Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

   Gepard isn’t a fan of hospitals, clinics and any other medical facilities. Granted, this isn’t a groundbreaking opinion, there’s a lot of people that have terrible experiences in such environments. Yet, somehow, Gepard finds himself detesting medical facilities more than anyone he has ever talked to.

   They are sterile, sometimes too loud as nurses are looking for doctors or the other way around, or patients are yelling, families and friends are looking for their loved ones. It’s stuffy and blindingly white. They always smell like chemicals and the soldier can’t help but hate it.

   Painful memories, of course, are also an issue. The worry and anxiousness that takes over his thoughts as his hands tremble whenever he visits the medical wing in the frontlines is always there, in the back of his mind. Holding his soldiers’ hands as they utter their dying wishes in clinics, each one of their faces permanently there anytime he closes his eyes. Waking up to his crying sister in the hospital to himself with one less arm. Gifts congratulating him while his soldiers go forgotten, just another nameless guard.

   Those feelings never leave, and even now, that he is sitting in Natasha’s clinic simply to apply first aid to his soldiers and make sure no one is hiding any injuries, he can’t help but suppress the urge to bounce his leg nervously. He went to the Underworld, Rivet Town, specifically, to check out the situation. Reports can only do so much and the Captain wanted to see exactly what Wildfire has been dealing with for so long.

   The fragmentum is weaker here than it is in the frontlines, but that is to be expected. Unlike the Overworld, where resources such as weapons were easier to obtain, Wildfire had been stretched thin, leaving it weaker. The only positive about the Underworld’s condition is that the frangmentum didn’t need to grow stronger.

   So, Gepard is just waiting for each one of his soldiers to be patched up before returning to the Overworld. Thankfully, there were no deaths this time, only a few scratches, cuts, bruises and the odd sprained wrist or foot. A small mercy that he is willing to take wherever and whenever he can get.

   He’s halfway through thinking over his report and mapping out new patrol routes for his guards for Rivet Town when Dr. Natasha emerges from one of the rooms. She looks as tired as any other time he sees her. Truly, he thinks her eye bags can rival his own and win.

   “Dr. Natasha,” the soldier greets the other, earning her attention. She looks over, her kind pink eyes as attentive as always. “Are my men free to go or do you wish to keep someone for longer?” he decides to ask, watching her as she takes off those one-use gloves that have bits of blood on them. He forces himself to not look away.

   Despite the many years on the battlefield, blood is still not something he is a fan of. Looking away is like an instinct that he has to will himself to ignore, even after almost two decades fighting and protecting Belobog. It’s childish, but looking at the crimson liquid always reminds him of his comrades, dying with their last wish barely leaving their lips. To tell their loved ones they love them, to apologize, to confess their feelings. He feels sick just thinking about it.

   The doctor smiles, her smile gentle yet laced with an underlying tiredness. “No, there were no major injuries,” she informs, pushing the stray strands away from her face and retying her hair and snapping the other out of his stupor. “Just go easy on them, alright? Assign patrols in the city for now, most should be healed up in a week, but I would give more time to people with sprained ankles and wrists.”

   Change patrol routes, adjusting the teams and such for a week. It shouldn’t add too much strain on his already huge pile of paperwork, but he dreads it anyway. If there was one thing he could get rid of from a Captain’s duty, it could be bureaucracy. It’s impossible, of course, but a man can dream.

   Gepard easily nods, “alright, thank you, doctor,” he says, making a mental note to add this to his report. Hesitating, he awkwardly clears his throat, catching the pink-eyed doctor’s attention as she was about to go arranging some vials. “I was wondering if we could discuss something? Privately.”

   The way the doctor’s whole body stiffened as she stared at the poor man was sure something. Her gaze was hard and penetrative, as if looking for something deep within his soul. It was very similar to how the late Supreme Guardian used to look at him when he delivered false reports.

   Dr. Natasha’s eyes harden, but she nods either way. “Let’s go to my office then,” she leaves the vials alone. “This way, follow me,” she says, walking towards the end of this hallway, the soldier follows after her dutifully.

   Soon, they are in the small cramped office. Bookshelves decorate every inch of the walls, leaving only the single window visible. He can see the main plaza of Boulder Town, kids playing outside, vendors promoting their food and adulting talking, weary and tired. He has never visited the doctor’s office, leaving him to take in every detail he can see.

   There are multiple huge stacks of papers, similar to the ones in the guard’s own office. Scattered around the desk are multiple mugs, all them empty with tea bags still in. To the left side of her desk, there’s a small round table, hosting a few books, a bear-shaped teapot, similar to the teddy bear she has hanging around her waist.

   “Take a seat,” Dr. Natasha hums, gesturing towards an empty seat in front of her large desk. She sits on her own chair, her features relaxing just slightly. She closes her eyes, just for a second, to massage the space between her eyes and to take a deep breath. “What did you want to discuss, Captain?” she asks. Dr. Natasha is no longer present, Miss Harrower - Leader of Wildfire has ‘taken over’.

   It’s impressive, honestly, how fast and easily the doctor can switch from medical talks and advice to governing her people despite lacking the training for it. The other knows from personal experience how hard it is to manage fragmentum outbreaks and paperwork while still being ready to deal with political and government affairs, he’s been training for it his whole life. And yet, Natasha manages Underworld affairs expertly and with as much professionalism as any Silvermane Guard and Supreme Guardian, maybe even better. 

   “I was hoping you’d be able to provide me with all the necessary reports and graphs related to fragmentum activity in the Underworld,” the Captain states. “I want to arrange a meeting between the Supreme Guardian, Wildfire and I for potential patrol routes and reinforcements to Rivet Town.”

   He’s been thinking about it for some time. Even with the doctor’s experience and brilliant leadership, she is still a doctor. Someone who shouldn’t worry about the survival of their town and people aside from operations and diseases. She shouldn’t be making patrol routes and deal with upholding the law in the Underworld. It’s not her job, and it shouldn’t be because of the Silvermanes’ negligence.

   The Wildfire founder hums, looking at the documents scattered across her desk. “How soon do you want the documents?” she asks, taking out half-moon reading glasses out of a small dark blue case with a hand drawn bear. “I can bring them along with Larissa, the woman who was in charge of reports. If you want it sooner, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit here.”

   Usually, he doesn’t mind waiting for the paperwork, but staying at this clinic just… Gepard can’t handle it. No matter how nice and welcoming the staff are, he can’t help but feel trapped in this stuffy and suffocating building. No offense, Natasha.

   “That won’t be necessary, tomorrow works just fine,” the soldier easily agrees, taking out a small spiral notebook and a pen from his pocket. “I’ll inform my secretary that I’m expecting a meeting with Miss…?” he trails off, waiting for the other to give him the full name.

   Something in the doctor’s gaze hardens, as if he said something wrong. Shifting slightly, the man looks at the other confused. Whatever she wanted to say has died on her tongue as she shakes her head, looking around her messy desk, her gaze returning to normal.

   “Just Larissa, no last name,” Natasha signs, turning to write on an empty piece of paper. “She used to be an orphan that never got adopted, we don’t know who her parents are either,” she continues, and Gepard can’t help but feel a little embarrassed at his mistake. “And, a bit of advice, Captain, when in the Underworld, don’t go asking for last names or patronymics. If you need identifiers, ask where they work or which part of the Underworld they are from.”

   The weird look is explained, then. It’s not a surprise, after all the Underworld has way more premature deaths, limited access to condoms and birth control as well as sexual education, as a result, there’s way more orphans than they know what to do with. If he recalls correctly, Natasha used to be an orphanage owner, no wonder this issue is personal to her.

   Distantly, the guard can feel his cheeks heating up, “I apologize for the offence,” he responds, bringing his fist to his face to cover his mouth. Honestly, just the implications of Natasha’s words are enough to make him feel terrible. He was always aware that the Underground had too many orphans, but he never realised just how bad the situation was.

   He wonders if maybe there’s any orphanages above ground that the kids can be transferred to. There has to be, no? Plus, aside from helping the orphans live in better conditions and gain families easier, it would also alleviate another responsibility from Natasha’s shoulders.

   “If that’s all, then I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” the pink-eyed woman states, taking off her reading glasses and putting them back in her case. “I still have a few patients to check up on,” she hums, looking at the other straight in the eyes.

   Her gaze is as if she’s testing him, daring him to waste her time. And even if it sounds ridiculous, the guard feels a little too small, as if ready to shrink and hide away from her judgement. How the doctor achieves this, while still looking and being kind and sweet is honestly a terrifying ability of hers.

   “Actually, before you go, there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about, Dr. Natasha,” the Captain informs before this meeting can end. “I’m trying to track down some Silvermanes that are working with criminals and aiding them in trading sensitive information as well as robberies. I’ve been having some trouble finding information about them. There’s been rumours going around that their meeting place is in the Underworld, so if Wildfire could be on the lookout for any suspicious activity, it would be greatly appreciated.”

   Truth be told, this is a case he’s been working on for almost a month straight now. At first, he was subtle about it to not raise any suspicion from the guards, but they realized very soon what was going on. Weeding out the guilty guards has been a very tiring process.

   Natasha nods, stray strands getting in her face as she does so. She mulls his words over, hand on her chin. “I’ll talk to Oleg about it, he’ll inform the patrolmen on this,” she easily agrees. She stands up, retying her hair once more. “I’ll be going now.”

   His shoulders release tension he didn’t realise he had, practically slumping in his seat, melting into wood. Despite the reason and circumstances of Wildfire’s formation, he is still very thankful for its existence. Soon the nightmare that is this case will be over.

   “Thank you, Dr. Natasha, you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to find these guards,” the soldier sighs, exhausted. “It has been an issue for months now,” he gets up as well, ready to follow her outside. However, she doesn’t open the door.

   The doctor is still, her expression far away and complicated. She looks like she is considering something, her eyes squinting as she mulls over something . She crosses her arms, her fingers drumming rhythmically against her forearm in a vaguely familiar rhythm.

   Gepard is about to ask if everything is okay when the doctor speaks once more. “If this case is giving you trouble,” she starts, slow and measured, “I think I have someone who can help you,” she turns around to face him.

   If the Captain wasn’t trained to keep his expressions in check, he’s pretty sure he’d be beaming by now. If Natasha’s ‘someone’ will truly offer help and useful intel, then he might be done with this case by the end of week! And oh, if that doesn’t sound just wonderful.

   “If you have any suggestions on how to help with my investigation, then please, do tell,” the guard easily nods. He can see hesitation in the other’s tired eyes. She’s analysing something, similar to how Serval looks when she’s trying to fix something tricky or how Lynx used to concentrate when first getting her quantum abilities.

   Distantly, he wonders why she’s being so hesitant. If this person has the ability to help and soon, then all the better. Maybe he is being optimistic or naive, but how bad could this person be? As long as it’s not a criminal or some backstabbing weasel, he doesn’t mind working with them.

   “He’s… a little unconventional,” is what Natasha decides on. “I know the Silvermanes had trouble dealing with him before but he is a very valuable asset when it comes to resource and information gathering,” she goes on. “And, with the new law passed, he can help you a lot, Captain.”

   Oh no. Why is he getting a bad feeling about this?

   “Who did you have in mind?” he decides to ask. The safety of Belobog is of the biggest importance, and if working for someone a little less than professional is what it takes to make sure the safety and peace continue ruling, he is willing to sacrifice his patience. At least that’s what he is telling himself.

   “My informant, Sampo Koski,” the Wildfire leader reveals, ignoring the Silvermane’s dumbfounded and shocked face. “He’s been working for me for a decade and while I know he’s had his… fair share of run-ins with the Silvermane Guards, but if you need something done in a timely manner, he is the right man for any job.”

   Maybe the training on controlling his facial expression wasn’t as effective as he thought. He felt how his eyes widened and how his jaw fell to the floor, not subtle at all. Distantly, Gepard hopes he doesn’t look as shocked as he feels. 

