Mr. Koski being a free man."

Someone bumps into the golden-eyed man while they are trying get a better look, making the other itchy. Sunday wants to scratch that ich away as violently as possible.

Staining his body to get a better look at Daniil, the halovian sees the man gapping with an offended look on his face. "So all his crimes are just going to be swept under the rug?!" he accuses, pointing a finger at the ex-criminal, who in return tilted his head as his smile sharped and his eyes closed. "This man is a menace, he should be publicly hanged for all the trouble he has caused the Overworld! Who cares that he 'helped the Underworld', even that he did illegally! I mean, the damage he has done to families such as mine is unbelievable, and the Silvermane Guards are defending him! You call yourselfves the peacemakers of Belobog?, when you're letting scum like him run around freely?! What a joke!"

Shocked gasps leave the crowd, whispers getting louder, and louder, and louder. There's Underworlders, clearly unhappy with Mr. Lzhets, disapproving, cursing and yelling. And there's obviously Overworlders, silently nodding to the man's words, quietly agreeing.

The Captain frowns, his gaze cold and unnerving as he listens to Mr. Lzhets' speech. "No crime was 'swept under the rug', Mr. Lzhets. More than one third of Mr. Koski's crimes were for the sake of the Underworld's survival and when it comes to the lives of the citizens of Belobog, the Silvermane Guards can look past crimes that were necessary for the survival of the people we have sworn to protect," he says, his voice neutral and detached as he stares at the man below him. "Additionally, Mr. Koski has already atoned for unnecessary crimes like scamming, illegal trades and so on with community service and helping in the organization of the shelter."

The less fortunate cheer, all of them on Sampo's side for one reason or another. "He babysitted my kids!" one father yells, "he brought me to Natasha when the fragmentum attacked!" a woman states, "he sold us good food for cheap when my family was starving!"

The golden-eyed man bites the inside of his cheek as he listens to the Underworlders, vouching for a criminal - a Fool - so determinably. In the background, Sampo looks a little shocked.

"Besides, someone such as yourself has no right to criticize Mr. Koski's behaviour seeing that you were involved in a cheating scandal with your ex-spouse and I personally apprehended your father for knowingly sponsoring a human trafficking front," the scarred man says in a deliberately blank and stern look, the crowd murmuring to themselves once more. "Anymore questions, anyone?" he asks, looking around. Most journalists hesitated, not expecting this level of passive hostility, it seems.

One hand was raised, a woman right next to the golden-eyed man. She was around his height, if not a centimeter shorter with long black hair, pink doe eyes and a bunch of freckles. She earns a nod from the blue-eyed man and she introduces herself, "Vera Nikalaivna, I am a freelance journalist," she says curtly. "I'd like to know how you managed to secure so many different activities and courses in such a short amount of time, especially considering things like culture and language outside of Belobog was unheard of until a year ago."

Several people nod, all of them quieting down a little out of curiosity. The halovian has to agree, he is very curious as well.

At that, Gepard smiles just so, his shoulders dropping some of the tension. While Sunday wouldn't call him relaxed, he definitely seemed more at ease now that the subject has changed. "Course design as well as other details of the shelter and its services were all overlooked by Mr. Koski," he explains easily. "Finalized only after my approval, of course, but for questions such as these, it would be better if Mr. Koski himself explained the process."

The crowd gets loud again, all of them shocked at the ex-criminal's connections. Sunday can't say he agrees. The dark blue-haired man is a Fool, he'd be stupid to think that this odd man doesn't know half a dozen influential people. He's more surprised that scholars were willing to hold a conversation with this idiot.

The blonde steps aside, letting Sampo walk over to the small podium with a bright smile on his face as the Underworlders cheer him on. The sharpens, while still there, is almost unnoticeable and the feathered man is sure the only reason he can spot the tension in that smile is because he is familiar with it from similar characters. He looks around the audience subtly, and when he and the halovian make eye contact for a split second, his smiles widens, more akin to a grin, really, although it lacks any predatorial intent. It reminds the other of a certain Bloodhound.

"Good evening my friend!" he greets the journalists, his smile easy as he is leaning against the podium in a very carefree and unprofessional stance. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific with your questions, after all, each activity and course needed a different approach, no? We wouldn't want misinterpretations of my words to float around, would we?" he asks, tone full of playfulness and humour, not unlike literally every Fool in the universe.

Vera nods at the other's words firmly, the top spiral notebook in her hands blank as she grips her pen, her hand shaking slightly. "Captain Landau mentioned that the shelter offers courses on languages and cultures not native to Belobog, in other words, courses that have to do with other planets," she speaks fast, clearly trying to get as much information as possible across as quickly as possible. The jade-eyed man nods lazily at her tone, a catlike smile replacing his previous grin. "My question is, how did you manage to secure such classes?"

The Underworlders quiet down, eager to hear the ex-criminal's answer while the posh and prim murmur between themselves.

