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Never before has the fool met someone quite as repressed as Gepard Landau.
Don't get him wrong, stoic people are a dime a dozen in the cosmos. But typically, his costars are less of the bottled-up variety and more of the…genuinely-dead-inside variety. Gepard, though. Gepard is a pickle jar sealed shut. Words and feelings sour behind those tightly-sealed lips. The fool wonders when Gepard will burst from his own ferment.
It's a travesty. The fool's seen how delightful Gepard's face can be when Gepard isn't giving his best impression of an unfeeling statue. He's seen Gepard wide-eyed and flushed, staring up at him with naked desire. He's seen how the hard-etched lines of Gepard's scowl smooth and fade when he looks at his sisters. These stolen glimpses are rarer than even the artifacts he sells as Sampo Koski. Yet the fool is ravenous for more.
So one day, Brughel Poisson convinces her language tutor, the old lady Maukins, to hold their weekly lesson in a cafe at the heart of the commercial district, just across the street from where Gepard stands guard in his sexy uniform. Mrs. Maukins, bless her ancient soul, does her best to guide Brughel through writing a formal letter while Brughel ogles Gepard through the cafe window. Her efforts become hopeless the minute a pretty blonde woman dares to stop right before Gepard's impassive face.
"Gepard," the fool's synesthesia beacon hears the woman say. "It's so good to see you. We met at your mother's birthday gala last weekend. Isobel Romanov, remember?"
Gepard doesn't even turn his head to acknowledge her. He glances at her through the sides of his eyes and grunts, "Hello."
Hello, Brughel writes into her notebook with a smirk. Eloquent as always, Geppie.
"I'm glad we bumped into each other," Isobel purrs, undaunted. "I was just looking for a friendly face. Yours is a relief to see, given the circumstances."
That earns Gepard's undivided attention, but not for the flirting. His tight lips twist downward into an exciting new expression that the fool hastily burns into his memory: genuine concern.
"Is something wrong?"
Brughel's pen stroke goes astray. Aha's tits, the husk Gepard's voice takes when he becomes serious…
Isobel, too, flushes at Gepard's lowered voice. "Well, nothing quite so important to deserve a Guard's attention. But, I confess, there is something I'm embarrassed to seek help for. I'd appreciate if you could assist me as a friend, most discreetly."
"Of course."
Isobel's voice drops to a whisper, but the fool's synesthesia beacon picks up every word.
"The laces on my dress are loose. Could you please tighten them up?"
Without waiting for a response, she whirls around, raises her curls, and exposes the naked back of her neck to Gepard. The fool wishes he could stand and applaud. Bravo, Isobel Romanov! Bravo!
But tight-ass Gepard doesn't so much as blink at the sight of a pretty woman's nape. He obligingly unlaces the back of Isobel's dress and redoes them with a familiarity surely learned from helping his sisters. He pulls the final knot taut and steps back with a polite nod.
"You're good to go, Ms. Romanov."
Isobel, to her credit, is unfazed by Gepard's tepid response. "Thank you," she coos, raising her manicured hand to rest flirtatiously on Gepard's (firm, bulging) bicep, but Gepard cringes away from the touch. The fool stifles a laugh. Aha's tits, Gepard is so gay. The fool would be feeling second-hand embarrassment for Isobel if he were capable of that emotion.
A ruler smacks dangerously close to his fingers.
"Focus," Mrs. Maukins scolds. Something tormented swims in her cloudy gray eyes. "You'll be wise to stay away from nobility, young lady. Especially an old family like the Landaus."
Brughel makes a curious noise. "Oh? Why do you say that?"
"Listen to lived experience, young lady," Mrs. Maukins says sternly. "Marrying into a family like that would make any woman miserable, much less a common woman like you. Forget the Landau boy and finish your sentence." The ruler slaps Brughel's notebook again. "You spelled 'milk' wrong."
Brughel looks down and sighs. "Are the 'a's supposed to be 'o's?"
"A bad habit of yours," Mrs. Maukins confirms.
Hilariously, Gepard's father is the one to rescue Gepard from Isobel's advances. The Captain of the Silvermane Guards descends like a harbinger of daddy issues and orders his son back to Qlipoth Fort. The fool almost groans when Gepard's lips thin back into its typical flat line. Lame. Leonard Landau is such a buzzkill.
