#effiedarling

The house was quiet but not in the usual way. It seemed abandoned, and some other people in the building would have sworn it was. The man that lived there had hardly showed his face in a few weeks, becoming more of a recluse than he usually was. Some people thought he might be dead, and if the man was going to be completely honest with himself he believed being dead would have been more pleasant than this. Better than sitting at home in the silence with only his paranoid thoughts to comfort him.

Otto knew he was being foolish, but he refused to do anything about it. Such actions went against his nature, and his current nature could be described as melancholy. A gloomy sadness that hung around his home and refused to leave. The most unpleasant of uninvited guests.

He had tried to improve his mood, tried to move on and plaster on one of those all too fake smiles, but Otto soon found that being out in the crowd only bothered him more than he already was. Everyone he saw was smiling, chattering happily about games and twists and star-crossed lovers, and all it did was make him want to retreat back to the emptiness of his home and ignore the world. Perhaps he could even avoid it long enough for the world to forget about him and his stupidity. Forget about him and how much he missed his friend.

And that was just what he'd done. Closed himself away in his room nestled under blankets and unshakeable guilt. There was no evidence one way or the other whether all this had been his fault or not, but guilt very rarely took the time to listen to logic. It poked and prodded with 'what if' and 'what now' and flooded Otto's mind with pleasant memories that churned his stomach and made him want to just shut off.

The days would pass like this. The man only getting up to feed the cat and sometimes himself. In the bathroom he'd avoid the mirrors, not up for eye contact even if it was with himself. Today he hadn't gotten up at all even as hunger scratched at his gut. He couldn't sleep either, eyes half closed and glazed over, adjusted to the darkness of his room. What was the point of doing anything anyway? No one noticed whether he did anything or nothing at all.

OOC: In which you witness my horrid sense of humor. A none too exciting story of Effie and Otto being friends. Italics for flashbacks 'cause I'm fancy.

  Mornings were always good for thinking, and Effie’s had started out well enough. She couldn’t explain it, but she’d slept in. She’d shrugged it off. It was probably nothing, and as far as she knew she had nothing planned for the early morning. The evening guaranteed a social gathering, but it wasn’t something she needed fuss over so relatively early. She could afford a little extra shuteye and dreaming. Still, she was up now, and that meant it was time to get ready for the day, a weekend mercifully. It wasn’t that she hated school or anything, but it could just be so tiring. She needed a break every so often, and the weekend was just what she needed.

Get up. Get clean. Get dressed.

Or at least attempt it.

Effie sighed and she went through her closet, searched through her drawers. What to wear? What to wear? More specifically, which corset? A lady had to look her best, and Effie had a soft spot for a shapely figure in a pretty package, wrapped up like a present. Perhaps it was a silly association, but it made her happy, and that was more than enough for her. Besides, ones corset had to at least match somewhat what they wore on top of it. To do otherwise was…well, unthinkable really. She stood in front of her mirror, admiring it on her, but she could it was still a bit too loose, pinching in a way she was not accustomed to.

“Drat,” she sighed, moving to tighten it. Corsets were lovely, but they were also such a pain in many a way. There were stylists to help with such things, but Effie rather liked the idea of doing this herself. She could get pampered any time. Weekend mornings gave her time to herself, and time to think. Still, the darn thing didn’t want to tighten the way she wanted it to. She was so focused on lacing it up properly that she didn’t hear her door opening.

“You make the ugliest faces when you’re frustrated,” came an all too familiar voice. Effie jumped, moving her hands to cover herself despite the fact that nothing was exposed…well, nothing all that important.

“Otto! Don’t sneak up on my like that. Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“Heard of it. Decided it wasn’t for me. Don’t be such a prude, Pinkie,” Otto teased, eyes focused on her face. They wavered so little that it only made the girl feel more self-conscious rather than less. It just wasn’t normal for someone to be so focused. She had never liked it much, and she had figured that time would let her get used to his stare. That wasn’t so. In fact, it had almost got worse. Years only added intensity to the look.

“Mom…I don’t want to play with him.”

“It has nothing to do with wanting to, dear. Try and make friends. You might find you like him.”

“Oh, but mother…he looks funny."

“No buts.”

“I’m not decent,” she explained as if this would deter the young man, but both she and Otto knew that would be pointless. He was stubborn, and so was she. Very little could be done to deter the other from their way of thinking.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Otto smiled. “Oh, dearest, darling, Effie…you know full well our parents would absolutely leap for joy if we were to be willingly ‘not decent’ around each other.” He stuck his tongue out and widened his smile, looking back at her, challenge quite obvious in his stare.