The dark blue-haired man hums noncommittally at that, running his finger over the outline of the podium. "I happen to be familiar with Dr. Veritas Ratio, a member of the Intelligencia Guild," he answers with a shrug, leaning back, away from the podium. "In truth most of our negotiations were about sharing knowledge. I wouldn't go into details as that would be plain boring and I am not one to tire an audience. In Dr. Ratio's words, 'idiocy is a disease that plagues humanity in every corner of the universe, what kind of doctor would I be if I didn't try and cure it?'," he says in a perfect copy of Dr. Ratio's voice, startling Sunday just a tad. "Either way, all that matters is that we got his students to teach at our lovely shelter."

The golden-eyed man feels a certain dread form at the thought that Dr. Ratio visited this planet and a paranoid part of his mind wonders if maybe that despicable scholar is still wandering around in this small, icy planet.

The feathered man takes a peek at the journalists' notes out of curiosity, mostly to see how would a professional interpret the odd man's words. To his surprise, every word that he said was captured, down to the weird pauses, where he drawled out a sound or words, and when his voice changed in pitch. He is honestly impressed.

"The Intellegencia Guild, right," the black-haired journalist nods beside the halovian. "I've heard of them, they are subsidized by the IPC, no?" she ask, writing something down, the other doesn't bother to glance. "How did you manage to strike a deal with them? More importantly, are there other otherworlders that are involved in this project aside from Dr. Ration and his students?" she goes on. "If so, would you say that this project is supported by the IPC?"

There's whispers, a lot of them. Nobles and average citizens all talk amongst themselves, curious and impatient. Behind the odd man, the Captain is taking a sip of water, provided by a man in uniform.

"Woah, woah, woah, one question at a time, my friend!" the blue-haired man laughs. "Yes, the IPC sponsors the Intellegencia Guild more often than not, but! As I said, I didn't strike a deal with the Guild itself but with Dr. Ratio who happens to be working for them. You could say the Astral Express is loosely tied to our little project, since they helped us gather the necessary materials and people, but no other outsider. So, all and all, no IPC involved!"

The woman hums at that, writing down his answer so fast the golden-eyed man swears he saw smoke come out of the paper. "One final question, if I may?" she asks, looking at the man behind the podium in the eyes.

The jade eyed man nods easily as he lazily leans against the podium. He looks so relaxed, even with the whole audiance's attention is fixated on him. It looks so natural, seeing him in the middle of the spotlight, capturing everyone's attention. "I don't see why not, Miss Nikalaivna," he answers, his smile ever present.

"Earlier, Mr. Lzhets mentioned your crimes and wrongdoings, claiming you're not a good fit for your high position within the shelter," she states, matter of factly and with no emotion betraying her thoughts. "What is your response to those claims?"

The whispers get louder, and no matter how annoying the halovian finds them, he can't blame the people for being curious. Just, if they could a little more quiet.

Sampo hums at that, thoughtful, his eyes still gleaming with the playfulness Sunday has come to associate him and every other fool. "I'll be honest with you, miss Nikalaivna, I don't see how that has anything to do with the shelter," he says casually, playing with a pen that he produced from... somewhere. He's spinning it as if it's a knife as he goes on, "I mean, a few pranks are just that, pranks. Whether they were on the rightful side of the law is neither here or there. After all, if I was going to be deemed a criminal for going up and down either way, what's the harm in having fun along the way, no?"

It's an empty answer, he didn't actually answer, dodged it and forgot about it. There's no way the journalist didn't notice, but she wisely decided not to mention it.

Vera nods, thanking the man for his time as Gepard walks up, taking the stage once more. "Thank you for your questions, we appreciate your curiosity towards our project," he thanks as he is sporting a neutral and polite smile. "I'd like to invite everyone who helped with our shelter to come here, I think it's time to plant the first snow."

Sunday stared dumbly as a few people come and took the podium and a handful of people came close towards the big double doors of the shelter. The only one he recognized was Natasha, standing next to Sampo and snatching his pen with a scolding look, earning a few awkward chuckles from the taller man.

Honestly, the feathered man had no idea what they were doing. He guesses planting a first snow is some kind of tradition, kind of like how when new venues open in Penacony, they cut a red rope in front of the doors of the stores. He can only stand on his tip toes and observes the weird 'tradition'.

The man the most far away from the entrance introduces himself, although the golden-eyed man can't hear him well, his quiet voice not helping. He is holding a flower, dirt in his palm and the roots visible. Carefully, he hands the flower to some other worker, who does the same. It goes on and on as every worker introduces themselves, how they helped and their wishes for the future of the shelter before carefully hand the flower to the next person.

It goes like that until - finally - it reaches the Captain. "I, Gepard Landau, am the founder of this shelter," he states, digging into the soil of a pot Sampo is holding. Gently placing the flower and the remaining of the dirt, "may this flower and this shelter outlive the eternal snow and see the first day of spring!"