Without a gorgeous blond man to ogle, the rest of Mrs. Maukins's lesson goes smoothly. But too soon, Mrs. Maukins's bony hands begin to shake. Her lids begin to sag. Brughel ends the lesson with a cheerful comment, then walks the old lady Maukins to her cottage. She helps her to the bathroom, tucks her into bed, then cleans and prepares the next few days' meals while Mrs. Maukins slumbers.
Such is the nature of Brughel's relationship with the eldest living member of the Maukins family: unofficial caretaker paid with no-questions-asked literacy lessons in a civilization with a 99.9% literacy rate. If the head of the Maukins family, Eugene, actually cared for his great-grandmother, the fool would've had to rely on the IPC's 700-years-out-of-date Jarilski database. But Eugene Maukins is a neglectful piece of shit, thank Aha, so Mrs. Maukins's loneliness is an opportunity.
The fool is great at taking opportunities.
—
(In the mundane moments watching stew heat on Mrs. Maukins's stove top, the fool thinks about the Stellaron Hunters. The role. The script. The fool won't have time to be Brughel Poisson once Sampo Koski takes the main stage.
Is it fucked-up to hope that Mrs. Maukins passes before Brughel Poisson disappears?
Probably.
But what did you expect from a fool?)
—
Naturally, the fool completely disregards the wise old woman's advice. The next day, after Gepard's horrid father leaves the city and Mrs. Maukins busies herself with her increasingly-frequent doctor's visits, Brughel Poisson exits her tiny Overworld apartment, turns into a conveniently-abandoned alleyway, and removes the false bottom of a dumpster. There, a flashy maroon jacket and neatly-folded slacks. Brughel Poisson strips and vanishes. Sampo Koski leaves the alleyway and beelines for the early morning patrol in Backwater Pass.
There's a letter peeking out of his chest pocket. Brughel spent the past evening triple-checking her dictionary—'o' not 'a'!—and darting the tip of a fountain pen across Eugene Maukins's signature letterhead paper, which he kindly and unknowingly lent to Brughel. Mrs. Maukins would be proud! Probably.
Now, Sampo Koski takes the stage to deliver the letter. He's vibrating with excitement, both at the thought of playing a joke at Eugene's expense and Gepard's reaction to it. Who will catch Geppie's attention more? Isobel Romanov and her lacy dress? Or Sampo Koski and his mystery letter?
It's snowing lightly when the looming gray walls of Belobog's dreary northern border fades into view. He rounds a corner, and there! Gepard Landau and his squad of three soldiers, all helmetless while they're stationed within Belobog. The fool is fully capable of recognizing Gepard's broad shoulders and pinched waist through the shape of his uniform alone, but nothing compares to the sight of Gepard's frost-nipped cheeks and his tight-lipped smoulder that, despite appearances, the fool knows he can shatter with some strategic prodding.
So prod, he does! He blocks himself further down the patrol route and slips into Sampo Koski. He slithers and slinks and acts generally suspicious until the soldiers round the corner and spot him from thirty meters away.
"Halt!" Gepard's authoritative voice booms across the distance.
The fool freezes mid-step, wearing a caricature of deer-in-headlights surprise. His limbs unroll into a friendly wave, even as he subtly steps back.
"Lieutenant! Hi! So good to see you!" he crows.
Gepard thunders toward him. Stomp, stomp, stomp, like a monster in a horror game. A shrill giggle escapes the fool as he steps back just enough to avoid being surrounded by Gepard's men. But he doesn't run just yet. Gepard halts his charge just outside the fool's reach. They enter a staredown, an excellent excuse to drown in Gepard's blue eyes.
"Officer Ivan, Officer Ellis, search the alley," Gepard commands. He addresses the fool as the officers hurry away. "Why were you going through the trash?"
Two extras down. But there's still a gunner behind Gepard's shoulder.
"I know you're absurdly wealthy, Lieutenant, but don't you know what recycling is?" the fool taunts. "One man's trash is another man's treasure."
"Treasure," Gepard repeats dryly. "Like the ones in the fraud reports that spike every time you're sighted, Koski?"