“You’re vulgar.”

“You’re boring.”

“Who let you in?” Effie asked, turning away from him to continue adjusting the stubborn garment. What did it matter anyway? Otto had not motives to harm her, and she had started to assume the young man hadn’t the capacity for compulsive, emotional, behavior if he ever felt anything at all.

“Your mother.”

“It figures.”

“Want some help?”

“Huh?”

“Your corset. I could do it for you,” Otto offered, voice taking on the sincerity that Effie had become accustomed to picking up on. Still, she wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

“What do you know about lacing up a corset right?” she asked, eyeing him carefully, her arms still crossed over her chest, covering herself and attempting to look bigger. Not that if made much difference since she wasn’t wearing her heels, and Otto towered over her regardless. “You’re far too skinny to need one, dear."

Otto pouted, and it really shouldn’t have been possible for him to do that so effectively. “I resent that. I have a delightfully curvy figure,” he said with as straight a face as Effie had ever seen on him as he gestured to his torso with all the enthusiasm of a rock. “It’s just something I know, alright. Do you want my help or not?”

Effie pursed her lips and studied him for a second. Otto was a pain. She knew it. He knew it. Yet, despite it all he was her friend wasn’t he? A bit off kilter with the occasional thousand mile stare, but he could be trusted…well, for the most part anyway. “Alright, but if you try anything I’m going to punch you in the nose.” She could hear him scoff as she turned back around, but to her surprise he didn’t say anything else. Laces were pulled and tightened as he worked quietly. It was strange, the quietness. Unsettling but comforting.

“Don’t you have stylists who are supposed to do this for you, Eff?” he finally asked, decided the silence had persisted long enough. It would be him to break the silence.

“I do, but I’m not in the mood for that much attention. I can take care of things myself. Don’t you have stylists, Otto? Certainly you must have some sort of team to give you such and artfully, disheveled look.”

“How do you walk around with your hair like that?”

“It’s easy. I just do.”

“Just let me fix it. Do something with it.”

“Quit fussing over me, Pinkie. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah right. You need someone to take care of you, and it may a well be me.”

“Happily no,” Otto said, no small amount of pride in his voice. “I’ve scared them all away. I’m far too charming for them. They can’t keep up with me, and that intimidates them. It’s a damn shame.”

The pair fell into silence again having formed some kind of agreement to not look into each other’s eyes.

“There you go. All laced up like a fancy boot,” he grinned, moving back and looking at the girl through the mirror once he was finished. “You’re a very lovely girl."

Despite herself Effie blushed, enjoying the compliment and the fact that he actually sounded like he meant it. “Well, thank you, Otto.”

“Don’t mention it. After all, how hard is it to look good when you’re all of…gosh, are you twelve now?” And like that the boy’s smirk was back. She wanted to be annoyed with his flippancy, his inability to be consistently serious in that moment. Still, it was better than his oppressively frank alternative. She could deal with his bad jokes for the time being.

“Eighteen,” Effie corrected coolly, not one to give into his teasing so easily.

“Oh right, damn…and that makes me…”

“A very old man indeed.”

“I think you mean to say learned,” Otto replied, leaning back on his heels. “If I remember correctly you always thought I was smart.”

“That book’s bigger than my head!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Eff. It’s not that big.”

“I can’t read books that big yet.”

“You will. Most do.”

“Could you read it to me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re just older. Now, I’m old too, and I know you’re an idiot.”

“You just shower me with compliments don’t you?” Otto replied lightly, his tone becoming less combative with an extra edge of self-pity. Effie didn’t know whether she wanted to tease him more or comfort him. Otto was dramatic, and playing into his games was more often than not a good way to get frustrated. “Go on, Eff. Make a joke about my nose, or my height, or-“

“The fact that you’ve gone so long without sleeping that you look more like Charon than usual?"

“I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, are you? I couldn’t tell. Must have missed all the skull-dark circles around your eyes.”

“Are you ever going to tire of teasing me about that? I have a condition.”

“Your only condition is your stubbornness…”

Otto wrinkled his nose, eyes half closed and skeptical. “Ah yes…of course. Comparing me to a figure of death. Very clever. Very new. I have never heard that before.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you until later,” the girl shrugged, changing the subject and walking to her closet, blocking Otto’s gaze with the door, not that he was looking. He’d taken up residence by her window, staring out at the late morning sky. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

“I figured we could maybe go out and grab some lunch or something. You don’t have anything planned with Marie do you?”