   “I’m sorry, he’s been working for you for a decade?” he repeats. “I would assume the Wildfire would prefer to work with someone more…” he hesitates, unsure on how to put his thoughts into words. Someone who’s not Sampo Koski, his mind supplies. “Someone more reliable.”

   The other looks like she expected that kind of reaction, tiredly taking a sigh and looking around. Her gaze lands on her tea pot, the bear shaped one. She smiles softly. Her softened features harden once more and her smile vanishes, replaced by professionalism.

   “I understand that he may not be your first choice of an informant, but he’s reliable where it counts,” Natasha informs, turning to fully face the other. “For ten years, he’s been bringing the Underworld medicine, food, clothes, clean water and information,” she explains, staring right at Gepard’s soul. “In all those ten years, he has yet to lead me astray,” she states, her eyes full of determination. “So while I understand your reluctance to commission him, I still advise you to do so.”

   Her stare is hard, and under it the other feels like wilting just a tad. Of course, considering her circumstances, relying on less than trustworthy individuals is something she was forced to do. It must’ve been hard, to put her trust in someone like Koski, but if she did it, maybe he could too.

   Clenching his jaw, the soldier nods. “Understood, I’ll think about it further in my own time,” he says, keeping his voice even and stern. “And I… I apologise for insulting your personnel,” he hums, his voice a little quieter at the end.

   At that, her features soften. She smiles just slightly, as if the guard’s unease is familiar somehow. As if she finds his slight discomfort amusing. He wonders if she picked up that habit from the conman they are talking about or if this mischievousness is something she always possessed.

   “Ease up, I’m no Supreme Guardian,” the doctor shrugs him off as she walks back towards her desk. She finds a small empty piece of paper, scribbling something on it. “Here,” she hands it to the other, “Sampo’s staying at Goethe Grand Hotel, just give this to Grethie and she’ll get you to his room,” she explains. “He might be unresponsive today though, he just came back a few days ago from a resource gathering expedition.”

   That makes the Captain pause and do a double take. “A resource gathering expedition?” he repeats, confusion clear in his face and voice. “I personally have updated the amount of supplies entering the Underworld to be ten times the amount it was before the lockdown,” he states, looking at the other in hopes of an answer. “Have the materials not been delivered?” he decides to ask. “Or are they not enough? If so, I’ll update them as fast as I can.”

   The pink-eyed woman just smiles tiredly at that, clearly worn down. From what the soldier has observed, there seemed to be no issues with the materials. Medical materials, clothes, water and food all seemed to be in order, aside from malnutrition that is taking its time to heal, of course. Was he wrong? Did he not notice any problems?

   “The materials have been arriving, there hasn’t been a problem yet,” she informs, and the other feels the tension in his shoulders drop. “But a lot of people are not trusting them,” she sighs, massaging the space between her eyes. “A lot of my patients, especially the kids, refuse to take their medicine unless it was delivered by Sampo from the snow plains,” she explains. “They simply don’t trust any other material provider.”

   Gepard can only stare, dumbfounded, at the information he just received. In what world would a conman be more trusted than the Silvermane Guards? He, of course, understands that because of the decade long lockdown, Underworlders have every right to be untrusting of the Silvermane Guards, of course, but to trust a man like Sampo, a conman, to bring medicine and other necessities instead of government workers like Gepard or any of his guards? That is just absurd.

   “I know this is weird to you, but you’ve got to understand how the Underworlders are seeing this whole situation,” the pink-eyed woman reminds the other. “They were abandoned by the Silvermanes for a decade and they had to rely on untrustworthy means like Sampo just to have food on their plate, clothes on their back and medicine on their shelves,” she crosses her arms, looking as stern as ever. “It’s gonna take a lot more to gain their trust back.”

   Trust. Of course, that’s what they are lacking. No wonder he didn’t notice any lack of materials. Mentally, he makes a note to speak with the Supreme Guard about this issue, and find a way to resolve this. Distantly, he also wonders how did Natasha manage to get kids to take their medicine, the one delivered by Gepard and his guards.   

   The Captain runs his hand through his hair as he sighs, exhaustion visible. “I understand,” he finally answers. “I’ll… try and negotiate with Koski,” he accepts the note the other prepared for him. “Of course, I don’t promise anything, but I’ll try and reach an agreement with him,” he states, placing the note in his uniform pocket. “Anything I should keep in mind?”

   A glint of playfulness pashes through her eyes as the other thinks. She is smiling slightly, as if she thought of a funny joke that only she understands. Gepard’s personal theory is that she is imagining Koski’s reaction to him showing up in front of the conman, asking for help on an official case.

   Natasha’s eyebrows furrow as she thinks, bringing her hand to her chin. “He’s doing community service right now, as part of my and the Supreme Guardian’s agreement,” she decides to inform as she crosses her arms. “If you want him to agree easily and quickly, just tell him the work is going to count as community service,” she suggests. “I think he’s growing restless with fetch missions and babysitting.”

   If he was being honest, the guard wants to laugh at the idea of that weasel babysitting. He cannot imagine that rat of a man to be anything but his slimy self, so the idea that he is forced to dance around kids and entertain them brings a sense of satisfaction that he can't shake off.

   “Understood,” the soldier nods, his face serious yet neutral. “I’ll take your suggestions into consideration,” he walks towards the exit of the office, eager to go back to his own office. “Thank you again for the help, Dr. Natasha,” he thanks her easily. “If you or the Underground ever need additional help, do not hesitate to contact me,” is the last thing he says to her before leaving her office.

   The main lobby is quieter now, mostly consisting of chit-chat between patients and nurses or his own soldiers. They all look at ease, much more than when they are in the Overworld clinics. Maybe it’s because of Natasha’s clinic being much more welcoming, or maybe it’s the fact that there were no casualties this time.

   He hears her saying a small goodbye before he is facing one of his soldiers. “Vladimirovich, is everyone ready to depart?” he asks his recruit, the man flinching slightly. For a moment, the young soldier looks terrified, straightens up and addresses his superior. Gepard isn’t that scary, is he?

   “Sir, we are all ready, sir!” he replies enthusiastically. Even though he is visibly intimidated by the Captain, he’s still eager to impress the man. Distantly, it reminds the other of his own days as a recruit. He can’t help but frown internally at those thoughts, reminded of how terrified of messing up he was and how badly he wanted to prove himself.

   “Wonderful,” the guard hums, crossing his arms. “Round everyone up, we are leaving as soon as everyone is ready,” he continues, looking around the clinic and spotting a few of his soldiers talking to the nurses. He even spots one flirting with a nurse, the woman laughing softly, her cheeks red and eyes sparkling despite the clear exhaustion. “I’m entrusting the task to you,” he turns back to face the recruit, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

   “Sir, yes sir!” the man nods. He salutes enthusiastically, accidently hitting his helmet, the thing resting askew on his head. “We’ll be ready as soon as humanly possible, sir!” he huffs, clearly trying to seem more tough and ‘manly’.

   The Captain simply nods, walking towards the exit of the small yet suffocating clinic. Of course, the outside is no less suffocating, with no real fresh air circulating through the streets and the air always smelling stuffy with a vague hint of spice always floating around.

   He watches, somewhat passively, kids running around and playing. They are laughing and talking loudly, although the soldier doesn’t really pay attention to what they are saying. He’s almost jealous of how Natasha and all the Underworlders can hear children play everywhere in the town. No matter where, you can always hear kids play.

   It’s very different from his apartment. Despite being a considerable distance away from Backwater Pass, courtesy to Serval’s insistence, the neighbourhood was still desolate. Mostly young adults or soldiers lived there and while that came with its perks, the soldier still felt like he was living in an abandoned street with how silent and unnerving it was. There’s no joyous laughter or any colour, just white tall apartment buildings.

   He’s overthinking it, it’s not like he is in his apartment enough for it to even matter. At most, he spends a few days there, and even then he goes to visit Serval instead of staying and relaxing in his own place. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s a soldier. What value is a place of residence when your real home is the battlefield?

   If one were to ask Gepard what part of the day he hated the most, he’d probably lie and say the morning to seem normal. If someone asked him to be honest, he’d say it’s going back to his apartment after a day’s work. He is very aware of the unpopularity and oddness of his opinion, and yet, as he finds himself standing at the threshold of his house, all he can think about is how he wants to go back to his office.

   Entering the apartment, he feels a sense of dread consume him. Wordlessly, almost robotically, he goes through the motions. Taking his shoes off and leaving them wherever on the floor, taking his coat off and leaving it on a stool by the door, walking to the bathroom and washing his hands, he doesn’t even bother to turn on the light. The only light in his apartment is moonlight that is passing through the thin blinds, illuminating the living room gently.

   Slowly, he moves to his ice box, taking out some military rations he has stashed in there. Serval despises them with all her heart and she often brings food over because ‘that’s for the front lines, Geppie, enjoy some real food when you’re back in the city’. She says it often, every time she sees him eating them, actually.

   He doesn’t really get what the fuss is about. Sure, the taste might not be the most enjoyable since it’s mostly dry and flavourless to help preserve it better, but it’s not terrible. It’s sustainable and it needs no preparation, which is great for Gepard, considering that he is mostly away in his office, doing something far more productive than eating. Either way, it doesn’t matter, he thinks while chewing. Serval will probably bring something tomorrow to work and force him to eat some too.

   The thought makes him frown. While he appreciates his older sister and while he is glad that she decided to accept Lady Bronya’s request to rejoin the Silvermane Guards, he can’t help but feel a little annoyed whenever she drops by his office during working hours. Despite being siblings, they have very different work habits and more often than not, they get in each other’s way.

   Gepard prefers to do everything by the books, relying on rules as much as possible and not allowing any bending of the rules, so it really becomes a challenge to ignore his sister being so dismissive of the rules he holds dear. He has lost track of how many times she ignores deadlines or asks him for favours.

   He loves her, of course he does, but he feels like going insane trying to turn a blind eye to her behaviour. He feels that if this goes on, he might actually snap and say something that he will regret. He fears of hurting her, of saying something that might sound eerily similar to her fights with the late Supreme Guardian and, Qlipoth above, he fears of sounding like their father.

   Hiding his face in his hands, he sighs tiredly and heavily. In the quiet of the apartment, all he can do is look out the window through the thin curtains and frown. The furniture around him is dusty, and it feels as though no matter how hard he cleans his space, the dust never leaves. Sometimes he wonders if he is imagining the dust.

   Either way, he gets up, throwing the one-use plate the military rations come in away. It’s almost full of the same plates, he notes, he should throw the trash out soon. That is a job for tomorrow, he decides, going to take a shower.

   Taking off his prosthetic, he stares at the fake arm. It’s heavy, to the point that Pela has struggled to pick it up on more than one occasion, and Serval is always chatting his ear off about making it lighter. ‘So it’s easier for you to wear, Geppie!’ she insists and while he understands that she is just trying to help, he still refuses at every turn. It’s heavy, sure, but he likes it this way. The weight is comfortable, something to focus on when it feels like the whole world’s load is weighing on his shoulders. Shaking his head, he enters the restroom.

   The bathroom, much like every other room in his apartment, is barren. ‘Spartan’ Lynx calls it, she says that people from the Xianzhou call minimalist spaces that, after a race of people from another planet. ‘I don’t know if you would like them,’ she had admitted, ‘Spartans focused a lot on fighting, glory, efficiency and conquering, the only thing you guys have in common is your lack of decorations’.

   Sometimes he wonders how he could decorate his apartment. What could he do to make it more homey? Something that didn’t feel like a chore to go back to? Of course he quickly shoves that thought away, it’s not like he’s staying home enough to warrant changing up the place.

   The water is cold. Obviously it is, he forgot to heat up the water while eating again. Sighing in defeat, he gets in, ignoring the chill. At least cold showers are healthier than hot ones, he tries to rationalize as he shivers. Grabbing the bar of soap, he can’t help but frown at his reflection. There’s scars covering almost every inch of his skin, but one in particular always catches his attention. It’s big, starting from his hip and going all the way to his chest.