The crowd cheered at that, the people around the halovian clapping loudly. Grinding his teeth at the noise, he finds himself awkwardly clapping as well, the yelling of the crowd feeling like needles against his skin.

"Thank you, people of Belobog," the scarred man speaks loudly, gaining everyone's attention, as if it ever left the public's eye. "In a few minutes, Mechanical Fever will play. In the meantime, the staff is more than ready to service the people. Administration can be done at the front desk, just your name and necessary information like age, allergies, family members and such is needed. Everyone else is free to help themselves at our buffet and wait for the show."

Once more, the crowd cheered. Some less than fortunate started walking into the building, leaving the more well off people to mingle between themselves and children to finally continue running around and play.

Alongst the chaos of the crowd, Sunday was left alone and he wasn't sure what to do or who to approach. The Captain and Sampo were surrounded by photographers and journalists alike and it seems they wouldn't be free for some time.

Feeling a little left out, the golden-eyed man walked around the plaza, deciding to just listen in on some ongoing conversations. There were several interesting people all around yet the closest was a group of nobles, with fancy coats and small bags whispering amongst themselves.

"A criminal, what was the Captain thinking, really..." a woman in a strange hat sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly. "First reopening the Underworld, then the IPC and now this... Miss Bronya's rule really is disappointing."

Another man, with a well maintained beard nodded in agreement. "You'd think a woman taught and raised by the Miss Cocolia would know better."

The golden-eyed man frowns at those words, hearing the nobles' opinion he has to admit that shame claws at his mind. How can he side with the comment about Sampo when they believe freeing the Underworld was the wrong move? Maybe he's overthinking this.

The feathered man is stumped out of his thoughts when someone bumps into him from behind. "Sorry mister!" a familiar voice calls out as he turns around, coming face-to-face with a small child, around five to six, with a big hat and a yellow dress a size too big for her. She has a matching brown thick and chunky coat on, going well with her hat.

'It's alright', the halovian wants to say, 'just be more careful'. In the background, just as he's about to voice his thoughts, he can see the same nobles looking at him and whispering between themselves. He can feel a knot forming in his stomach.

"I know you!" the little girl says, catching his attention once more, pointing with her gloved finger at him, wide eyes and a big grin on her face as she says that. "Your name is a day!" she states, her smile so big her cheeks must hurt. "Your name is my favourite day! It's the day daddy isn't working!"

Sunday is still as the kid rambles, blinking awkwardly. He can still hear the whispers of those nobles behind his back and he's not sure how to feel about a child recognizing him. The whispers are like needles against his skin and he trying to so hard to no overthink how this little kid from a planet that has been isolated for so long knows him.

Cleaning his throat a little forcefully, the golden-eyed man finds himself leaning down to be on the same level as the child in front of him. She stops her rambling as he does that, looking at him curiously. "Hello little miss," he greets, feeling way too awkward. How do you even talk to a child?! "May I know what your name is?"

The blonde girl blinks at him, as if processing his request before braking into a huge grin, showing off her missing teeth, as she puts her hands on her hips, reminding the other of a certain blue haired fool. "I'm Pitch Dark Hook the Great, Leader of the Moles!" she introduces herself. The golden-eyed man finally realised why this girl's - Hook's - voice was so familiar. She was one of the reporters from earlier.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hook," the feathered man nods, placing a hand behind his back and bowing slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he speaks in what he hopes is a normal way to address children. Really, how does his sister do this almost on a daily basis? "May I know from where you know me?"

"It's Pitch Dark Hook the Great to you!" the girl with the big hat huffs before staring at the man, her eyes are big as she says, "and you talk funny". She states it like it's a fact, crushing any confidence and hopes that he had for a successful interaction between him and this weird child. "Don't worry, I like funny, my uncle talks like that too!" she says easily enough, forgetting about the other using the 'wrong' name.

"Right..." the halovian nods awkwardly. He really isn't sure how to proceed, and he is really thinking of just just straight up standing up and leaving. Leaving this weird child, this event, this icy planet and this conflicting Fool. He really isn't sure why he hasn't yet, considering that the few hours that he has already stayed have done little to impress him. He just wants to go home.

Instead, he decides to entertain to this weird unattended child for a little longer. "So, uh- Pitch Dark Hook the... Great?" he tries - dear Ena does this sound stupid - earning a huff of approval from the child. "Where... where are your parents?" he asks, she had mentioned her father earlier, so surely he was somewhere in the crowd.

"Daddy's talking to his friends, they are over there!" Hook answers, waving at a peculiar direction where a bunch of old men are sitting. All of them look tired, with hollow cheeks a sickly, sullen eyes, occasionally coughing. One of them, likely the oldest in the group, waves back with a soft smile.

"That's wonderful," Sunday praises, hoping not to sound as awkward as he feels. The nobles behind his back have already left, a group of teenagers taking their spot, gossiping in the background. "He must be very proud of you for asking the Captain questions on your school's behalf," he states, earning a toothy grin. "But, um- ho-... how do you know who I am?" he decides to ask.