The fool suppresses a grin at Gepard's snark. Aeons, this straight-laced man doesn't know how funny he can be sometimes.
"Slander!" the fool gasps. "You're lucky Sampo Koski is a forgiving guy. Anyways, I didn't even find anything useful. So this lovely conversation is moot."
"Why don't we wait for my men to return before we decide that?"
Another suppressed grin. "Sure, sure. They'll find nothing."
"Not even a stolen ring?"
The fool clutches his heart. "Ouch, Lieutenant! Why bring up the dirty past? I already served my time for that misadventure. You can't rearrest me for the same crime!"
Gepard's eyes follow the fool's hand, then narrow dangerously. "What's that on your chest?"
Hook, line, and sinker. The fool conspicuously pushes down the flap of white sticking out of his pocket.
"Oh, nothing! Just an envelope."
Gepard steps forward. "What's inside?"
The fool steps back. "Did anyone ever tell you you sound hot when you're suspicious?"
There. A flushed, twisted expression that the fool memorizes forever. But Gepard still doesn't quite look angry enough to give a chase. So the fool not-so-accidentally allows a woman's clutch to tumble out of his jacket.
"Whoops!" He snatches Brughel's purse and shoves it back into his jacket. "You didn't see that!"
Unlike Isobel Romanov, the fool knows when to retreat. He darts away before Gepard can grab him. His ploy is immediately rewarded. Instead of cringing, instead of shying away, Gepard directs his full, furious, attention to Sampo Koski and roars.
"GET BACK HERE, KOSKI!"
I win, the fool thinks smugly at Isobel Romanov as he runs away.
—
The fool is an excellent runner. He runs and runs until he leaves everyone behind.
They've already long abandoned the huffing and gasping gunner in their wake, and as thrilling as it is to be the object of Gepard's single-minded pursuit, the fool plans to do the same to Gepard. Once he rounds the next corner and enters an abandoned block of Backwater Pass, he'll vanish and leave nothing but smoke and a suspicious letter behind. In truth, he'll be cloaked invisible just meters away, eagerly watching as Gepard opens the letter and implodes over its contents. But an idea suddenly intrudes into the fool's perfect plan.
What if?
What if he let Gepard catch him?
His body decides for him. His legs drag with the weight of what-ifs. Sparks dart down his spine when he feels Gepard's hot breaths against the back of his neck, before—
"Ow, OW! Fuck! That hurts!"
Gepard is lucky I like it rough, the fool thinks despairingly as he collides with the powdered stone ground. Gepard's arm has shielded the fool's upper body from impact, but his heavy mass crushes the fool's legs awkwardly. Gepard wrestles the fool flat onto his stomach and cuffs his wrists behind his back. The fool whimpers more in pain than pleasure when Gepard's hands slither under his clothes to remove the purse and the envelope. Pain isn't a good sign. The fool needs to stall while his implants heal his injured leg.
The fool rolls onto his back and lounges to disguise his injured leg. "You sure you don't want to feel me up more? You might find something you like."
"Shut up," Gepard barks, but he can't hide the reddening of his ears. He unlatches Brughel's purse and riffles inside. The fool gasps theatrically then hides his wince when the movement sends pain streaking up his leg.
"Lieutenant, please, you can't go through a lady's things like that! You don't even have a warrant!"
"I don't need a warrant when I have probable cause," Gepard growls. He seems more annoyed by the legal inaccuracy than the fool's whining.
Gepard finds lipstick, eyeliner, blush, and makeup wipes within the purse—not the ID he was surely searching for. The fool waggles his brow, this time careful to keep the movement to his face, where it won't hurt.
"You feel like getting dolled up, Geppie? I can give you a makeover, free of charge for a beautiful canvas like you."
"Don't call me that," Gepard snaps almost automatically as he reseals the clutch. He moves on to the sealed envelope and flutters it accusingly at the fool.
"What is this," Gepard demands.
The fool smiles guilelessly. "That's a letter, my dear lieutenant."
"Not a check?"
"A check? Of course not!" the fool scoffs. "Checks are traceable, y'know. Not that it matters if checks in my possession are traceable because I have nothing to hide. But don't insult Sampo Koski's intelligence. It's a letter." His expression turns sly. "A letter for you, actually."
