Lunchtime Lobbyism// Otto&Lou

O T T O.

As time passes on in Otto's life, his appetite around this time has faded. Every day, he packs the same lunch from home: a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich along with a bottle of water taken from the well outside of the cottage. The characters in his favorite pieces of literature became accustomed to a sleep schedule flipped on its axis, but Otto was late for first period and slept through second and third in the back of the janitor's closet. By the fourth, English & Literature, he's attentive enough to pay attention to his favorite class. The way his teacher speaks about characters and their motivations as if they're at the front of the room themselves always piques his curiosity.

Lunch is midway through the day. Just as he was told to by Kirill, Otto has chosen the table furthest in the back to sit. Only members of the Nightwing Club, or those interested in joining, are allowed a seat. He sticks his bag on the seat to his left and his legs on the right. He tolerates everyone in the club, once again per his father's request. "We need to prove we're worthy of obtaining the serum and its secrets." Otto hides his discomfort by scratching and rubbing at his face. His sandwich has just enough sustenance to hold him over until later. It's barely noon now, and he won't eat again until six or seven o'clock, probably. The bloated sensation from his hunger subsides as the sandwich is gone within the first five minutes of the period. Eating is a chore here, something he just wants to get over with. Watching everyone else eat the food pyramid's sloppy mixture is something he could live without, as well. While the club members around him eat, Otto takes one of his father's novel drafts and rushes through the pages, the uncoated sheets bristling against his fingertips.

An uneasy breath grabs the attention of his ears. Lou stands over the table, looming with a tray in her hands. His eyes track up to her short-cut blonde hair. It's not that hard, he thinks, darting over to the seat across from him. Just sit down. Lou is an official member of the Nightwing Club, more by accident than anything. She believed Otto when he told her the first time they met that it was a book club. Like him, she has an interest in writing and novels but takes a poetic approach more than lengthy written works. He perks up with a smile after a few more seconds of waiting, amused by her ridiculousness. He was in her shoes once, unsure whether he had a place at any lunch table, but now he's been put 'in charge' of one of his own. Once upon a time, it felt elitist for people to pick and choose who can or can't sit at a table, but it makes sense now. He wouldn't want the idiot lumberjack teens with fully grown beards sitting at a table for people with a purpose such as theirs. Lou's dedication to the club, as well as her maintaining its secrets, has given her all the permission she needs to sit here.

Otto's thumb covers his lips as Lou talks about needing more books to keep up the cover of the true intentions of the club. Other than his personal library of books, to which he lets nobody, not even the most trusted members of the club, touch, she is right. Books are slim. People like Lestat and his band prefer their music to draw people in. Otto nods with exhausted eyes already tired after his nap three periods ago. She slides a ball of paper in his direction, offering up a list of books to him as suggestions. He notices that she seems proud of herself for speaking up with the suggestion. Otto unfolds the piece of paper, going line by line on her suggestions.

"I've read a lot of these already. 101 Demons and How to Slay Them, Nightmare's Voice, probably skips." He pulls a red pen from the side of his bag, circling some and outlining others. It's not until he's halfway down the list when he realizes that his words may have been dismissive toward Lou, who broke through her shyness to offer some light reading. "There are some fine pieces of literature in here. I'm sure we can find some enjoyable reads for the club." Mentally, he takes note of which pieces are worth advertising and which are passable.

Otto flips the paper back in Lou's direction, his finger pointed at Ink & Echoes. "This one is fine to start with." He covers his mouth to hide a yawn after. Being at school is so unnecessary, why bother? If the Capitol can make a serum that mutates kids into werewolves and vampires, can't they offer infinite intelligence? He scratches the corner of his eye. Perhaps getting his hands on the serum might mean that someday he'll never need to work for a penny. Vampires in literature have consistently possessed compulsion powers to get what they want. Surely the Gamemakers included that in their injections?

"Have you read it, Lou?" He asks a question but continues on before she even gets the chance to answer. "I have my own copy, of course, annotated already. But if you'd like Kirill to see if he can get his hands on more, we can provide everyone with their own book." His referral to his father comes naturally. Everything Otto does is in some way per the request or under the guidance of his father. But it dawns on him that the other club members have rapport and association with Kirill through him, most too shy or too dissociated to talk to him privately. "My father tends to give the final word on approval for things like this. Have you spoken to him at all?" He knows the answer is no, but he asks anyway out of some obligation to the Katzenagen name. New members of the club are commonly accepted but rarely trusted to begin. Otto offers her a test of loyalty to his father.

After all, Kirill knows best. He knows how to give Otto what he desires most.

O T T O.

He's a line of confrontation the size of a skyscraper when it comes to members of the club questions. Otto defers to anyone he can but most often to Kirill. He sinks down at the sight of Lou's shocked expression as if anyone but him speaking to his father is some broken line of their social contract. The truth is that he'd instead wish to teach the club a valuable lesson: they're no longer kids. Long gone are the days where a child asks their friend to ask their parent if they can sleep over tonight. Most members of the club are seventeen or eighteen years old. Practically adults, and seen as that by Kirill.

But no, Lou continues (much to Otto's frustration) about how it's his job to speak to his father on behalf of her. He blows exhausted air out his nose. He opens his mouth ready to breathe it back in, but he holds it open, still in thought. "......Okay." It's a concession he doesn't want to make, but he gives his word to keep her anxiety from flaring. Otto knows the reality of the situation: it is not as though people are itching to join this club. More or less, the people sitting at the table around him are mismatched pieces of the school's darkest crypts. Shy kids who once sat at the desks with no adjacent students, dark and heavy metal performers who receive conflicted stares from those perplexed by their 'art,' and kids too secretive to have friends and too anonymous to be pegged as loners. Being their leader, even by default, is like holding a puppet upright by its strings. For someone who would much rather pull everything apart and have it be just him and his father, Otto does his best to show a Herculean restraint from agitating the club members.

He speaks with a costly tone, "I'll handle it for you." Otto pauses the conversation for a few minutes after, letting Lou continue to eat as the logistics of the book-reading brew in his mind. Of course, studying novels is a part of the club description, but it is a formality for the most part. Kirill has bookcases filled tight with novels in every room, but there's no code or schedule. He promised them a thrilling future, and the books work as a stepping stone to help the club find their individuality once the second state is reached. How will Ink and Echoes fare when everyone is aspiring to be the same character? He'll take priority. Or, at least, that's what he presumes will happen. If he is second in command as members like Lou see it, then he should get first pick on whatever power and perks there are to come.

"My father doesn't bite, you know." Otto breaks the quiet chewing with praise for his father. "Without him, all this would be nothing. He's a visionary. No one can comprehend it except us, and that's because we know the secret." He refers to the letters that Kirill receives in the mail from an enigmatic woman. Tasks and objectives are attached, and they must be fulfilled if the Nightwings want what she's promised: access to the serums of the 92nd Hunger Games that are now locked up in some top-secret Capitol lab. Not for long if the group is smart and gets the job done. They can be vampires if everyone plays their part. "If you're looking to be brave, I can take you to him and be there while you give your pitch. We're having a meeting at midnight tonight, in case you forgot." He speaks to both Lou and the entire club. From what Kirill told Otto this morning, it appears as though there might be a new task for the group tonight. One that will separate the leaders from the followers.