   His father always told him that he should be proud of his scars. ‘Scars are the evidence of strength,’ he always said, ‘they show what kind of man you are in the battlefield, only cowards are markless’. His mother is similar, arguing that ‘scars attract women, with these you’ll find your one and only soon enough’.

   In his own personal opinion, scars are proof that he has been a witness to violence. Everytime he sees those scars in his reflection or photos, he is reminded of the people that he failed to save. Scars mean violence and violence means death. How can he be proud of witnessing death unfold right before his eyes?

   He finds himself laying on his bed once more, looking at the white ceiling in his pajama pants. His bedroom has no windows aside from one glass door that leads to the balcony, but even that does not bring any light as the blinds are shut tight.

   Aside from the necessities like the bed, the two bedside tables, his desk stockpiled with even more paperwork and a simple, small wardrobe, there’s nothing else. On his bed, there’s a small cheetah plush, a gift from a bright-eyed kid after another four months at the frontlines. The little boy, Gepard’s self-proclaimed ‘number one fan’, ran up to him, giving him the plush and saying ‘my mum said that guards get bad dreams too, so I saved up on my allowance to get you Mr. Cheetah. He’ll protect you from all the bad dreams!’.

   At the time, the soldier was frozen still, unsure how to react. Of course, he accepted it, thanking the boy and promising to treasure it, but everytime he looks at it he can’t help but wonder how a plush toy is supposed to help. His sisters had some, he knows, but for the life of him he can’t figure out what exactly to do with the plush. So, for almost a year now, it’s been sitting on his bedside table, watching over him.

   Closing his eyes, he falls asleep thinking about that plush and the wonder in the small blond boy. He wonders what that little kid sees in him, why does he admire a battle-hardened mess of a man that fails to do something as simple as taking care of himself?

   Waking up is a much easier affair than going to sleep, Gepard finds. Getting up means being productive and productiveness and is the complete opposite of being useless. Maybe it's wrong to view the world in such a black and white way, but his father didn't repeatedly beat productivity into him for nothing.

   Despite everything that his father might've done, one thing the soldier appreciates appreciated him for, was the strict sense of responsibility, loyalty and need to stay on top of things. Serval often doesn’t approve of this, saying that Gepard should allow some spontaneity into his life, that he shouldn’t feel responsible for every little thing.

   He understands where she is coming from, he thinks while walking to his bathroom. Of course, she wants him to relax and ‘live a little’ as she likes to say. Bitterly, he grabs the toothbrush, applying a heavy dose of toothpaste. What she doesn’t understand is that it’s his literal job to be responsible for every little thing.

   He stares hard at his reflection as he brushes his teeth, his movements aggressive. He is responsible for the lives of his soldiers on the frontlines, he is responsible for who gets assigned which mission and who is in charge of which criminals, he is in charge of the patrol routes and so so much more. His older sister doesn’t really get that, for years now the only person she was responsible for was herself and no one else.

   He doesn’t hold it against her, being caged like that isn’t her style and she wouldn’t be able to thrive without her freedom and independence. He just wishes she could understand that his job isn’t just ‘fighting and signing papers’. Spitting, he notices a little bit of red on the foam of the toothpaste. He really should stop brushing his teeth so harshly.

   Quickly, he washes his face and puts on his prosthetic, testing the joints and groaning a little tiredly. He still has forty-six minutes before his shift starts, so he quickly gets dressed and leaves his apartment, not after, of course, locking and unlocking the door a few times just to make sure it’s actually locked.

   Sometimes, when it’s deep into the night, the soldier wonders if he would’ve thrived just like his sisters if he cut ties with their parents just like Serval had. Maybe he would’ve owned a flower shop, he muses. He always shuts down those thoughts, however. Afterall, he was happy serving Belobog, even if it’s small compared to the rest of the universe. It is his home and he is willing to defend it to his last breath.

   Maybe the idea was cultivated by his parents and the value the military holds in the Landau Family, but he wouldn’t trade his current position for anything in the world. Maybe the battlefield isn’t something he enjoys, but at least he is helping preserve Belobog and everyone there. At least he falls asleep knowing that the people inside the walls are safe, that families live without fear of losing their loved ones at any moment, that his sisters are safe.

   Shaking his head, he leaves all those thoughts behind, walking into a corner shop next to his tramp station. While it doesn’t sell full one meals, they do have sandwiches at the ready every morning, a good substitute for a breakfast, in Gepard’s opinion.

   “Captain! Good morning,” an old and sweet lady greets from behind the counter. She’s short with grey hair mixing with her ginger strands, tied in a small, high bun. Thick green glasses highlight her brown eyes, full of mirth and just as lively as during her youth, at least that’s the impression she gives off. She’s wearing a new cardigan, a pink one with silly cats.

   “Good morning, Mrs. Mikhailovna,” the soldier meets in return, walking to the sandwich display and picking his favourite. “Is this a new cardigan?” he decides to ask while reaching for the pocket of his uniform. There, next to his wallet, is a crumpled piece of paper. He frowns, making a mental note to throw it away when he passes by the trashcan next to Qliphoth Fort.

   “It is!” the granny confirms cheerfully while ringing up the sandwich, “my niece and daughter-in-law made it, isn’t it just so lovely?” she asks, smiling wildly, accepting the payment as the other is holding out the necessary shields. “It’s so warm too, it’s like their love is warming me up more than a heater ever could!”

   Gepard shares her smile, grabbing the sandwich and the spare change. “It is a beautiful cardigan, Mrs. Mikhailovna, your niece is very talented,” he compliments. It comes out a little awkward, but the other doesn’t seem to mind, still smiling brightly.

   “Thank you, Captain, I’ll make sure to tell her the Captain of the Silvermane Guards thinks she is very talented,” the glasses-wearing lady giggles. “Now shoo, shoo, your tramp is coming, even I can see it!” she jokes, earning a chuckle from the other.

   He knows it’s nothing big, but these conversations always have a way of making him feel lighter, it’s like his version of coffee in the morning, giving him enough energy for the next few hours. Even if not related to the granny, the guard has bought sandwiches from her every morning for the past five years, and each time his chest feels a little lighter, knowing that people like her are being protected.

   Either way, his tramp arrives soon just in time for him to be done with his breakfast. As always, he takes a seat next to a window, two seats away from the door in the middle of the tramp. Just like always, it’s just him and a few handful others, mostly students and construction workers. And just like always, he greets the ticket agent, paying the same amount as always.

   As he sits, listening to the white noise around him, he is reminded of that piece of paper in his pocket. Careful not to rip, he takes it out, reading what it’s about. Soon, realization hits him, it’s the note Natasha gave him. The note she gave him so he can see Sampo Koski. The note she gave so he can strike a deal with Sampo Koksi.

   He completely forgot about it, he thinks as he stares at the poor piece of paper like it personally offended him. He frowns, looking at the note. Natasha means well, he knows that, but the idea of collaborating with Koski, the idea of the Silvermane Guards working with this man, makes him uneasy.

   Logically, he knows it’s not as a big deal as he’s making it out to be. Sampo wasn’t even a dangerous criminal, just an overly annoying one. It took ten years and a visit from beyond the stars for the Guards to even learn that his actual name is Sampo Koski! This man is slippier than warp trotters, and the taunting smirk he seems to wear like his favourite gloves just makes it worse.

   It feels humiliating to ask for help from the man he failed to arrest. But then again, Natasha mentioned community service, so he must be trying to change his ways, or he has another scheme brewing, either way it would be good to keep an eye on that sly bastard. Of course, it adds another layer of humiliation, but he has gone through worse, it was just another tough pill to swallow.

   With that in mind, he decides Qlipoth Fort can wait for him a little longer.

   There’s no difference in the Underworld between morning and night. Gepard understood that, on some level at least. Yet, as he’s passing through the dimly-lit roads of Boulder Town, he can’t help but feel a little uneased by this ‘realization’. The only real difference is the lack of children, which makes the streets and the people feel a little more… dead.

   At least the hotel is nearby, he reasons. It looks a little small, too small to be able to be of true service for the Underworld, but that applies to almost everything related to the Underworld. Mentally, he makes a note to talk to Lady Bronya about updating the buildings and other related work.

   Carefully taking out the note, he walks over to a woman standing next to the door of the hotel. “Hello Ma’am, are you Miss Gerthie?” he asks, feeling a little awkward standing next to a woman at least two heads shorter than him. He sometimes forgets he is taller than half of Belobog.

   The woman nods, smiling slightly. “That’s me,” she confirms, placing her hands behind her back. “You must be Captain Gepard Landau, right?” she asks, earning a nod. “Natasha mentioned you might pass by,” she opens the door, urging the other to come inside. “Come on in.”

   Immediately, he is bathed in golden light, the sound of the geomarrow heater and idle chatter filling the space. There was a surprising number of young adults, all of them talking and laughing while sharing some take out that the guard recognises from one of the stalls outside.

   “So then, I assume that you know why I’m here?” the soldier asks, straight to business. The lobby is cozy, small and a little cramped, but cozy nonetheless. “I still have Dr. Natasha’s note too, should I give it to you or is it not necessary?” he inquiries, walking in long strides behind the shorter woman.

   Some of the people turn around, noticing the owner and greeting her, some look over and watch the Captain, unsure of what to make of his appearance. Despite how uncomfortable he feels, he understands the suspicion so, awkwardly, he smiles.

   “You can throw the note, don’t worry,” the hotel owner laughs, passing by the main desk and ignoring it all together. “Sampo is in his room, but I’m not sure how responsive he is going to be,” she warns as they approach the elevator. “He has yet to leave his room, I think he is still resting,” she explains, pressing the call button of the lift.

   Internally, the soldier frowns. Just how long was his expedition for him still be dead to the world? Then again, as far as he is aware Koski goes on expeditions alone. A stupid and dangerous thing, but it would explain why it takes him so long to return. His only question is how that weasel is still alive.

   “Dr. Natasha mentioned it’s been days since he’s come back from his expedition,” the Captain mentions, watching the blonde woman press the button for the fifth floor. “This is the first time I’ve seen someone need so much time to rest after visiting the snow plains,” he hums, squeezing into the elevator. “Is he injured?”

   It is a possibility and even though the guard isn’t a fan of the blue-haired menace, he’s still a resident of Belobog. One of them, in a way. It’s his duty as a Silvermane Guard to make sure everyone is safe, even dumb con men that hide in trash cans and the snow.

   “Not as far as I know,” Gerthie answers, walking out of the cramped space and confidently towards the end of the hallway. “Of course you can never know with that guy,” she laughs, “but considering that Natasha let him go with no patching up, I’d assume he’s fine, just really tired,” she hums. “It’s normal for him, don’t worry.”

   The soldier still wants to ask more, but, unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get the chance as the hotel owner stops in front of an old door with no identifying number. Instead, the blonde turns towards the Captain and says, “here we are, now, if you excuse me, I have some other business to attend to,” she bows slightly and leaves in hurried steps.

   Soon, the guard is left alone, staring at the brown and worn out door. He was debating just bolting out of there, unwilling to face that little rat of a man. However, he has already made it this far, even if he has a ‘slight’ dislike for the man, he can’t just avoid him, he has people to protect.

   So, with a decisive nod, he knocks on the door three times, each time no less louder or quieter. He hears some shuffling and a quiet groan, but nothing else. After a few seconds of relative silence, he decides to knock again, a little louder this time. This time, he hears more shuffling but still no footsteps.

   The Captain frowns, knocking louder once more, this time hearing a small curse before even more shuffling. Crossing his arms, he’s a little surprised at the suddenness of the door opening, but he quickly corrects his expression to hide it, instead taking in the sight that is Koski.

   He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting, but seeing that sly little weasel so sleepy and out of it certaintly wasn’t it. His hair has lost some of its bounce, leaving a slightly flat and wavy mess behind, with strands sticking out in every direction. He is wearing a long orange nightgown while being wrapped in a dark red blanket, leaning heavily against the doorframe as if he is going to fall down the moment he tries to stand upright.