“Not today. Thank you. I am getting a bit hungry,” she replied, stepping back out and going back to her mirror to apply her make-up.

“Good. I had no back up plan if you declined,” Otto grinned, turning to face her. “I’m not in the mood to be alone today. Surprising isn’t it? Otto the loner wants some company. Inform the masses.”

“Well, if I have one duty it’s to make sure you don’t do stupid things by yourself,” Effie replied, checking herself in the mirror, admiring her work.

“Goodness, you smell like a bar. Otto, have you been drinking?”

“Oooh…just a little. Makes me all giggly you know? Just a little…”

“I could set your breath on fire.”

“Ah, but that’s what I’m supposed to be like isn’t it? Drunk and cheerful and pleasant! Ain’t that right? Everything but myself, right?”

“Otto, cut that out. You’re starting to shout.”

“I’m sorry…oh, Effie…I’m not feeling so good.”

“Come on. I think we should get you to bed.”

Otto shook his head. “You never let me have any fun.”

“I don’t think you know what fun is, dear.”

“Hm…that may very well be true. But I do know that I enjoy your company,” Otto shrugged. The sincerity had returned to the voice, and he was looking at her again, but this time he was not staring so intently. Effie turned and offered him a smile. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“No, shall we head out?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Effie nodded, taking a step toward her door before realizing that Otto had managed to catch up with her. She felt his hand brush up against hers, and she felt her face flush a bit, merely reactionary. “Excuse me, what are you doing?” she asked, arching her brow and looking over at him, the heels she now sported making the field more even.

“Pandering to the audience,” he replied, taking her hand lightly, the gesture more childlike than romantic. She met his eyes, glaring a bit, but he had a childish smile to match, so she decided not to challenge it, returning the gesture with a small squeeze. She noticed her mother quietly observing from the bottom of the stairs, and silently agreed to the little charade.

“Perhaps this will hold her over long enough to give me peace for a week or so.”

“Glad you’re finally getting up to speed.”

“Don’t you get it, fluff for brains?”

“Get what?”

“Your mom and dad and my mom and dad want us to share cooties.”

“Oh, gross!"

“You said it…”

The pair descended the stairs, Effie taking care to stand tall in her new shoes and enjoying on some level her friend’s presence. They stopped as they passed her mother, and both offered a smile. However, Otto pushed it further and planted a kiss on Effies cheek, making it all to obvious to her that he had done it not out of affection but out of his usual antagonism. Her mother made some sort of entirely happy noise, and Effie felt her face go beet red under her layers of make-up.

Effie waited until they were out the door and her mother could no longer see them to slap him.

“What was that for?” she snapped more surprised than actually irritated.

“Trying to get you the ‘or so’ bit you mentioned,” Otto practically whined, touching his cheek lightly.

“I could punch you for that. Couldn’t you have asked first?”

“It had to look spontaneous. At least you didn’t call me a name this time,” Otto replied, still rubbing his cheek and letting go of her hand. “I was only joking.”

“I do not call people names. A lady does not do such things,” she shrugged, walking on with confidence, Otto hanging back for a few seconds before catching up with her.

“I remember differently,” he said simply, looking ahead.

“Asshole!”

“Thank you, darling. Your input, as usual, is much appreciated.”

“I don’t know how I can stand you half the time! You’re just such a brute sometimes!”

“I thought that’s how you liked your men.”

“Whatever. So tell me, where exactly are we going?” Effie asked.

Otto didn’t respond right away, his face going thoughtful for a moment or two. “I don’t know really. I’m in the mood for a little adventure. I say we head in any direction and see where it takes us. To hell with set plans. We’ve never stuck them have we, darling?”

Effie rolled her eyes, a common occurrence in Otto presence but nodded. It was as good an option as any, and she knew enough about her companion to know he wouldn’t get them into trouble. Not too much anyway. That just about summed up everything about them. Between competing and parental expectations Effie could best describe the friendship, the rivalry, as not too much. And in a world of excess it was a very nice thing to have indeed.

“What are we, Eff? What on Earth even are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

“You don’t have to get upset.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Friends.”

“Huh?”

“Friends. I think we’re friends.”

“Oh…I can live with that.”

OOC: Finally finished this thing. It's called "Sympathy Card", but I affectionately call it "Otto does not respond well to mind games".