The fool inhales greedily when Gepard's face shutters with surprise.
"For me?" Gepard utters before wariness sharpens his loosened features. "That doesn't make sense. Why didn't you give this to me before you ran away?"
"In front of all your soldiers?" The fool laughs. "Trust me. You'll want to read that in private."
Naturally, Gepard does not believe the fool. He tears open the envelope with a scowl and unfolds the expensive paper. Anticipation swells like a coming orgasm. Get the popcorn, Aha! Here it comes! The fool watches in rapture as Gepard's expression pinches, then blanches, then blooms bright red.
"This is—!" Gepard chokes out.
Gepard slams the letter shut in mortification. For a moment, he stands there frozen, hands shaking, shock twisted into his handsome face. Then he explodes into movement. He rushes back and forth, huffing and puffing as his boots attack the powdery snow.
"I don't understand," Gepard wheezes. "Why would Eugene Maukins—? To me—? I didn't even know that he liked men…"
While Gepard panics, the fool subtly twitches his leg and celebrates when no pain shoots up his spine. Excellent. The fool can now focus on enjoying the show. The fool watches as Gepard's composure writhes and seizes like a dying animal. This is so fun. The fool understands a little better now why Sparkle so loves her pranks.
Still, Gepard's sexuality crisis is a little too near hyperventilation territory for the fool's amusement. He takes pity on poor Gepard and interrupts his spiraling thoughts with an obnoxious whine.
"Will you let me go, now? Delivering racy love letters isn't a crime, y'know."
Gepard's wide eyes drift to him but don't quite focus. The fool quickly memorizes that vacant expression before Gepard struggles back into his usual tight lips.
"And that purse?" Gepard doesn't quite growl.
The fool beams. "Mine."
"Why do you own a purse?"
"Does a man showing womanly inclinations make you uncomfortable, Geppie?"
Gepard flinches. Checkmate. The fool watches smugly as Gepard scrubs a hand over his face and heaves an unsteady sigh. He folds the letter back into a neat rectangle and tucks it into his pocket. Interesting that he kept it, the fool thinks.
"Get up," Gepard orders wearily. "I'm taking you to Qlipoth Fort."
"I can't," the fool says sunnily.
Gepard glares. "Why."
The fool twitches his right leg demonstratively, then hisses.
"I think my leg is broken."
The fool's lie rewards him with yet another of Gepard's precious expressions: wide eyes and gently furrowed brows. He likes this expression. If he knew that provoking Gepard's crushing sense of guilt would make the man so expressive, he would've reconsidered hiding his actual injury earlier.
Still, Gepard is too wary of Sampo Koski to take the fool's statements at face value. Gepard leans over the fool's prone body—thank you Qlipoth, Aha, who-the-fuck-ever for the incredible view—places his large, gloved hands gently around the fool's right leg, and maneuvers it testingly. The fool puts every iota of his acting experience into making pained (and suggestive) noises worthy of an Oscar. He's absurdly pleased to see pink on Gepard's lovely cheeks at a particularly lascivious moan.
He's lightheaded by the time Gepard releases his leg. Of course he is! The hottest man on this side of the galaxy was doting over him and his fake injury! He can't help the infatuation that leaks into his voice.
"What's the prognosis, Doc? How long do I have to live?"
"I'm going to carry you to the Qlipoth Fort infirmary," Gepard says seriously. The fool perks up, but then—"We're going to confiscate that purse and check its purchase records. We'll return it once we confirm it's yours."
The fool's bright smile freezes. Absolutely not. Gepard can confiscate Brughel's designer clutch from her cold, dead hands.
Still, he plays the lame duck a little longer, going boneless as Gepard carefully scoops him up into his arms. Once settled, the fool buries his nose into the crook of Gepard's neck. He inhales a deep whiff of Gepard's aftershave and savors the broad firmness of this gorgeous man. His smile presses against Gepard's collar when he feels Gepard tense through his uniform.
He lets a smoke bomb roll out from his pant leg.
Gepard shouts as smoke blooms around them. The fool feels Gepard's hold on him tighten. It's strangely difficult to tear himself away from Gepard's protective, possessive embrace.