"My uncle told me!" the girl beamed, her smile huge. "He told me that a guy with a frisbee behind his head would come here soon and that I should be nice to him if I see him because he's very lonely," she explained, looking at the man with the childish naivety you could find only in children.

The golden-eyed man blinked at the other's words, feeling a headache creeping in. Since when did Fools have families? Ones that they regularly interacted with, at least. "Your uncle's name wouldn't happen to be Sampo, would it?" he asks with a slight stain in his voice. Why did it feel like that man has reached every corner of this icy little planet?

"Yeah!" the blonde girl nodded excitedly, her hat almost falling off before she fixes it. "How do you know him?" she asks the other curiously, "did you need him to help you fix something too?" she tilts her head, her eyes wide and filled with curiosity.

The feathered man coughs in his fist awkwardly, "no... I, what do you mean fixing?" he can't help but ask. Despite what he has heard from doctor Natasha, Sampo is still a Fool. A follower of Aha, a follower of their selfish desires and 'elation'. No matter what, he takes sadistic entertainment in everything he does. He is not to be trusted. "Why would I go to him if I need something fixed?"

"Uncle Sampo fixes tons of stuff!" Hook exclaims, using big exaggerated movements, raising and extending her hands as far as she can. "He fixed the witch's problem, he fixed daddy's work problems, he fixes our toys when they break and he fixes our days when we are sad!" she explains, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Right..." the halovian looks away, feeling a little awkward. Aeons, why is it so hard to communicate with children? How can he affectively warn this little girl about the dangers of getting attached to a Fool? Can he even do that?

"I'm not-," Sunday starts awkwardly, "I'm not interested in any of his services. I came here as a... as a vacation, I suppose," he explains, the little child's eyes widening even more as she listens. Is it that uncommon for people to visit this planet? He knows that contact with the outside world has only recently been discovered to them, but is it that unexpected?

"People of Belobog, thank you for coming!" a familiar voice yells from the temporary stage yells, revealing the singer of this small, icy planet. "Mechanical Fever is so very grateful to be preforming for you tonight!" her voice is filled to the brim with enthusiasm and excitement.

"Let's go, strange guy!" Hook grabs the other by the wrist, dragging him closer to the small stage. For a second, it feels like needles stabbed everywhere that the little girl touched. "We gotta see Miss Serval, Uncle Sampo said her songs are supper cool!"

"For drums, we have Pelageya 'Pela' Sergeyevna - the Intelligence Officer of the Silvermane Guards!"

Soon, the golden-eyed man is forced to bump into the people around him, similar to how it was when Sampo was taking the lead. He really can't tell if it's a Jarillo-VI thing or if that odd man just unknowingly (or knowingly) imprinted some of his habits onto the small child.

"Lynx Landau, the Snow Plains Explorer will be playing the keyboard today - pretty rare, ain't it!?"

Either way, it didn't matter, as the girl's father came to pick her up, freeing Sunday from his unintentional 'babysitting', leaving him free to distance himself from the loud and overwhelming crowd. Avoiding people as much as possible, he soon found a quiet spot on the balcony of the second floor of the shelter.

"We've got a new member joining us, too! Give a warm welcome to Molly Volkov, who'll be playing the bass - she used to work for the Silvermanes too, isn't that fun!?"

Finally, the feathered found a moment to relax and unwind a little. Slopping down a little and gazing at the small stage, he could see and hear all the performers perfectly well. It was pretty nice, having a moment of respite and catch his breath.

"Finally, we've got me, Serval Landau - ready to rock 'n roll your whole night!"

Leaning against the railing of the balcony, the halovian found himself thinking back to this... 'eventful' day. It wasn't as bad as some other days he has survived, yet he still hesitates to call it a 'good one'. Some conversations were... nice, sure. But he's not sure he relive this day just for a chance to have that conversation with Luka again, for example.

"Let's start with a classic, shall we?"

The band starts playing, the music reaching the golden-eyed man's ears easily. Yet, despite the pleasant atmosphere, he can't help but frown, thinking of all his interactions. From the initial encounter with Sampo, to the latest one with Hook.

"Soundwaves like dynamite send signals sky-high"

Meeting the Fool, then the Captain, talking to Mr. Sergei, getting questioned by Doctor Natasha, having that conversation with Luka, his brief meeting with Serval and his briefest talk with Hook, the little girl that looks up to a Fool. It's... a lot.

"Strings of thunder make you lose your mind"

It's very different from how his days in the Dreamscape went. There were no executive meetings, no confessionals, no vultures watching his ever move waiting for one mistake, one misstep. He wonders, if this feeling will continue once he joins the Stellaron Hunters. Will he have to be as mindful of his actions as before or will he just mindlessly follow his missions? Will he ever be as peaceful as the people of Jarillo-VI? Will he be able to relax, when he joins the ranks of these criminals? What would the Dream Master say? What would his sister say?