Another lovely day in the Capitol. Sun shining on the buildings. People wandering in the street. Probably gossiping about the Games. About the amazing show and the surprising ending. Such an amazing turn of events…how very loud it all was.

How absolutely obnoxious.

Otto rolled onto his side, away from the light that shown through the window. It wasn’t enough though, and for extra emphasis he clenched his eyes shut and pulled a pillow over his face, blocking out the world and all those that inhabited it. He hadn’t felt like doing much of anything for the past couple of days, but most people that knew him well enough would not likely be in any sort of position to hold it against him or tell him to buck up. Otto got low sometimes, but this was different. He was not used to this feeling of loss, of sadness, of mourning. It was exhausting, and it didn’t seem to let up, only seeming to get worse when he wanted to quiet his mind of all the things that circled within it. It was dizzying even, made him light-headed. Not at all conducive to actually functioning as a proper member of society.

Perhaps in time his routine would return to him so at the very least he could go back to giving off some semblance of normal. Back to the whirlwind of fancy parties with overt themes and mindless gossip. Back to the hum of people’s chatter in his favorite spots for thinking and people-watching. Back to just being himself again. Maybe even something close to happy. Until then though all Otto wanted was to mope and sit at home. People were tiring, and really…why even bother with them? His own incompetence when it came to others should have been all too apparent at this point.

Routines were replaceable. Your friends were not.

Of course, there were those that found your friends replaceable, but still…at the thought Otto tried to curl himself up tighter. Today had been full up enough by his own thoughts. He didn’t need more of them. Still, his negativity was something he’d never been able to fully avoid or shake off.

Friends…so much for those things. Seemed like he wouldn’t have been able to maintain a relationship with someone even his he was tied to them. Though it would also seem that other people had the ability to sever the rope, through no fault of his own, with pruning shears. Then again, how true was that anyway? No fault of his own. What if that was just an ugly lie? A rationalization for the horrible person he truly was. Perhaps, this was all his fault. Perhaps, there were things he could have said, or maybe in this case have not said. To have had the amazing ability to keep things to himself. Maybe then things would have gone a bit differently than they had.

Oh, this was not helping a bit was it? If nothing else it was only making him feel a million times worse than before, and that was no good for anyone. The best thing to do would just be to sleep and hope that creeping doubts would allow him that.

However, as he started to drift off a new sound caused him to bolt upright. The sliding of something on the ground. Something small. Under the door? Otto turned to look at the floor. The cat was fast asleep. What on earth had been that noise?

Goddamn ghosts.

“You’re not allowed in here!” he yelled in not particular direction, hoping to sound intimidating as he covered his eyes with his hands. After a few seconds he peaked out from behind his fingers. Nothing flung about…maybe it wasn’t a ghost, but if not that then what? Getting up, Otto walked to his door, very carefully as if the floor was going to cave in under him. Maybe that would be for the best. Knock him out or better yet kill him. But no such thing happened. He simply made it to the door. No drama. It was a bit disappointing.

To die would have been an awfully big adventure.

No ghosts. Just an unassuming little letter. Then again…who the hell sent letters anymore? Well, not anyone in the Capitol anyway.

Bending down, Otto reached to grab the thing, but something caused him to freeze. Something enough to make him recoil, draw his hand back sharply. Something he had never experienced but had heard Seneca complain about from time to time.

Rose scented paper.

Otto took a few steps back before crouching low to the ground, half expecting the thing to self-destruct or something cliché like that, but all it did was sit there, which was only more unnerving. What did it want? Was it a treaty or a death sentence? A letter of resignation perhaps? All Otto knew was that he didn’t know and that he was going to have to do something about the thing eventually. He couldn’t just leave it there forever…or maybe he could.

Well, he would have had he not spotted a familiar, furry, shape move past the corner of his eye.

“Balthy…stay away from that,” Otto ordered, but goodness knows that cat never listened to anyone. Sniffing the letter, Otto watched as his pet leaned forward, opened his mouth and…no…oh no, that was not happening. “Don’t eat that!” he said as he grabbed the gray beast to his chest. “It’s probably poisoned or something.” Kill his friend and his cat…now that just wasn’t fair. Otto glared at the letter for a minute or two more before straightening back up, knees cracking in protest. “Well, I’m not touching it,” he said, turning and walking in the opposite direction.