   “Miss Gerthie, is this imp’rtant?” the sleepy man mumbles while rubbing his eyes. “I, uh, understand it’s been a while since my beautiful face graced your day, but this ‘s a little excess’ve,” he jokes, yawning. At the other’s silence, “Miss Gerthie…?”

   It’s a little comical how disoriented the man was. In all those long long years that the Captain has been chasing the blue-haired weasel, he has yet to see him so… human. And yet, here he is, fighting to stay awake in his pajamas with a messy room behind him.

   “I apologise for waking you, Mr. Koski,” Gepard answers, fighting a smile at seeing the slightly shorter man all but jump, his eyes wide. “I’m here to commission you,” he explains, relishing in the way the other shakes his head, desperate to wake up. “Natasha recommended you specifically.”

   It takes a second for the con man’s brain to process the other’s words. He’s blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, almost swaying from side to side. The blanket falls and he is quick to pick it up, the air around his jittery. 

   “Captain!” Sampo almost yells with a nervous smile, straightening up just a tad. “Come in, come in, such matters shouldn’t be discussed out and about!” he urges, motioning for the other to enter the small room. The blonde does so, following the blue mop of hair. “Ah! Shoes off, Captain!” the man points out, “you can leave them anywhere, hehe.”

   The soldier does so, watching Koski drag his blanket towards the bed. During this short walk, the green-eyed man managed to yawn at least five times, which honestly is just impressive at this point. The guard was told that the other has been resting for a few days now, but with how tired the man is, the blonde is beginning to doubt it.

   “Give me just a moment to freshen up, Captain,” the ex-conman says, his tone cheery despite the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m afraid you caught ol’ Sampo at a bad time,” he rambles on as he enters the small bathroom. “Really, it’s, what? Seven right now? That’s way too early!”

   The man keeps on talking, muffled thanks to the closed door and him brushing his teeth, but Gepard is barely paying attention, more focused on looking around the small room. He admires how, despite how organised it all is, there’s still messiness in everything around them.

   Like mentioned before, the room was small, but surprisingly well furnished. At the entrance there’s a small hall-like area for shoes, coats and other necessities, complete with a small stool that housed a few purses and bags and a mirror to his left. The mirror was clean and although it lacked any real personalization, there were a few posted notes here and there, stuck to the mirror. Most of them talked about deadlines and babysitting hours, but the soldier managed to spot a few childish doodles, drawn with crayons. He liked them.

   On the right side of the room there was a small sitting area, with one loveseat, an armchair and a small coffee table. The armchair had a sleeping pillow and a blanket on top, different from the one Sampo was using. This one was a deep blue, the colour popping in contrast to the soft hues of the room. The small couch had a bunch of throw pillows, all of them matching the loveseat. The coffee table, of course, is full of papers and trinkets, as well as drawing supplies.

   Walking a little further into the room, he notices a small kitchenette behind a half wall. It was small and very cramped, but functional. At least on the surface. It had everything it needed, an oven with a hood, an icebox, counters, cupboards and even a small table with four chairs, stuck next to the half wall.

   The table was full of drawing supplies, a few trinkets similar to the relics he had seen in those old and abandoned houses in the snow plains, some golden powder and… lumps of clay? He didn’t know the ex-conman was interested in pottery.

   On the far left of the small room, there was the blue-haired menace’s bed. It was a bunch of blankets, one of which was the same red one the troublemaker covered himself with while talking to Gepard. Between the mess of blankets and pillows, he spots a small blue plush toy in the shape of a fox. The eyes, painted green, looked like they were carved out of a rock, looking like its owner’s down turned eyes and the body was sewn with blue fabric, transitioning to a white at its paws and the end of its tail. It stood out against the red of the bedding and blankets.

   It looked a little too small for him, a twin bed to be precise. The soldier wouldn’t be surprised if Koski had to curl up on himself to fit. He wonders if it bothers the other, to not be able to lay down comfortably, if the limited space is an issue or not. Who knows, maybe that rascal is used to curling up in his sleep, or maybe, he even likes it.

   Instead of a nightstand by the bed, he has a desk, cluttered with papers, mugs and some clumps of pottery. There’s a small lamp and a candle there, clearly needed as the window in front of the bed provides no light. The blonde thinks he sees a small medkit, but he’s not entirely sure, instead shifting his gaze to the area next to the entrance to the bathroom.

   There, against the wall, is a small vanity area surrounded by two small closets. There was a mirror, obviously, as well as a bunch of makeup, some bottles more than halfway used. It was messy, but there seemed to be some order to it, much like everything in this hotel room. 

   Soon, Sampo emerges from the bathroom, looking much more awake than before. He spots Gepard standing awkwardly in the middle of the messy room and immediately flushes a rosy pink. “Ah, I haven’t even offered you anything, I apologise for being such a bad host!” he panics, rushing towards the kitchen.

   The Captain tries to say that it’s fine, and he was the one who came uninvited anyway, but the blue-haired man beats him to it. “What would ya like? I’ve got juice, tea, I think I have a packet of coffee laying around here somewhere…” he hums, looking around. “Oh! And water, of course, hehe.”

   To be completely honest, the blonde isn’t sure how to interact with the other. Despite the decade of never-ending chases, he has yet to have a normal conversation with a man. So now that the blue-haired weasel is acting like a friend, he’s not entirely sure how to proceed. The only thing he knows is that he prefers a sleepy Koski much more than run-away Koski.

   “Just water is fine,” the soldier answers, only to be met with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look from the ex-conman. “...I supposed I wouldn’t mind having some tea,” he changes his answer, looking away awkwardly as the other beams happily.

   Why the blue-haired menace even bothered with offering him a drink is beyond him. The soldier made it quite clear that this was a quick business meeting, nothing more nothing less, but it seems the other doesn’t care. He’s no sure if he likes that or not.

   “Right away, Captain!” the jade-eyed man smiles before yawning as he is heading towards the kitchenette. “You know, I was almost ready to call security when you were knocking,” the man laughs as he fills the kettle, “you should really speak up Captain! After all, others wouldn’t be as nice as me to open the door at…” he looks at the analog clock behind the other, “six in the morning,” he says uncharacteristically flatly. “And what are you doing, just standing there!” he scolds, “sit, sit!”

   Distantly, the blonde thinks that seeing a wanted criminal making him tea was not what he expected in a million years. The man is moving smoothly from one place to another which, of course, makes sense. The man has been living here for some time, but it doesn’t make the scene any less odd.

   “I apologise for waking you up, Mr. Koski,” the guard apologises, deciding to sit at the table in the kitchenette, watching the other prepare the tea. “I didn’t realize it was this early,” he states, truthfully and earnestly. The other seems to be satisfied for now, focusing on the tea and pulling out sugar and milk.

   It’s oddly nice, watching the man prepare tea. It’s a familiar in an unfamiliar way, like reading books were families had breakfast together and his heart feeling with nostalgia for something that never happened with his own family. Maybe he is the one who hasn’t fully woken up yet.

   Holding two cups, Koski walks over to the table. “Now what is it that you wanted to discuss?” he asks as he hands the soldier his mug. “I’m a busy man, you know! But seeing as the Captain of the Silvermane Guards came all this way to see little ol’ Sampo…” he trails off, grabbing a few cookie boxes out of the cupboard. “I can only imagine how important the matter is!” he laughs.

   He does not sit next to the guard, not yet. He gets on his tip-toes, looking for something on top of the ice box, very far and hidden. Letting out a small ‘aha!’ he holds a box of cookies and for a second the other wonders why the blue-haired weasel has these cookies hidden. Does he babysit in this very hotel room?

   “I am interested in cooperating with you on a case I’m having trouble with,” Gepard informs, his tone neutral as he watches his host put the cookies in a small porcelain bowl. “Dr. Natasha recommended you by name,” he continues, wrapping his hands around his mug. It’s warm. “She spoke highly of you, and insisted on hiring you.”

   That piques the man’s interest, those jade eyes widening, laced with mischief not too far off how he looks before slipping away with one of his handy smoke or blinding bombs. In the back of his mind, the soldier wonders what the ex-con man is thinking.

   “Oh?” the weasel of a man raises an eyebrow, taking a bite out of his cookie. It’s one of those with chocolate on top of a jello. “Well, if Dr. Natasha insisted as you say, whatever your case is, it must be very important, eh?” he teases, his eyes gleaming with that playfulness and calculation that the other is oh-so familiar with.

   Of course, the Captain has to make sure to be careful. Even though Dr. Natasha said he is atoning for his crimes, Koski could easily use any information to his advantage. He just has to be careful not to give out a lot, and nothing important while still asking for help.

   “Don’t get any ideas,” the blonde scolds, earning a faux pout from the other, who simply takes a sip of his tea. The soldier decides to mimic the other, taking his own sip of the tea. He is pleasantly surprised when the drink doesn’t taste like bitter leaf juice, unlike every time that he makes it himself. “I simply need the necessary knowledge to weed out any guards that have been led astray.”

   Recognition lights up behind the other’s eyes, a smug grin on his face. He is playing with the rim of his mug, clearly excited to hear more. When the blonde fails to continue, leaving him with just the most basic of information, he speaks up.

   “You mean the Silvermanes that have been huffing and puffing about their new earnings?” Sampo asks with an easy smile while setting down his cup. “I thought it was something big, like, I don’t know… maybe a new relic or a new painting at the museum or something…” he trails off, sighing wistfully.

   Why the blue-haired weasel is so interested in any new pieces of the museum is beyond the guard. In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note of asking the Trailblazer if any of the leads for the museum theft cases lead to Sampo in any way. It does fall in the ex-criminal’s MO.

   Leveling a hard glare to the ex-conman, “again, don’t get any ideas,” Gepard scolds, deciding on eating a few of the cookies in front of him. They are really good. “ And besides, I was under the impression that you were atoning for your crimes, Mr. Koski,” he informs, crossing his arms.

   The other’s eyes widen nervously, smiling awkwardly in the way he always does when caught with ‘hand in the cookie jar’, as Serval likes to say. He laughs, as if not expecting the guard to be this blunt and forthcoming.

   “Of course, of course!” Sampo raises his hands in surrender. “Good ol’ Sampo Koski is on the road to becoming a law abiding citizen!” he smiles. “But ya can’t blame me for expecting something a wee bit more exciting,” he laments, “after all, it’s not everyday that Belobog’s beloved Captain shows up at your doorstep at six in the morning,” he argues. “Besides, community service is so boring! Have you ever done it, Captain? Cause let me tell you, picking up trash and playing nurses isn’t fun at all!”

   If Koski wasn’t a criminal that has cost the Silvermane Guards a ridiculous amount of wasted time, the blonde would’ve laughed.

   “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before committing the crimes,” the Captain suggested, smiling faintly and biting another cookie. The look the other gave him was challenging and playful, yet the ex-conman still looked sleepy, blinking slowly as if struggling to stay awake. Qlipoth, how bad is this man’s sleeping schedule?

   The weasel’s eyes shine with a certain playfulness, similar to Dr. Natasha’s. Clearly, something is brewing in the other’s head as he smiles. There’s a cocky glint in his eyes and the other knows to prepare himself for some teasing.

   “Ah, but you’re forgetting something!” the blue-haired menace hums, his smiling lines shining through. “I’m not over here doing community service because I’m forced to, you bluecoats never actually caught me~” he gloats, puffing his chest.

   Gepard was supposed to find it annoying, how the other was blatantly calling the Silvermane Guards incompetent and how he was openly bragging about never being caught despite his extensive list of crimes, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. It was a little adorable, actually. The way he puffed his chest and kept that smug little smile while blinking sleepily was fun and it felt so… so human. Or maybe he was delirious.

   Clearing his throat, the soldier spoke again. “Right, but to get back to the point, you mentioned knowing something about the Silvermane Guards that have been cooperating with criminals,” he reminds, earning the other’s attention once more. “Care to tell me more about that?”