"Heartbeats can't shake me, so rules can't break me"

Staring at the energetic singer dancing, playing her guitar and singing, he can feel exhaustion making itself known, digging itself deeper into his being. He wonders if, after his work for Ellio is done, he'll finally feel whole once more. If he'll be able to rest, after saving humanity from the chaos of the universe.

"Crank the sound and let your soul free!"

Sighing tiredly, Sunday looks at his hands. Dear Ena, he's has barely managed to reach his mid twenties and he's already so tired. He doesn't know whenever to laugh or cry. All his life he's been working for the betterment of the people and their lives, and now he has lost everything. How crazy is it, that a head of the Oak family is going to end up joining the Stellaron Hunters. Aeons, he's going to be a full fledged criminal, as if he wasn't one before.

"The light strikes writing off the wall"

He's going to be in the same group as serial murderers, people who cause chaos and kill anyone standing in their way. He's going to be in the same group as a mara-struck deranged maniac, a hacker, a weapon of war, and a manipulative murderer. Is that really what he wants? Does it even matter what he wants? Does he even have a choice?

"Let yourself fall... into it all!"

Slowly, the reality of his situation sinks in. He did understand that joining the Stellaron Hunters would make him a criminal, of course he knew. But... at the time, he didn't really think about what that implied. He didn't think too much about it, he was already a criminal, what's one more crime gonna do to his record? Now, however, he's not sure he can join them. He'll have to murder, to destroy buildings and the hopes of so many. Will he be able to look someone in the eyes, when pulling the trigger?

Lost in thought, he ignores how the daylight slowly fades to black and more stars appear in the sky. He ignores how it has gotten colder. He ignores the singer's voice, or how the crowd has quieted down. Too lost in his worries, hugging himself as small puffs of mist leave him every time he exhales.

Worry and doubt are paralyzing him, leaving him unsure. Will he be able to join such criminals, is there even a difference between him and the other Hunters, or is he just as trying to have the moral high ground in a loosing battle? At this time, he really wishes his sister was here. Dear Ena, he wants nothing more than to hug her right now.

"There you are!" a voice - Serval's voice, surprisingly - calls out. Turning around, the golden-eyed man sees the singer, a little sweaty and out of breath, walking towards him with a big grin. "I thought you left!" he laughs, joining him at the railing.

"Good evening, Miss Serval," the feathered man says simply, left with little to no energy to engage in any meaningful way. "Did your show end already?" he decides to ask, looking down as the stage is still the same, just with no people around it. Are shows in Belobog always this short?

The multi-coloured haired woman just laughs at that, gulping down a big junk of her water bottle before shaking her head. "No, no, of course not!" she says with a bright smile. He never understood people like her, so full of energy at all times. "I've still a couple more songs, it's just a little break for us."

An awkward silence settled between the two. To be completely honest, the halovian had no energy for a conversation, especially with a high energy individual such as the singer next to him. He really wants to go home, actually.

"So what brought you to Belobog?" the blue-eyed woman asks, checking her phone for a second before looking at the man next to her. "I'm surprised you even know of this planet, if I'm being honest."

"I... Consider this a vacation of shorts," the golden-eyed man hums, watching the Captain talking to a few guards next to the stage. He looks a little awkward, rubbing the back of his skull while Sampo is a few meters away from him, playing with a few kids, one of them he recognizes as Hook, who is hanging from his bicep, swinging back and forth. Her laughter reaches his ears clearly, as if the distance between them is none existent.

The singer opens her mouth, probably to ask him something about his vacation. 'Are you enjoying yourself?', 'what do you think of Belobog?', 'will you visit again?'. He beats her to it, "may I ask you a question?" he asks, his eyes glued to Gepard.

"Of course!" the other answers easily, resting her cheek against her palm as she's leaning against the railing. "What's up?" she asks, looking at her phone once more. "You'll have to hurry up though, I only have a few minutes left."

"Your brother, Captain Gepard," Sunday starts slowly, refusing to meet her eye. "From my understanding, he fights against monsters everyday," he says, watching the aforementioned man walk towards a food court. "How do you... are you not against it? Aren't you scared for his safety?" he asks, his hands shaking just a bit.

Serval hums at that, her eyes going to her brother and watching him as he picks up a few sweets from the tables. "No, not really," she answers quietly. "I mean, obviously I care about him, and with his job... I treasure each and every moment I share with him and Lynx, I never know when's the last time I'm gonna see him, you know?" she laughs, although it sounds a bit empty.

"But, even if I was against his profession, it's not like I could stop him from working for the Silvermanes," she goes on, fiddling with her accessories. "He's not a little boy hiding behind his big sister when our parents yelled at him anymore," she says, her gaze filled with nostalgia. "He does what he believes is the right thing to do, not for himself, but for Belobog. I'm just here to remind him that he's part of Belobog too, you know?"