What if…?
The fool has had enough of 'what if's today. He disintegrates and reatomizes atop a nearby building's roof. He surveys the coughing and hacking Gepard from above, waiting patiently for the smoke to clear and for those furious blue eyes to meet his. The fool waves down at him with a smile, standing high above on two perfectly-functional legs. Several moments pass before Gepard breaks the standoff with two flat words.
"You lied."
The fool bursts out laughing. "You sound so betrayed!"
"What else did you lie about?" Gepard rumbles. "The purse? The letter?" Those blue eyes go wide. "Wait. The Maukinses write with blue ink, not black."
What the fuck? Do nobles really memorize the color of each other's ink?
Gepard yanks the letter out from his pocket and unfolds it. His eyes dart rapidly across the paper.
"This isn't Eugene's handwriting." The paper crumples in Gepard's fists. "You wrote this, didn't you, Koski? You lied about this, too?"
Yeah, yeah. The fool lied. Every part of this encounter, from the fake love letter to his fake injury was a performance. But what did Gepard expect from a fool?
"Did you like it?" the fool purrs. "Being admired by someone more to your tastes?"
Gepard's eyes flare. "Don't talk about my tastes. You don't know the slightest thing about me."
The fool bursts out laughing. "I know plenty about you, Geppie!" He lifts his fingers to count. "Like the fact that you're so deep in the closet that you've rediscovered the Underworld. And the fact that you have daddy issues the size of Qlipoth Fort."
"…daddy issues the size of Qlipoth Fort," echoes the fool's words in the winter air.
For too long, Gepard just stares. The fool grows increasingly unsettled as not a muscle in Gepard's face twitches from its frozen glare. Then Gepard's face contorts. His brows flatten. His mouth twists. His pretty blues dim into empty voids. The pinch of blank-faced despair on such a handsome face knocks the air from the fool's lungs.
The expression disappears in a blink, but the fool shudders anyways.
"Don't make that face," he complains. "It doesn't suit you."
It really doesn't. This is his least favorite expression yet.
Gepard doesn't respond to his invaluable insight. Instead, he turns his back to the fool and walks away. The fool skips to a nearby roof and follows after Gepard's retreating back from above.
"C'mon, Geppie, you know I say things I don't mean," he whines.
"Don't call me that!" Gepard thunders, and a forest of ice pillars sprouts in a large circle around him. The fool steps back nervously. Okay, Geppie is really mad.
"No hard feelings?" the fool tries one more time.
Gepard hurls a spear of ice at him. It won't hit, but the fool deploys a smoke bomb and disintegrates in the obscuring smog anyway. He reatomizes with a knife buried into the wall of a neighboring building, out of Gepard's sight, and slithers through a broken window. He almost expects a scream of rage—but nothing. Gepard once again swallows his feelings and ferments.
For a moment, the fool lingers, allowing himself to fantasize about purposefully running into the spear's path. He'd fall to the ground with a cry, made all the more compelling by the real injury. Gepard would forget his rage and fuss over the fool once more. The fool shakes away the fantasy. He's indulged enough. It's time to let sweet, darling Geppie move on to better things.
He doesn't go back to Brughel's apartment. Instead, he runs from the Overworld, from Mrs. Maukins's deteriorating health, from Gepard's awful expressions. He slips into a forgotten mineshaft and begins the arduous descent to the Underworld. Midway, he halts mid-step and stares aimlessly into the darkness.
"I shouldn't have said that," he admits to no one.
His strangely limp voice echoes back in agreement.
One day, he'll be done with you. He'll stop chasing you. He'll never look twice at you again.
He rolls his eyes. "Thanks, Aha."
He stands still. Then he throws his head back, cackling so hard that his body shakes. Who is he kidding? Those aren't Aha's words. That's a dying gasp from that boy who ran, ran, ran from every hurt in the universe until he was crushed, buried, and fossilized under layers of masks and pretenses. The fool considers the warning, shrugs, then reburies it with a smile in the prehistoric dirt where it belongs.
When the day comes that Gepard Landau learns exactly what to expect from the fool, Sampo Koski will no longer exist.
Onto the next role. And the next.
And the next.