   It seems like the previous sleeping is now slowly but surely returning to the other as he sluggishly grabs another cookie, trying to process the guard’s words. It’s subtle, like everything with the man, but a little bit of observing reveals that whatever burst of energy he had was slowly getting drained.

   Trying to blink the sleepiness away and focus on the other’s words, the blue-haired man nods. “I don’t know their names, if that’s what you’re asking, ol’ Sampo isn’t interested in sellouts,” he states, before rethinking his statement, “well, not anymore, hehe,” he giggles, more to himself than anything. He gets back on track after the Captain’s glare. “But! I know where they like to mingle, if you want, I can tail them for a few days, or I can give you the address, your pick!”

   The Captain hums at those words. His first instinct is to just ask for the address and send his own soldiers to go undercover, but logic reminds him that this is an unreliable plan. The Silvermane Guards are way too recognizable in the Underworld, even when undercover, not to mention that he doesn’t know who the sellouts even are.

   So, with a heavy sigh, he turns to face the jade-eyed man, who is fighting (and losing) the fight against sleep. “I’ll need you to tail them for a week, just to be sure,” he states, earning the other’s attention, who blinks hard. “Try to find out as much as possible, names, ranks, motives, everything,” he orders, watching the other’s blank expression turn into a playful yet sleepy smile.

   Koski, in his current state, looks a lot like the little plush fox that is laying on the bed, hidden in a sea of blankets. The sleepiness and somewhat relaxed posture is something he never expected to see, but honestly he doesn’t think he minds, relaxations suits the man much more than sneakiness and chases around the city. Or maybe the guard prefers a cooperative and manageable Koski.

   “Consider it done, Captain!” Sampo agrees easily, he lets go of his mug, instead leaning against his palm and tilting his head. “But~ I think this is the time we discuss my payment!~” he continues, his eyes half-lidded. “After all, this mission is oh so important and dangerous,” he laments, “I think I need something to make it worth it for good ol’ Sampo over here, hehe~”

   Like this, the ex-con man looks like he’s seriously fighting falling asleep, blinking hard. Clearly, the promise of a reward and the presence of a guard is enough to keep him awake, Gepard just isn’t sure which one the other deems more important.

   “Aren’t you atoning for your crimes, Mr. Koski?” the blue-eyed soldier asks, “shouldn’t you be cooperating with me for free?” he hums, relishing in the way that sleepy weasel looks at him, frenzied, shocked and comically offended. “I’m willing to take off a month’s worth of community service from your sentence, I’m even willing to ‘pay’ you by listing two weeks from your community service the moment I get back to Qlipoth Fort. This is not up for negotiation.”

   And oh, it’s as if the ex-conman was given a billion credits with how his face lights up. For a moment, the guard thinks that the other man’s smile would be enough of a lightsource for the whole Underworld with how brightly he’s smiling.

   “Rest assured, this is more than enough, Captain!” the blue-haired weasel grins. “You’ll have those bluecoats behind bars by the end of the week!” he brags, practically bouncing with excitement. “Matter of fact, consider the case already closed!” he promises, puffing up his chest, all previous sleepiness vanishing.

   A new wave of energy emerges from aeons-know-where as the blue-haired weasel is practically vibrating in his spot at the table. It looks like he is battling against fragmentum in his mind to keep still. Or, well, as still as he can.

   “Just get the job done, Mr. Koski,” Gepard huffs, shaking his head in disapproval. “And try not to get caught,” he reminds, earning a eyeroll. “I’d hate it if I had to deal with one more headache in the form of… you,” he reprimands, getting up from his chair.

   At those words, the jade-eyed man makes an offended sound, getting up and putting on his theatrics. If there was a normal wall nearby, the blonde is sure the other would be leaning against it, clutching his chest as if greatly wounded.

   “Pl-ease, am I a man known for getting caught, Captain?” Koski teases, following the other. “Do I have to remind you once more that you Silvermanes never actually caught me? Because, honestly, this is getting sad,” he huffs as he watches the soldier put on his boots. “And Sampo Koski is not one to rub salt on his friends’ wounds, you know!”

   Standing straight, the Captain just eyes the man, his arms crossed. “Just go back to sleep, Mr. Koski,” he says. “I can see you swaying harder than a baby polar cub learning how to walk,” he opens the door. “I expect you to report all your finds by the end of the week. Take care.”

   Working in his office is a very different hell compared to the frontlines. Instead of fighting for your life and being in a do-or-die situation, the soldier is being crushed by the guild of doing paperwork. Oftentimes, he remembers his father. He used to stay for as long as possible in the field. Once, Gepard remembers not seeing his father for almost two years.

   His father hated the bureaucratic process of paperwork, ‘good for nothing pencil-pushing’ he called it. Back then, the blond had no idea why his father detested paperwork so much, obviously, if he had to do it, then it has to be useful, no? And the more he avoids it by staying longer than he should in the frontlines, the more paperwork he would have to do.

   Of course, nowadays the Captain understands why his father had such a dislike for bureaucracy. It wasn’t because it was boring or tedious, even if those statements are true. The real answer was simple, and one that he himself struggles with. ‘Pencil-pushing’ filled a guard with guilt.

   Instead of being on the battlefield, fighting for the survival of Belobog, protecting your comrades, you are sitting in the comfort of a warm and comfortable office. Every second that you are resting or enjoying yourself, you know that there’s a chance that one of your guards is dead or dying, when you could be there, protecting them.

   ‘Restless soldier syndrome’, the family medics had said when Gepard’s mother tried to seek help. They advised to just be there for father, to remind him that he has been disqualified from the field due to injury and age. He remembers the fight that ensued after father learned that mother went behind his back to seek help.

   Shaking his head, he mentally gets back to work. He had meant to do this earlier, yet guilt ate at him everytime he looked at the paper. Private Peter Vasilevich Popov, thirty-one, no family or relatives documented, no friends in the Silvermane Guards and no other person who would be interested in his dog tags.

   Gepard remembers him. A very closed off man with cold and weary eyes. He didn’t really interact with any other soldiers and kept to himself. The Captain once caught Peter drunk and helped him to his tent. That night, the stoic soldier opened up just a tad. He admitted that he was from the Underwold with no family. He was locked out when the ban was enforced and he had to live in the streets for the majority of his life. When asked why he became a guard, he responded with a blunt ‘had nothing else to do with my life, the food and housing’s free, might as well do some good’.

   He died from a gash, protecting another guard, specifically Private Vladimir Antonovich Smirnov, who sustained an injury on the hip. He’s one of the newer recruits, all things considered. He joined the frontlines a few months ago, this was his first real expedition. The blue-eyed man still remembers the terror in Vladimir’s eyes as he held on Peter’s corpse.

   Chewing on his lip, the blonde almost misses the knock on his door. “Come in,” he says, loud enough to be heard from the other room. He doesn’t look up from the form he has to fill until he hears the door open. In walks in Vladimir, he has a cast and some bandaging poking out of his ordinary clothes, yet he still looks a little shaken. “Private Antonovich,” he greets. “How can I help you? I thought you were still on medical leave.”

   “I am, sir,” the other nods. His hands are shaking, his honey blonde hair is all messed up, far from the neat look he had before, and his eyes, which were so full with joy and resembed lit geomarrow, are sporting deep eyebags, dim and dull. “But, ah, I came to ask for a favor, sir.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Gepard lets go of the pen he was holding, instead opting to lean his elbows on the dest. “Take a seat, private,” he gestures to the soldier, who awkwardly nods and shuffles there. Once the new guard is seated the other continues, “I’m listening.”

   The young soldier looks far too small sitting in that chair. Slight tremble follows his every limb as he fidgets nervously. To think just a month ago he was in the field, happy and ready to defend Belobog, now an empty husk of what he used to be. It’s always heartbreaking to see new soldiers be stripped of the passion in their eyes.

   Awkward, as if all of his nerves were light aflame, the honey-coloured blonde speaks. “Uh, I was wondering if I could have private Vasilevich’s dog tags?” he asks, shifting in his seat awkwardly. At the Captain’s surprised expression, he continues, “there’s rumours that Peter didn’t have any family or friends outside the Silvermane Guards and I thought that if that’s true, then that means there’s no one to get his tag, right?”

   Ah, that makes sense. If the soldier was in Vladimir’s shoes, he would do the same. Much like any guard in his position, he makes sure to keep a dead comrade’s memory alive, despite the grief that plagues their mind. Distantly, the older guard wonders if the other is experiencing recurring nightmares as well. Judging by the other’s eye bags, his guess is not too far off.

   The blue-eyed man nods, “unfortunately, those rumours are true, he doesn't have any relatives or friends to be notified,” he confirms, watching silently as Vladimir’s eyes get dimmer. “Of course, giving you the identification tag is not an issue, I can give you the paperwork to sign right now, but may I ask what spurred this decision on?”

   It’s only courtesy that he asks, as the answer is obvious. The goal of the question is simply, it’s more of a way to get soldiers to talk about their feelings and emotions rather than actually learn about their reasoning. The method was often used on Gepard himself, with less than satisfactory results.

   The young private bites his lips nervously, looking down at his bandages with guilt-filled eyes. “He saved my life, Captain,” he says in a quiet tone, clenching his fists, so unlike the lively roar and friendly cheer he is known for. “The least I could do is honor his memory,” he admits, looking at the other straight in the eyes.

   There’s a bit of a silent standoff as the battle-hardened soldier waits for the other to crack, talk a little more. It doesn’t work, the other simply looking with glassy eyes filled with determination. Silently surrendering, he sighs quietly.

   “Very well,” he nods, the private’s eyes getting just a tad less dim. “I was in the process of signing over private Vasilevich’s documentation,” he pushes the form towards the other, handing him a pen. “Just sign here, it shows that you received the identification tag.”

   Finally, the brown-eyed man smiles, signing the form as Gepard takes out the identification tag from his drawer. He takes them from the Captain’s hands carefully, as if it’s a precious artifact and not a sad excuse of an identification method, an objectifying display of a soldier’s whole life.

   “Thank you,” Vladimir smiles, his eyes containing unshed tears. He puts it in his pocket, picking up his crouch and slowly getting up from his seat. “W-Well, I should get going, I’m sure you have tons of work to do, Captain,” he slowly makes his way over to the door and just before he leaves, he turns around and says, “thank you again, Captain.”

   Dumly, Gepard only nods, clenching the pen in his hand. Just as the private leaves, the Captain once again hopes to have been able to save one of his soldiers, to save the others from the pain of grief. Hopefully, next time.

   It was naive of him to think he’ll have much alone time, the soldier thinks as he hears yet another series of knocks at his door, this time loud and bold, just like the person behind them. He doesn’t get time to answer before the door opens loudly.

   “Geppie!~” Serval sings as she enters his office, walking over and making herself at home, without closing the door. “Man, it feels like it gets even more depressing each time I come here,” she comments, looking around.

   Quietly, the guard gives up on any hope of getting his job done. It’s always this way with her, the rockstar requires a level of focus and concentration to make sure you don’t slip up and say something that will worry her or make her want to solve any supposed ‘problems’, like his sleeping schedule.

   Sighing tiredly, the blonde man can only resign to his fate, “I’m a little busy right now, Serval,” he looks up from his stacks of paperwork, staring at his sister as she is sprawled out on the chair. “What do you want?” he makes sure his tone is dry as he asks.

   It’s a specific kind of mind game to deal with his sister during office hours. Don’t get him wrong, he loves her more than life itself, but when it comes to anything remotely work-related, Serval has the tendency of being unprofessional, relying more on personal connections than following the code and, in general, not procrastinating.

   “To annoy you, obviously,” the researcher rolls her eyes, leaning her hand against the handle of the chair and placing her head on her palm. After a bit of silence she admits, “I’m kidding,” she laughs, “I just had great idea recently!” she announces, giddy and excited although she’s somewhat trying to hide it. Why, he doesn’t know.

   Raising an eyebrow, he looks at his sister, waiting for her to continue. “Go on,” he says before looking down at the documents he still has to sign. Well, he’s not getting them done now for sure, he sighs internally, staring hard at them.