Doing the right thing... It sure is easy to do so when the biggest problem you are facing is unnatural destruction-bend monsters. It's how the world works, no? Those who are fighting to survive aren't looking for ways to live.

"Have you ever..." the golden-eyed man thinks, not sure how to phrase the question without prying too much. "Have you ever fought? Over his job, I mean," he playing with the fabric of his jacket, staring at the people mingling amongst themselves.

The multi-coloured haired woman huffs at that, "obviously," she answers, rolling her eyes. "Geppie's ain't exactly a guy who puts himself above others," she states, as if it's a truth as simple as the snow being white. "Honestly, you'd think with him following Qlipoth, he'd be a little more self-preserving."

The feathered man hums at that, his gaze shifting to the Underworlders that are laughing together, holding a few drinks and the nobles judging them with a few side-eyes. Tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, he knows he doesn't have that much time with the singer. So he decides to ask one final question.

"If..." the halovian starts, slow and unsure. The other turns to look at him curiously and he goes on. "If your brother did something... terrible - at least in your opinion it's terrible - for a good cause," he explains. "Well, to him it's a good cause."

Serval hums, long and slow as she leans away from the railing, only her grip securing she doesn't fall. "I'd talk to him," she answers simply, "and if he doesn't listen, I'd beat his ass," she chuckles. "I mean, I've done that once. Ain't nothing stopping me from doing it again."

Sunday blinks, finally turning to look at his conversation partner with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He coughs onto his fist and averts his eyes, "won't you be mad though? Disappointed? What if what he did is unforgivable?" he grips the railing, filling the bite of the cold metal. "What if he harmed you somehow? Maybe not physically, but emotionally, maybe your career or... or the people around you. Would you be able to forgive him?"

The blonde artist hums, her eyes trailing to her brother, who is busy conversing with some Underworlders. "I'd be a little mad, sure," she shrugs, smiling a little when her brother notices her and waves with an awkward smile. She waves back. "But he's a good person, and he would realize pretty fast that he fucked up. I'd help him clean up the mess."

The golden-eyed man stutters at her words, clearly confused and frustrated. "Why?" he asks, his grip on the railing getting stronger, leaving his gloved hands colder and his knuckles white. "He betrayed you! And what if he doesn't learn his lesson? What if he get worse? Can you really look in the eye of someone like that?"

Under the intense gaze of the singer, the other closes his eyes, massaging his temples, waiting for her answer. She frowns, saying, "if 'he' is wondering if he's a good person and if he deserves forgiveness after doing something terrible, I'd argue he's not as terrible as he thinks he is," she states. "And if he gets worse, it's probably because he's being misguided. How can I be mad at that?"

The halovian doesn't answer, his hands trembling and his feathers bristling as the other continues. "Besides, he's my brother," she states, as if that answers anything. "Even if I was on the other side of the cosmos, I'd still find a way to help him. No matter what."

Taking a shaky sigh, Sunday wipes away some stray tears that have gathered in the corners of his eyes as discretely as he can. "You should go," he says simply and quietly. "I'm sure your break is over by now."

Serval hesitates just for a second, glancing at the door of the balcony and then back at her companion. Gently, she pats him on the shoulder, saying, "I'll always love my siblings, nothing can ever change that, I'm sure your sister would agree," she whispers before moving to the exit of the balcony. "It was nice meeting ya," she says with a small smile.

Biting his lips, the golden-eyed man can feel tears gathering in his eyes once more. He doesn't answer, too aware of how shaky his voice is going to be. The singer leaves with the quiet click of the glass doors.

The moment he is sure he's alone, his shoulders drop, all tension leaving his body as he lets his tears fall done his face quietly, only the occasional sniffing being heard. Dear Ena, this is humiliating. He's been crying way too much ever since losing his position as the Family Head.

The blue-eyed woman's words' leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he can't help but be annoyed by them. It's so easy for her to say, her brother fights for the people of his planet. He sacrifices his life everyday and brings hope to the people, how can that man do terrible things?

He sniffles once more, uselessly wiping his tears away as a purple handkerchief is offered to him. It's got a silly bomb design with hearts on the edge of one of the corners. His eyes focus on the small design before he straightens up as he hears a familiar voice, "you seem to need one of these, hm?" Sampo asks, sitting comfortably on the railing with his chest to the open area, back to the floor of the balcony and a leg propped up as he leans against it.

Wordlessly, the feathered man takes the offered handkerchief his movements stiff and shoulders tense, gracing the odd man with a suspicious stare before using the handkerchief. The jade-eyed man chuckles, graciously rolling his body so he is standing next to the other and taking out a packet of cigarettes. Propping one in his mouth, "I apologize for leaving you, my dear guest," he states simply, a small smirk on his face. "I hope you didn't miss me too much?"