Returning to his couch Otto glanced over at his door. No, they weren’t going to get him. He wasn’t going to let them…but did it have to be so damn alluring? What’d it say? Who had slipped it under the door? Surely not Snow. The President made things personal, but Otto knew better than to think the President would actually take more time than necessary to make Otto’s life uncomfortable. Otto wasn’t important. He didn’t matter. He was just a flighty coward who needed a quick reminder of his place.

The thought was almost comforting. There was no need to harm him. He was harmless. Just a talk-box socialite with fraying nerves and few friends. Fewer  now. At this rate the letter was just as likely to be blank as anything else, so why was it so terrifying?

Because it’s from him. I know what he can do…what he’s done. It would mean nothing to him to have me gone. To have me out of the way…

Otto sighed and pulled his legs up onto the couch, stroking the silver cat that now resided in his lap. “Someone’s playing games with me.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Shame I don’t know what the aim of the game is…” He moved the cat to the couch, meeting the animal’s stare. “I should open it. If it kills me then it kills me. You know where your food is.” Balthar blinked and purred, rubbing his head against the back of the man’s hand. “I’m so glad I’ll be missed.”

And he was up again, soon face to face with the scented envelope and his apprehension once more. He was still afraid of it. Of paper and perfume and potentially ink. His stomach churned, but there was nothing in it, so all he felt was nausea and an uncomfortable wetness in his mouth.

Closing his eyes Otto reached down, feeling the tips of his fingers brush up against the envelope. Well, his fingers were still in tact, so that was a plus. He opened his eyes and looked down as he watched himself pick the letter up in slow motion. No burning. No smoke. Just an obnoxious smell and pristine paper. Pristine paper with his name on it…

Mister Otto Majoris Baxwoll…

Otto wrinkled his nose at the perfect script and the use of every last bit of his name. It was painfully impersonally personal. They could know your name, but it didn’t mean they knew you. He tried to read the name aloud, but the words stuck in his throat, so nothing came out but a strangled exhale. He walked over to the couch, but he couldn’t sit. The damn cat was watching him, and Otto was convinced he was being judged by the stupid furball.

“I’m getting to it. Quit looking at me like that.”

He didn’t want to use a letter opener, foolishly entertaining ideas of the letter stealing it from him. Running him through with irony. It was that or bleed out from the multitude of paper cuts it was sure to inflict upon him.

He knew he was being ridiculous and that such things were impossible, but there was something to be said for distracting himself with impossible tales. Certainly they had to be better than whatever awaited him under the seal. Otto understood fantasy. It was reality that kept throwing him off.

He turned the letter over a few times in his hands. It felt pretty standard, and he could tell there was something in there. A piece of paper, but he still couldn’t drop the idea of it just being blank…or maybe covered in blood.

Mine or Seneca’s?

Otto shook his head. This ridiculousness was getting out of hand. What was he afraid of anyway? Of dying? Hardly. The frequency with which he pondered his own demise would suggest that worrying about it was just a regular activity for him, but not particularly something brought about by fear. He’d always said that if someone killed him that he’d probably assume he deserved it.

Of course, he had never assumed the person who would potentially be offing him to be a certain old man.

Still, what purpose would that serve? It wasn’t like he really made a difference one way or the other in this world. It would be a pointless exertion of power, and from what he knew of him Otto did not believe the President to be a wasteful man. Terrifyingly powerful but not one to do the unnecessary.

Slowly he brought the envelope close to his face. “I’m not afraid of you.” Carefully, he brought it back down again breaking the seal and hesitating for a moment or two before pulling out the folded piece of paper. The scent was stronger now and that much more off-putting. It was oppressively floral. Unnatural in its pleasantness, and it made him want to wretch, so he sat down to ease the feeling. He managed to contain it, unfolding the paper and glancing over at his cat. “I’m not dead yet. I think it’s a good sign.”

If cats could roll their eyes, Otto was certain his just had. He was stalling, and he knew it. He turned his eyes back to the paper, letting them fall on a similar black script that was on the envelope. He wrinkled his nose and wondered if it was in fact handwritten, but that was even rarer than a letter, so he couldn’t be sure. It was nice to look at, but what did it matter how nice it looked? It was the words themselves that mattered.

And as he looked at them the churning of his stomach became violent. Amongst the words of comfort and cold distance he found himself lost.