   “Well, I was thinking, the reason you don’t relax more when in the city is because your apartment is kind of,” the rockstar hesitates, “meh,” she finishes. “Well, I had a great idea on how to fix it!” she boasts, clearly proud of herself. “Get this - we get you a roommate,” she grins, clearly pleased.

   It’s a very common thing among the Landau siblings to joke that Gepard is bad at social cues, but he is starting to suspect that his sister might actually be worse. Helplessly, the man watches as the other continues to talk, spouting ideas, not noticing the other’s bafflement.

   The captain just blinks, confused. Blinking harder, “...a roommate?” he asks, stopping his sibling’s rant mid way as she turns to look him in the eye. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. He kind of feels bad for not sharing her excitement.

   “Yeah! I already made you a poster, we can print them with that new printer the nameless donated and we’ll find you a roommate in no time!” she claims, pulling out a poster from one of her pockets. “Maybe they’ll even be able to help you decorate your apartment!”

   She hands him the poster, it’s crambled from being in her pocket, but that isn’t what’s bothering him. It’s… eye catching, to say the very least. With bold neon blue capital letters at the center of the page is written ‘ THE CAPTAIN NEEDS A ROOMMATE ’. Under it, there’s his phone number as well as other additional information, like the number of bedrooms, the size of the apartment and so on.

   Pinching the space between his eyes, the guard can’t help but sigh tiredly. “Serval, I appreciate your efforts, but I’m not interested in this, you know that,” he says, exasperated. “I am a busy man, I don’t have time to be answering phone calls for potential roommates,” he tries to explain.

   He gives the poster back to his sister, who not-so-happily takes it back. She’s tapping her fingers against her forearm, clearly unhappy with his answer. Her expression reminds him a lot of when she used to argue with their father back when she was a teenager. He hates being on the receiving end of this expression.

   “So what are you gonna do, huh?” the researcher asks, frowning. “You can’t keep living like this, Geppie!” she argues. “If you can’t answer phone calls I can do it for you, I’m sure we’ll find people!” she goes on, desperate.

   At that, the soldier frowns. He’s not sure why she’s so stuck on this, like he’s some kind of charity work or another project for her to fix. He knows this isn’t his sister's intention, but that doesn’t stop the ugly part of his subconscious whispering to him that she’s trying to fix something just for having a few cracks on its surface. 

   “You know that’s not the issue,” Gepard responds, crossing his arms. “I don’t need a roommate to ‘help me’ and there’s no reason for me to be looking for one,” he goes on. “I’m not struggling financially or in any other way that makes me need assistance so drop it.”

   Serval looks like she wants to argue more, but stops herself. It’s very unlike her, as she never stops herself from saying whatever she wants to say. It’s very unlike the guard, who rarely speaks about anything other than work-related topics. She’s holding herself back, probably because she doesn’t want to sour his mood, which means only one thing: she wants to ask for something.

   “You came here to ask about something else, didn’t you?” the Captain asks, slow and measured. His sister’s eyes widen for a second, like she didn’t expect the other to figure it out so soon, like he hadn’t known her his whole life.

   The researcher avoids the other’s gaze, biting her lip before sighing in defeat. “I wanted to ask you something,” she starts, slow and measured. “I was gonna just ask Bronya but she said that ‘it’s more up your alley’,” she looks away, fidgeting awkwardly. She’s leaving something out, obviously.

   It’s rare for her to be this nervous, especially around him. Whatever she wants, it must be big for her to hesitate asking him. He decides to give her some time, let her continue talking. But when she doesn’t go on, he replies, urging her to continue.

   “Right,” the guard hums, putting his pen down and setting the documents he is handling aside. “So what is it, then?” he asks, placing his forearms on his desk. “If it’s about getting fragmentum infused machinery from the Snow Plains to study, then you already know my answer.”

   She had suggested that study months ago, back when she first re-joined the Silvermane Guards. She had suggested it during a meeting with the architects, stating that it would be great to analyze the remaining machinery. He was never more thankful for the Supreme Guardian agreeing with him.

   “No, no, no, no, no, no!” she shakes her hands quickly. “Well, it is about the Snow Plains… but not about the fragmentum stuff!” she corrects herself fast, clearing her throat at the question raised eyebrow the other shoots her. “I just thought of installing a few heaters in some of the better preserved houses there,” she explains, gesturing with her hands. “I mean, think about it! You guys go to the frontlines and expeditions so often! It’d be good to have safe houses with working heating, no?”

   Of course, it would benefit the Silvermanes to have heating in their safe houses, after all staying warm is one of the biggest worries when being outside Belobog. Another benefit would be that Lynx would have more safe and warm places to rest during her expeditions. But there was one issue that bothered the Captain.

   “I agree with you, it would be beneficial for the Silvermane Guards to have access to heating in our safe houses,” Gepard agrees easily, watching as his sister lights up at his words. “I’ll issue an expedition for you, I’ll arrange for some explorers to join, maybe we can get Lynx to join us as well,” he continues, the other throwing a fist in the air and silently saying ‘yes!’. “I’ll have the expedition scheduled a few months from now.”

   Of course, his sister’s celebrations stop at the mentions of a months’ worth of wait. She was always the impatient type, wanting to get started with whatever project right away, before the motivation and inspiration leaves her. It’s only natural for her to be impatient in this instance too. Doesn’t make it easier for the other to deal with it though.

   “A few months?!” the rockstar stops at her tracks, “Geppie, are you kidding me?” she huffs, staring at her brother’s eyes with determination. “That is way too long of a wait!” she argues, folding her arms and glaring at her little brother.

   In return, the Captain frowns. “Applications for such big expeditions take time Serval, you know this,” he reasons, his eyes filled with equal amounts of stubbornness. “The paperwork doesn’t go through just me, I have to pass it by the Intelligence department so that it can communicate with the Logistics department so they can see if this expedition is even feasible to begin with,” he explains, “not to mention having to look for guards and researchers alike willing to join you.”

   She pouts, the same way she did when their father was right about something. Despise the many flaws their father possessed, there were times where his logic and reasoning made sense, and the rockstar hated those moments more than anything.

   “I know all that!” the researcher woman proclaims, clearly unhappy. “But I also know that it doesn’t take months for that to happen!” she exclaims, glaring. “Back then I used to get these expeditions approved and going in, at most, a month,” she argues.

   ‘A lot has changed since you left’, he wants to say. Dangerous expeditions aren’t approved as fast as they did during Lady Cocolia’s rule. Human life is respected and expeditions are actually thought out. You need to go through a lot of paperwork nowadays.

   Instead, the guard bites his tongue. Just as he is about to continue explaining the situation, Serval cuts him off. “You’re going back to the frontlines in a few months!” she says suddenly, looking as if she had an epiphany. “This is why you want to postpone my expedition!” she huffs.

   Of course that’s the reason. Does she expect the Captain to let both of his sister go on an expedition without him? Qlipoth himself be against him, he is going to make sure his sisters are okay and safe, even if they are unhappy by his methods or stances.

   If possible, Gepard’s frown gets even bigger. “...That is one of the reasons,” he admits, crossing his arms. “That, plus all the aforementioned reasons,” he says. “Besides, a few months isn’t that long of a wait, I’m sure you have other projects you can busy yourself with.”

   “Ugh, you always do this, Gepard!” the researcher huffs, unhappy and frustrated. “It’s not even that serious! It’s just installing heating into some abandoned houses, I’m not going to be in any serious danger!” she tries to reason, only for her brother’s expression to harden.

   She and Lynx might be strong and able to defend themselves, but they are also prone to relaxing and being careless where they shouldn’t. No matter how ‘easy’ the job seems, being anything but cautious and careful in the Snow Plains is the fastest way to die, and they are not dying. Not on his watch.

   “Going to the Snow Plains is always dangerous,” the blue-eyed guard argues back. “Besides, what’s wrong with wanting to accompany you to your expedition?” he asks, frowning. “I was even going to ask Lynxy to join,” he adds.

   If possible, Serval gets even more frustrated. It’s like when they were kids and she didn’t get her way, her cheeks get red and it’s almost as if smoke is coming out her ears. Now, though, it is accompanied by a static type of pressure in the air, almost electrifying.

   “Oh don’t give me that, we both know how you get when we go on expeditions together!” the rockstar scolds. “We can’t take a single step away from you without you making a big deal out of it!” she raises her voice, clearly frustrated.

   It’s his turn to get frustrated now as he feels his blood pressure rising slightly. He knows he can be a little too much when it comes to anything revolving around his sisters’ safety, but can you blame him? He doesn’t think he can survive even the idea of attending their funeral, let alone holding their dead bodies just because he was careless.

   “Of course I’m worried, expeditions aren’t a walk in the Administrative District!” Gepard fires back. “And you are way too careless when you go to the Snow Plains! Do you know how worried I am anytime you venture outside the walls?” he prompts, trying to keep his voice at a normal, conversational volume.

   “And you think I’m not worried?!” Serval truly yells now. “You think I’m not worried that my baby brother spends months on end on the frontlines, practically a breath away from dying!” she pants, done with her outburst. She sighs and as her brother is about to answer, she shuts him down. “Whatever, I’m gonna go talk to Bronya,” she states, getting up and leaving, the door closed a little too loudly.

   The Captain is left there, staring at the closed door, the only sound being the hustle and bustle of the outside world. Distantly, he wonders if he sounds like father.

   Slowly, the day ends and Gepard is done with his shift. The guilt from his conversation with Serval lingers and he debates going to her lab to apologise. He knows he’s upset her, and, unfortunately that’s how every argument between them ends.

   Ultimately he knows they will make peace and leave this disagreement behind too, that’s just how it goes between them. However, that doesn’t stop the guilt from lingering, the feeling of needing to go and apologise. He knows that it’s best to talk things out later, when Serval has cooled down and he has thought through their arguments because otherwise a conversation between the two of them will lead to disaster. He still hates waiting.

   He is almost ready to get up and go and make the mistake of trying to talk to his sister, when his phone rings. Blinking and dumbfounded, the soldier can’t help but stare blankly at the ringing device. It’s not unusual to get phone calls nowadays since almost every guard now has a cell phone, but it is unusual for it to have the identification of the call be labeled ‘unknown’.

   Hastily, he picks up the phone, “Gepard Landau, Captain of the Silvermane Guards is speaking,” he announces, hearing a few childish giggles in the background from the other line. As he does that, he organises his desk just a tad, waiting for the caller to reply.

   “Hey, hey, quiet down or those cupcakes go to Miss Natasha instead!” a familiar voice hushes the giggles, the kids stopping immediately. “Captain! How have you been?” Sampo says, the smile in his voice clear as day. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten about our little deal!”

   Truth be told, the blonde can’t help but be thankful for Sampo’s timing. Work is the perfect distraction that he needs right now. In a twisted sort of way working on cases always relaxes him, it’s something productive, unlike paperwork yet still relatively safe, unlike the frontlines.

   Shaking his head fondly, the Captain can’t help but smile slightly. “Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten,” he states, keeping his voice neutral. “I assume you have the information ready?” he asks, pushing his pen away and then rolling it to the side.

   On the other line, the hustle and bustle of the Underworld is heard. He recognises a few voices, most of them vendors that sell take out and similar products. He thinks he even hears a lady selling blankets as well as an old man selling piroshkis.

   “Of course!” comes the cheerful reply from the other side. “I have the files right here,” the blue-haired man informs the other while shuffling is heard through the phone. “I can pass by the Fort if you want, or-, actually have you eaten?” he asks suddenly as the giggling is heard once more, although this time the jade-eyed man doesn’t try to silence it.

   It’s an odd question, one that the guard suspects he knows where it’s gonna go. He suspects by the end of this conversation he’s going to be paying for some extravagant meal at a very expensive restaurant. Maybe that sneaky little fox will use the information as leverage to get a glorious feast all to himself.