Using the handkerchief, "how much did you hear?" the golden-eyed man asks. He grips the handkerchief, his whole being on guard as he observes the Fool next to him. He was so stupid, to relax while on enemy territory. Could the Fool use anything he heard against him?

The dark blue-haired man shrugs, lighting his cigarette with a very familiar lighter. "Does it matter?" he asks, his back leaning against the railing. "Not like I can use this information for something fun," he says, inhaling the smoke. "Not a fan of pointless blackmail, I'll be honest," he exhales, creating a small wall of wind to block any smoke from bothering the other.

Rolling his eyes, the halovian scoffs. "Yeah right," he says coldly. "As if you Fools have a single honest bone in your body," he huffs. "Frankly, talking to IPC workers feels more genuine that anything that comes out of a Fool's mouth," he states, frowning at the other's blank expression.

Sampo's eyebrows are raised and a frown on his lips as he stares blankly, lazily looking at the other. "Don't know about honest bones, but I'm sure filled with funny ones!" he jokes. At the other's silence, he sighs warily, seemingly disappointed, "ya know, for a guy so adamant to better the lives of those around you, and to save people, you sure are close minded," he smirks, the bud of his cigarette burning more and more as the familiar smell of tobacco slowly merges with the cold air surrounding them.

Glaring, "what's so closed minded about me thinking that Fools are like their Aeon?" Sunday asks, his feathers bristled. "Self-centered idiots that care for nothing but their entertainment," he states, his tone resentful and bitter. "Do you know how many mess your 'colleagues' have made? How many credits are being wasted in Penacony anytime a Fool decides that they want to 'have some fun'?" he asks, his eyes full of resentful exhaustion. "Frankly, at this point I should be grateful that I lost my previous position, otherwise I would've been trying to smooth anything this 'Sparkle' friend of yours did while I was away."

At the mention of the fox-masked woman, the odd man's smirk falters and his brow twitches, the subtle movement going unnoticed. "Those who live in glass houses shouldn't cast stones, ya know!" he says with a forced chuckle. "Are you really surprised that extremists like Miss Sparkle come to Penacony? That planet is like a honeytrap for... eccentric individuals like her," he inhales the smokes. "Besides, even the most orderly of societies need a little bit of chaos to find themselves."

The golden-eyed man huffs at that, scowling. "If that's true, how come I hear this only from Fools such as yourself?" he challenges. The air is cold - colder than before - with the only warmth coming off from the cigarette, leaving the man shivering. "It doesn't matter anyway, if Penacony is seen as more desirable to Aha's followers. Afterall, other planets also suffer from your antics. You are a prime example."

The dark blue-haired man raises and eyebrow at that, "a prime example, eh?" he asks, smoke coming out of his mouth as he talks. "And why is that, Mr. Order?" he smirks, the ash falling off his cigarette and being caried away by the wind.

"I know your type," the feathered man states, "I've seen it a bunch of times," he looks at his hands. "You pretend to be someone you're not, get close to people, befriend them, help them, build up trust only to throw it all that away for a stupid prank that achieves nothing but a momentary feeling of 'Elation'," he stares at the other. "It's what you've being doing to Belobog, no? Playing with the kids, bringing medicine during the lockdown, helping with a case," he lists off, "only you haven't reached the prank yet. Isn't that right, Fool?"

Lazily, is how the jade-eyed man looks at the other's provocation. Pulling out the lighter from his pocket, he plays with it, opening and closing it. "It's really obvious," he drawls slowly, the lighter sliding between his fingers smoothly, "how little diversity you've experienced. To have the displeasure to only meet boring Fools."

The halovian stills, blinking confusedly. This is the first time anyone has ever referred to a Fool as 'boring', not to mention that it was a whole other Fool doing so. "Boring?" he repeats, a little disbelieving. "If people like this Sparkle friend of yours is boring, then what do you perceive as entertaining?"

Sampo hums, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. "You and I are not as different as you think we are," he says suddenly, weirdly. "You," the lighter points at the other, "are a fool who chases after a concept that you don't even fully understand. And I," he points the lighter at himself, the light of the fire gently illuminating his face, "am a Fool who chases after a concept that wasn't made for me," he states, snapping the lighter shut. "And yet, we both value the dignity of man kind - at least to some extent."

Sunday is silent, quietly observing the man before him. "Dignity of man kind," he repeats, "right". He turns to fully face the other, who lazily inhales the smoke once more. "And what exactly do you mean by 'dignity of mankind'?" he asks, crossing his arms. "I feel like we have a completely different understanding of what 'dignity' means."

"Do we?" the jade-eyed man hums, smoke surrounding him, "I mean, do we really?" he turns to look at his 'guest'. "Doesn't dignity involve the upholding of beliefs? Overcoming difficult times? Helping others in need? Finding joy even in the most difficult of times? Retaining our humanity no matter what?" he explains, waving his hand theatrically, creating nonsense shapes out of smoke. "If you have a different idea of what dignity means to you, by all means, do tell."