   “May I ask how that’s relevant to the case?” the blue-eyed soldier asks, carefully placing the filled out forms into one pile and the unfilled ones in another. The unfilled pile is intimidatingly tall. “Last time I checked there were no meal plans in our deal.”

   The man on the other side makes a wounded noise, like he’s physically hurt but the other’s indirect rejection. It’s a little comical, that noise. It seems the kids around the man find it funny too, as he hears high-pitched giggles.

   “Uh! Such cruelty towards lil ol’ Sampo! Is that really necessary, Captain?” the menace on the other line asks and Gepard is sure that if they were talking in person, the other man would be over the top preformative with his dramatic body language. “But! To answer your question, I’m marvin’ over here. I’ve been dealing with these little buggers all day and dear ol’ Sampo thinks it’s time for some grub. So! Have you eaten?”

   Once the ex-conman is done speaking, the kids all around him start speaking loudly, asking to join. The man quickly says something, hushed and whispered so the other doesn’t hear a thing. Frowning to himself, the guard thinks about his last meal, it being soup from the canteen during lunch. Now that he thinks about it, he is hungry.

   Humming, the Captain decides to humour the man on the other line. “Oh? I wasn’t aware that your public services included babysitting,” he chuckles, earning a hurt little noise close to a whine. “But, to answer your question, I haven’t had the opportunity to grab dinner yet, no.”

   A pleased noise escapes Sampo, he seems to be walking through a more busy street as more voices are heard in the background, sounding like the number of vendors and such increased. “Great! Let’s go grab a meal together then!” he proposes, sounding pleased. “I know a pre -tty good spot in the great upstairs!”

   …‘The great upstairs’, as in the Overworld? Why does Koski have to confuse everything by talking weird? It’s almost like he wants every word and sound to be identifiable, memorable in their absurdness. Or maybe Gepard doesn’t have that many weird acquaintances.

   Shaking his head, he thinks back to the topic at hand. While he prefers to discuss cases and other intel-related topics in his office or, in general in the Qlipoth Fort, the rumbling of his stomach and the general… unseriousness of Sampo convinces him otherwise. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss matters in a more informal setting once in a while.

   “Sure, I’m almost done with my workday, so I’ll be there shortly,” the blonde soldier announces, continuing to clean up his desk. “Would you mind texting me the address?” he asks, putting all his pens in the pencil holder. “I assume you can text me since you already have my phone number, yes?”

   “Of course!” the menace on the other line replies, the muffled voices around him getting louder. Maybe he’s walking towards the metro station. “In fact, consider the address already sent! Hehe,” the man laughs to himself. “Oh! Since I’m already going there, want me to pick you up from the Fort?”

   Shaking his head, the guard replies, “no need, I have to finish up some duties, I can’t leave them for another day,” he says, locking the drawer with all the important documents. “I won’t be late, but I’d rather you wait at the restaurant rather than the streets.”

   Sampo’s laughter is heard once more, joyful and amused as always. “Alright then, I’ll hold you onto that,” the man teases, the sound of a loud voice announcing when the next cart is coming is heard in the background. “See you soon, Captain!”

   Truth be told, when Koski sent the address of their meeting place as well as helpful instructions on how to get there from Qlipoth Fort, Gepard suspected foul play. The instructions were clear but complicated, making the Captain walk into never before seen alleys and make turns no one really makes.

   It turned out okay as he ended up in a rather safe street, a little hidden in the way that unless you have to walk through here or live in the area you would have no reason to pass by here, but still okay. If anything, the atmosphere more than made up for the confusing journey as he watched children run around and play in a small playground nearby while parents chatted in small cafes with outdoor sitting and heaters.

   Turns out the “pretty good spot” is a little hole in the wall named “Soup and Paroxysm”. The name is a little strange, but the overall vibe seems cozy, at least from the outside. It has no windows, but the walls were covered in crystal snowflakes and fake ice, false flowers and ivy ‘growing’ out of the wall, ‘breaking the ice’ while the wall is a dark saturated purple, creating a stark contrast. It seems like if there’s one thing Sampo is good at, it’s finding uniqueness in the most unsuspecting places.

   The blue-haired weasel is on his phone, waiting for the soldier to arrive. He’s tapping his foot in a rhythm only known to him, humming under his breath while idly scrolling. The moment he notices Gepard, however, he breaks into a smile and puts his phone away. “There you are, Captain!” the man smiles, his crow’s feet showing slightly. “I trust you found the way just fine?”

   The ex-conman is now in his usual get up, exactly how the other is used to seeing him. Perfectly styled hair that almost covers one of his eyes, that ridiculous outfit of his that should’ve gotten him dead by now thanks to frostbite and his non-practical dress shoes.

   In a small motion, the guard nods. “Yes, the instructions were of great help,” he states, earning another bright smile. “Truth be told, I don’t think I would’ve found this place if you just told me the address, I’ve never visited this neighborhood before,” he mentions, looking around.

   A few meters away, there’s a playground where the kids are playing. Unbothered and happy, only one of them recognises him, waving excitedly. It’s the same boy that gifted him that plushie. He decides to wave back.

   “Yeah, I figured,” the jade-eyed man shrugs, an ever-present grin on his face. “Most people don’t know about this place, which is quite a shame, I have to say!” he goes on, toying with a pen. It has a small teddy bear clip and the blue-eyed man is pretty sure it belongs to Dr. Natasha. “Shall we go inside?”

   Soon, the two men walk into the restaurant. It’s surprisingly warm, the difference between the inside and the outside too noticeable. The Captain is sure that if Pela was here, her glasses would’ve fogged up. His companion doesn’t seem to mind or, even, notice the difference in temperature.

   Gepard finds himself being herded towards a specific seat, one away from most people, not that there were many to begin with. It’s a small corner table, the seat being one continued couch in a square L-shape, a small separation wall is on the opposite side of the wall, giving them a bit of privacy.

   Before the soldier can melt into a puddle, he decides to take off his outer layers, namely his cape and coat. He puts them on the corner of the seat, making a small separation wall between his space and the other’s, who is busy with his own jacket.

   The cushions are soft and comfortable, letting the Captain to practically melt against the cushions, letting his shoulders drop. While the weasel is busy with that little shoulder accessory, the other decides to look around, taking in the small restaurant.

   It’s nothing compared to the restaurants he has visited in his lifetime, in terms of presentation and grandioseness. Yet, the blue-eyed man can’t help but prefer this atmosphere, warm and welcoming as he listens to the chatter all around him.

   The walls are the same dark purple as the outside, only instead of fake ice decorating the walls, it’s ivy. He can’t really tell if it’s real or not, but either way it doesn’t bother him as the rest of the small space is littered with greenery, from aloe vera and cacti to flowers and such at any surface possible. Even their own table has a small pot of forget-me-nots.

   The furniture is wooden, the colour a rich brown, matching the dark rose wood cushions and accessories, like pots and tissues. What brings everything together, in the soldier’s humble opinion, is the lighting. Soft and warm yellow light hidden under falu red stained glass of the lamps, turning the space moody yet welcoming. Calming, even.

   The ex-conman, now free of his weird shoulder accessory and outer jacket, blends right in, like this place was made to fit him and his personality. As ridiculous as that sounds. He, unaware of the blonde’s thoughts, has already flagged down an employee, asking for the menus.

   “So what do you feel like getting, Captain?” Sampo asks, sliding one of the menus towards the other. “This place’s specialty is soup, but their noodles and ramen are pretty good too,” the man informs, playing now with one of the tissues, his gloved hands not having any trouble folding the paper.

   The menus are made of wooden tablets, all of them different moody colours. The yellow ones are for drinks, non-alcoholic. The green ones are for meat-free dishes - pricey but affordable. Blue ones are for alcoholic drinks, most of them mild and common. Lastly, the same rosewood colour of the cushions for the soups.

   At that, Gepard does a double take. “What are noodles and, uh, ramen?” he asks, struggling just a tad with the pronunciation. “This is the first time I’m hearing of those dishes,” he admits, feeling a little awkward as the other just crooks his head and smiles sweetly.

   Distantly, Gepard realizes that he is enjoying the ex-conman’s company way more than he ever thought he would. He wonders if maybe the reason he isn’t annoyed by that weasel is because he isn’t actively breaking the law anymore but instead atoning for his crimes.

   “Oh, right, they are quite new to Belobog,” the blue-haired man laughs, seemingly unaffected by the other’s cluelessness. “As you might’ve noticed, since the IPC came here, a lot more people have gotten their hands on a phone, including businesses all over Belobog,” he explains, patient and content as he continues fondling with the tissue. “So they started adding stuff to their merchandise and menus from the web, like new recipes and stuff,” he ends his explanation. “Pretty cool, yeah? Hehe.”

   It is nice. Back during the guard’s childhood, trying a new dish was unheard of, just training, studying and attending funerals of soldiers. It’s nice knowing now kids have it easier, they can focus on growing up and learning about otherworldly cultures.

   At those words, the blue-eyed soldier can’t help but smile. “It is very good,” he agrees without an issue. “It’s wonderful, honestly, that Belobog has finally moved past its tragedy and we re-established contact with the outside world,” he goes on, staring at the menu hard. “I’m glad there’s children growing up with new and exotic dishes instead of death, you know?”

   Sampo blinks, tilting his head as if unsure how to respond for a second before going on like normal. “Of course!” he agrees easily, laughing, “it’s honestly a wonder Belobog managed to strike that deal with the IPC, or else our little winterland would’ve been a hollow ice cube by now, haha!”

   It’s a weird thing to say. Maybe it’s because blonde hasn’t had any time to research the IPC and their ‘business’, but this is the first time he’s hearing of hollowed up deserted planets. He wonders if the other is exaggerating. He hopes that’s the case.

   The guard frowns. He is about to ask the other to elaborate, but the blue-haired weasel goes on. “Anyway, you should really look at the menu, Captain,” he reminds the guard as he continues fiddling with the napkin. “I’ve been craving noodles with chicken and sweet sauce all day .”

   The change of topic is sudden, but the Captain decides to let it go, instead focusing on the menu in front of him. He recognises some of the items, traditional Belobog soup recipes, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious about the other’s order.

   “Is it good?” the guard asks, making the other take his attention off of his little ‘project’. “I mean the noodles you’re going to order, are they good?” he clarifies, suddenly a little nervous. It’s normal to ask about the taste of whatever his companion orders, right? Aeons, he needs to talk to more people that aren’t his coworkers .

   The weasel looks up from the napkin, blinking as he processes the blonde’s words. “Oh yeah, they're really good!” he answers with a bright smile. “And great for people who are only now trying out cuisine from around the universe, not spicy at all!” he chuckles, “believe me, the first time I tried something new, I accidentally ordered the spiciest thing on the menu and then didn’t touch that stuff for months!”

   Gepard chuckles, he wants to imagine how that blue-haired little punk looked like, trying out a spicy meal, he’s sure it was comical. He’s a little disappointed he can’t, since he has never eaten anything spicy. He wonders how red the other must've gotten, was it similar to the light blush he had back in the apartment? Brighter, redder?

   “Well then, I’ll get those noodles too,” he hums, watching the man next to his do a double take, as if not expecting the other to give his order a try. If he was being honest, the ex-conman’s shocked expression was comical, he’d love to see it more. “We’ll see how good your taste is, Mr. Koski.”

   “You won’t be disappointed!” the man next to him assures him, giving him a thumbs up. “This place is pretty good, I haven’t been let down in anything I’ve eaten here, they got pretty much every recipe down!” he praises, putting down the napkin. Huh, it’s in the shape of a dove, similar to the napkins in parties hosted by nobles.

   The Captain nods, watching as the blue-haired man spots a waiter and gestures for them to come over. He lets the jade-eyed man order for both of them, not paying much attention to the chatter around him. Instead, he just. Stares. The man next to him talks in his usual animated way, similar to how he talked when the both of them were volunteering at the museum.

   The weird man gestures wildly with his hands, speaking to the waiter with a familiarity he seems to have with everyone. As he stares, Gepard can’t help but study the man. Despite the number of crimes he has committed against the Overworld, he still has the gall to laugh with them and not look at all concerned about any bad blood with the people he interacts with.

   Soon enough, the waitress is gone and it’s just the two of them again. “I was meaning to ask,” Gepard starts, watching as the other takes a sip of water. “Dr. Natasha mentioned you going on an expedition recently,” he states, watching as the other freezes like a baby bear when it spots Silvermanes on patrol.

   Koski’s expression is one he has seen many times, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, except instead of the awkward fear of getting caught, there’s a smugness to it, like no law can touch him. This time, there’s none of that smugness, only a nervous smile that tries way too hard to look innocent.

   Before the jade-eyed man can come up with any excuses or any ways to dodge the question, the soldier continues speaking. “You’re not in trouble,” the man says to ease the other. “I was just wondering, how long do your expeditions usually last?”

   It’s normal, the blue-eyed guard reasons with himself, to keep the small talk going while they wait for their food to arrive. They can discuss the real reason they came here later, right now he is more worried about the safety of a citizen going on expeditions all on his own.

   The blue-haired weasel tilts his head, “it depends on how lucky I get,” he shrugs, toying with the napkin-dove. “Although recently Lady Luck hasn’t been on my side at all,” he sighs, leaning against the table dramatically. “Nowadays it takes days of just exploring to find any new supplies, it’s a nightmare for my hair!”

   At the ex-conman’s words, the Captain just stares, dumbfounded. Going on expeditions alone is already a death sentence, but if it takes Sampo days to even find what he’s looking for, then it should be at least a week-long expedition.

   “...How in Qlipoth’s name are you still alive?” Gepard asks. He and his soldiers are trained to be able to survive in the harsh conditions of the Snow Plains, and they are trained in groups for better survival odds. The fact this blue bastard is even alive without any training or way of communicating is a miracle.

   The jade-eyed man looks up from his napkin-dove, not realizing the weight of his words. One look at the guard’s face tells him immediately that he has said too much. Quickly, he corrects his posture, the dove-napkin falling sideways at the sudden movement.

   Laughing awkwardly, “it’s not that big a deal, Cappy!” Koski tries to reassure. “I mean, I’ve been doing this for long enough to know the ropes, you know?” he asks, although it’s mostly rhetorical. “I mean, your sister does the same thing, no?”

   Lynxy does also go on expeditions, but she rarely goes on long adventures alone. She often takes short solitary trips to the Snow Plains, sure, but for expeditions as long as Sampo’s she’s always with other professionals. There’s safety measures, rules and guidelines that he’s sure the blue-haired weasel does not follow.

   “She’s a trained professional,” the soldier reasons, frowning. “She is careful and for expeditions as long as yours she travels with a team,” he continues, deciding to take a sip of his water. “Something I doubt you do,” he states, side-eyeing the other.

   Still, the guard reminds himself, even if the ex-conman didn’t go through any training or has a permit, for him to still be alive and well he must be good in what he does. Dr. Natasha mentioned that he has been working with her for a decade now, going on expeditions and helping the Underworld, so he must be at least somewhat good at it.

   The jade-eyed man stares at the other with offense written all over his safe as he says, “oh, the cruelty!” he laments, swaying dramatically. “To think a Silvermane Guard would treat poor ol’ Sampo so, so… ugh! I can’t even find the words to describe this level of slander!” he whines.

   If the blonde didn’t know the other, he’d be thinking the man is drunk, what with the way he's acting. He’s practically laying on the table, blabbing about injustice and how mean the Captain is. It’s reasonable, though, his concern. Nobody should be going on such long and dangerous expeditions alone, even sneaky bastards like Koski.

   Whatever the ex-conman was whining about came to an end, though, as the waitress returned with both their dishes. They are pipping hot, the plate full of… thin pasta? There’s some sauce on them, as well as some vegetables and meat, chicken, he thinks. It smells nice, and it has the guard’s mouth watering just by looking.

   Next to the plates are two long packets. The blue-haired weasel rips it easily, and inside are… sticks? Two long, glued together sticks. The other easily breaks them apart. He holds them in a weird way and… uses them to eat? “...Why are you eating with… these…?” the blue-eyed man asks, earning the other’s attention. 

   Sampo blinks, tilting his head while chewing. It reminds the guard of a few snow foxes he has seen, they, too, tilt their head when confused, as if doing that will help them understand something better. He’s not sure why a grown man is doing it, but it doesn’t matter. In a weird way, it suits him.

   “Oh, right!” the jade-eyed man suddenly says, setting down those sticks. “These, my friend, are called chopsticks,” he explains, taking the soldier’s own packet and ripping it. “They are from the Xianzhou alliance, I’m pretty sure. It’s normal for dishes to use them, it’s like their own forks, hehe!”

   Breaking the two chopsticks apart, the strange man hands them to the Captain. “It’s a bit tricky when you first use them,” he goes on, slowly showing the other how to hold them correctly. “I remember the first time I tried using them,” he chuckles to himself.

   Looking at the ex-conman’s face, the soldier sees an odd expression. Serval often describes such stares as ‘the thousand-yard stare’, like the mind is far, far away. She also says Gepard has it often too, mostly on the first day back to the city or when he thinks about the frontlines. He wonders if he made that expression today during their talk.

   “So what happened?” the blonde asks, earning the other’s attention. At the weasel’s confused expression, “when you first used the chopsticks, I mean,” he clarifies, mimicking the way the other is using the utensil. Shaking just a tad, he manages to grab some of the ‘noodles’.

   “Ah! Hahah,” the blue-haired man laughs, grabbing some more food. “I was holding ‘em wrong, and the guy made fun of me,” he shares the anecdote. “And, well, back then I was a teeny-tiny bit more hot-blooded, you know, young, dumb and passionate,” he goes on, “so, I told him that at least I can drink something stronger than whatever the hell he was drinking. Before I knew it, I got roped into a drinking contest. I won and the guy got pissed,” he recalls, a small smile on his face, as if this is a happy memory. “In the end the guy tried punching me in the face, I fought back and when the guards came he tried getting me arrested.”

   The ex-conman retells the story like a pleasant Saturday afternoon rather than a bad Tuesday, as if this is normal occurrence. He’s happily eating the noodles, not at all bothered by what he says. Privately, the guard wonders if this is Sampo’s ‘normal’, if he thinks this is something that happens to everyone.

   “...That sounds… awful,” the Captain decides to say, instead of all the questions he has about this small ‘story’. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he hums, not knowing how else to respond. How do you even respond to that?

   The jade-eyed man looks unbothered, to say the very least. He’s slurping on those noodles without a care in the world, unaware of the million questions forming in his companions head. If he drops bombs like this all the time, he wonders how Dr. Natasha deals with this troublemaker.

   “Eh, don’t be, Captain,” the ex-conman shrugs, taking a sip of his water. “I mean, it’s not me who ended up serving time, is it?” he laughs. “Oh, and here’s everything that you asked for,” he says, handing the guard an envelope. “I’ve been keeping tabs on them and oh-boy! Let’s just say this stuff’s juicier than just a few assisted robberies! You’ll have a blast, Cappy.”

   The envelope itself is pretty standard, only slightly off-colour, more red, but that could just be the lighting. It’s heavier than expected, there’s definitely more than a few sheets of paper in there, which is good, it means that the blue-haired weasel actually put in the effort.

   Pocketing the envelope, the blonde nods. “Thank you, Mr. Koski,” he says, awkwardly grabbing the chopsticks again. “I’ll check the contents back in my office tomorrow morning, but consider the other two weeks off your community service,” he says, earning a bright smile.

   “Oh, thank you so much, Captain!” Koski beams, almost shaking from happiness. “With your oh-so generous help, I’ll be done with this nightmare in just a few more days!” he announces, clearly ecstatic. “Oh, how wonderful!” he sighs dreamily.

   At the announcement, Gepard blinks. Just how long was that man’s assignment? How long has he been atoning to his crimes? But also, call him noisy, but he wonders what the man is going to do after his community service work is done.

   “So, you’re almost done?” the soldier asks, getting an excited nod in response. “Never thought I’d see you as an innocent man, I’ll be honest,” he laughs, earning an offended reaction from his companion. “Do you have any plans? You know, once you’re done with community service.”

   Slouching in his seat a little, the jade-eyed man hums. One hand on his chin and the other drumming against the surface of the table, he thinks. Patiently, the other waits, awkwardly fishing out the food with this foreign utensil.

   “Well, getting a job and moving out will be the first thing I’ll be doing,” Sampo replies, thoughtful. He learns against the table, his chin on his palm. “Can’t be bothering Miss Gerthie or Nat for much longer, Sampo Koski knows when a joke has dragged on for way too long!” he announces.

   The man sighs, sounding more like a weary soldier rather than a reforming con artist, heavy and tired. In the back of his mind, the Captain wonders about the other man’s vocal range. Shaking his head, he decides to focus on their current conversation.

   “That reminds me,” Gepard hums, earning the other’s attention. “I had a question about Goethe Grand Hotel,” he reveals, playing with whatever stray noodles are in his dish. Huh, he didn’t even realize he had finished the meal. “I was wondering why you are living there and, well, how come it has, you know, functional ovens and other necessities, it looks more like she’s renting to you rather than it being a hotel room.”

   Again, Sampo blinks, tilting his head and smiling lazily. It’s like a sleepy cat, in a way, how he is just staring. He decides to eat some more before answering, holding and using the chopsticks with much more grace than the soldier could ever have.

   “Well, my ‘room’,” the blue-haired weasel starts, “is technically a studio apartment,” he explains. “Back when the lock down first happened, a lot of people lost their income and couldn’t keep their apartments, but bills still had to be paid, money still had to be sent and stuff, so Gerthie got people to sell their houses to her, she connected them to her hotel and paid for the bills, the people just paid her rent.”

   Taking a few more bites, he goes on. “Most of Wildfire were unemployed and so Nat and Gerthie decided to house some of Wildfire for, basically free,” he finishes up his meal, taking a sip of water. “That’s basically how the housing issue was solved, especially after the fragmentum started showing up, and people had to leave their homes” he says, untangling the mess of the Underworld’s history after lockdown.

   It’s messy, and the soldier is sure the other is leaving details out, but it doesn’t matter. No, what matters is that he showed Gepard once more how the Silvermane Guards failed the people of the Underworld and how Dr. Natasha has worked hard to keep the place up and running.

   “So you live there because you’re part of Wildfire?” the Captain asks, setting down the chopsticks. It makes sense, then, why Dr. Natasha trusts Koski as much as she does. He’s one of her own, of course she trusts him. It’s on the guard for not figuring it out sooner.

   “Not exactly,” Sampo states, flagging down an employee. “I am not part of Wildfire, not officially at least,” he clarifies, “I work with Nat, not for her,” he hands the empty plates to the waitress, asking for the check. “My stay in the hotel is while I do community work, once that’s done, I’ll have to move out.”

   That… certainly complicates things. “But you said you’re almost done with community service and you haven’t even started looking for a place to stay,” the blonde mentions, “do you have any back-ups?” he asks. Surely Miss Gerthie wouldn’t just throw the weasel out once time is up, right?

   The jade-eyes man has the gal of looking confused, blinking. “Oh, are you worried about me, Captain?” he teases, taking out some cash. “Don’t worry Cappy, ol’ Sampo knows how to take care of himself,” he reassures, although it doesn’t really south the guard’s worries.

   Koski can’t live in the streets, and he won’t (probably), but that means he will go to his hide outs and safehouses, he’s sure the man has half a dozen scattered all across Belobog. But, if he gets found then that can cause some legal trouble his way, digging him into a deeper hole. Unless…

   Just as Sampo is about to leave, Gepard stops him. “Mr. Koski,” he says abruptly, making the other turn and face him. “How about you just… live with me?” he asks. “I was going to look for a roommate anyway and I’d rather it be someone I know rather than a stranger and considering your living situation…” he rambles on, “...well, you know.”