"And we are back!" Serval's voice is heard once more, just as energetic and excited as before, as if her conversation with Sunday never happened. "Thank you for waiting for us, it took a little longer than expected," she laughs awkwardly. "But! To make up for it, we've prepared a surprise!" she beams, the crowd erupting in cheers. "I've recently been introduced to a singer called Robin from Penacony, the land of Festivities. Considering getting information outside of Belobog is a little tricky, we decided to bring her music to you!" she exclaims happily, earning more cheers. "This is 'Hope is a thing with feathers'!"

The golden-eyed man stills, his gaze turning towards the singer in the faraway stage, yelling 'one, two, three, go!' to her bandmates. His hands starts shaking slightly as the oh-so familiar melody plays. The dark blue-haired man trails his eyes towards the other, silently observing his reaction.

"We rise together as our destiny unfolds~"

"You know, I think I know what's up with you," the Fool says softly, playing with the lighter in his hand. The other doesn't take his eyes off of the singer. "You're obsessed with giving this dignity to people, granting it like no one's business," he hums, inhaling the smoke. "But what you fail to realize," he drawls, the smoke slowly diminishing as the cigarette is giving out, "is that the people you want to grand this dignity to, already have it."

"We face the darkness and our trials are yet untold~"

Right from the start, the outsider can tell that the band has tweaked the song to match its vibe. It's more brash and vibrant as the electric guitar plays the notes, increasing the intensity.

"Through the shadows of despair~

Closing his eyes, the feathered man takes a shaky breath. "What would you know about dignity," he asks, his hands shaking as frustration reaches its peak and anger slowly boils. He locks eyes with the other, his gaze full of animosity, "Fool?"

"Oh, in silence, hopes we share, woah-woah~"

The infuriating man just tilts his head, not at all affected by the taunt. Distantly, the other wonders if there's anything that can get under this man's skin.

"To chase our dreams that we've declared~"

"I'd think I would know something about it," Sampo smirks, that infuriating, annoying sleazy smile of his. "I've been playing a part in Belobog's story for long enough to see what true human dignity is. It's Natasha choosing to stay in the Underworld during the lockdown to take care of her people. It's Gepard and all the other Silvermane Guards fighting in the frontlines everyday to preserve human life. It's Luka choosing to become the Fight Club Champion to be a good example to the children of Bolder Town. What it's not, is a dream that just tells you what you want to hear."

"We glimpse, through our eyes~

It's unusual, how angry those words make him. Almost as if someone found a raw nerve and pushed it until they found the reaction they were seeking. And judging by the odd man's creepy smile, he was like a fox that caught the canary.

Yet fools, blind our sights~"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Sunday snaps, panting from the sudden outburst. "I wasn't 'telling them what they want to hear', I was giving them the chance to live the life that they deserve. A life with no pain, where death is meaningless and the people are free to live their lives with no economics or societal limits holding them back. A week with seven rest days, a perfect week."

"Can't make what they say~"

The smile the 'ex'-criminal gives the other is uncanny, almost as if he is holding himself back. As if Fools ever do that. How laughable.

"We'll find our way, we'll find our way~"

"Of course, of course," the jade-eyed man laughs, lowering the cigarette as the fire died and the leaves ran out. He lets the cigarette go, disappearing as only purple sparkles remain. "Seven rest days, the perfect week," he repeats sarcastically. "A week where people lose their life aspirations and rely on fantasy to comfort them," he states, his smile dropping. "Tell me, did you think this plan through?" he asks, tilting his head. "I mean, if everyone is trapped in a dream, then what happens to their physical bodies?"

"Heads up, the wheels are spinning~"

"Do they just 'rest' eternally? Their bodies rotting in those dream-pools as their mind is numbed?" the odd man continues, his eyes blank as he stares at the other. "Do their bodies become one with the liquid of the pool? Do they lose their physical bodies, just like memokeepers? If not, then that means someone must take care of their bodies, right? Feed them, provide necessities and clean them, leaving them in a vegetated state. And if that's the case, then that means that there's people who weren't not allowed the perfect week."

"Across the plains and valleys deep~"

The feathered man was at a loss for words, trembling as he opened and closed his mouth several times. The dark blue-haired man ignored the other's stupor, going on and on with his rambling. "You know what? Forget their bodies. Forget if you even asked their permission to trap them in their dream!" he hums, his smile just as blank as his eyes. "What about the people who don't know what they want or who they are? People who live their lives without any real ideologies or beliefs, who don't know what kind of person they want to become. What about them?" he asks simply.

"To dawn, the wheels that sing~"

Opening his mouth dumbly, Sampo continued, undeterred. "Before you make decisions about your future, you should carefully examine your past, don't you think?" he takes out the lighter once more, playing with it. "How else are you supposed to move forward, hm?" he asks rhetorically. "Start by asking yourself: what's the point of living, if it's just to dream?"

"An unending dream~"