Mr. Baxwoll,

It is with great sadness that this letter finds you. As I am sure you are aware your friend, Seneca Crane, is no longer among us. I wish simply to express my deepest sympathies for your loss and to let you know that you do not grieve alone. This sudden loss of a dear friend distresses many a heart in these days so soon after. Hopefully, time will heal these wounds and the pain be forgotten. Such things are a part of life, and the most we can do is try and follow the best paths we can to ensure that such occurrences are rare. Life moves on, and there will be other troubles that will bog you down in your path. I wish strength and patience to you in these trying times. You are known as a man of intelligence and understanding, so I can imagine that you have no difficulties dwelling on such unpleasant things, but do what you must to persevere.

Goodness knows Seneca would not wish for you to dwell on such sadness and unpleasantness at his expense.

Condolences,

President Coriolanus Snow

Otto could find only silence and his tongue sat like lead in his mouth, his eyes reading and rereading the words and focusing on the signature. That part was definitely done by hand. A small touch that was just enough to make things personal so than they cut deep and stung as well.

He wanted to scream and to shout. To rip this damn thing to shreds so that it existed no more. Condolences…condolences? The president was offering him condolences? Why, it was almost enough to make him laugh, but his tongue would not move. Did the president think him stupid or blind? Did he think that Otto was not clever enough to see the threats and thinly veiled orders to keep his mouth shut and to act as if this was all nothing? That he had never known a man by the name of Seneca Crane. That he had not known the strange man from Three with the Capitol Pedigree?

Surely not. Snow was more clever than that, and he likely knew that Otto was clever himself. No, no…he knew Otto was not stupid. There was no point in trying to go over his head so it was said directly.

Do not mourn the loss of the traitor.

Do not expect any sympathy.

Forget your silly ideals, and accept this.

Do all these things or else we’ll know.

I’ll know, and I’ll kill you.

Otto didn’t move until he tasted blood, feeling it starting to pool in his mouth. He must have bitten the inside of his mouth. He let his mouth hang open a bit, feeling the slow drip of blood and spit down his chin. Seems today it would be him who would be spilling his blood. Not Snow.

He closed his mouth again and hissed in delayed reaction, coughing as he felt some blood tickle his throat. Placing the letter down on his table he got up and went to the kitchen, spitting in the sink. Blood and spit and nerves. What did you do in this situation? Salt water…right. The concoction was easy enough to make, and Otto stood there and tried not to focus on the brine taste or the slight sting until he no longer spit out red into the sink, washing it down and watching it swirl down the drain. Between that and his tongue’s insistence on rubbing against the raw spot on his cheek he somehow felt a lot better, almost at ease. He continued to stand there for a bit, contemplating his reflection in the smooth metal of the faucet.

You’re getting so skittish. Well, more so.

He managed to pull himself away and returned to his spot on the couch, still warm from before. Cat curled up lazily on the arm. Letter sitting and waiting right where he’d left it. He picked it up again, scanning the words and focusing in on flecks of red that had not been there before. His blood splattered upon the page and of his own doing, already dry.

He had done this to himself. The President needed not lift a finger. Otto was already afraid of him. Otto already lived in the shadow of this city. These people. Too afraid of his own shadow to bother being a real pest to anyone but himself. What threat was he? None at all, and made this all the more ridiculous. His blood already shed for a cause he didn’t even know about or even at this point cared about.

His cause was himself.

And so he laughed, tearing the damn thing in half. Once, twice, and in half again then simply ripping and tearing with no rhyme or reason until it was nothing but a handful of tiny scraps, throwing them up in the air so that they fell like…

Snow.

Balthar picked up his head and batted at a few scraps as they came down. Otto’s laughing ceased and he remained still, staring out across the room and through the window at the beautiful Capitol day. The ever-obnoxious Capitol day that refused to go away no matter how much the man wished it would.

The sun was shining. People walked around in their flashy attire. Seneca was no longer amongst the crowds, but Otto could still imagine, still picture him out there as if nothing had ever happened. The reality he wanted to wake to when this bad dream was over. If it would ever be over. Reflection pools and shops seemed to shimmer in the light of day. People basked in the warmth, and Otto smiled as he pictured it all in his mind’s eye as he stood up. Out his window he could see it all, and for a few moments he felt a bit like himself again, anxiousness branching out from within his chest.

ooc: djksgdjskfgbjfgs YES

OOC: Something I'm working on very slowly. Otto v. President Snow in a game of intimidation.

Friends…so much for those things. Seemed like he wouldn’t have been able to maintain a relationship with someone even his he was tied to them. Though it would also seem that other people had the ability to sever the rope, through no fault of his own, with pruning shears. Then again, how true was that anyway? No fault of his own. What if that was just an ugly lie? A rationalization for the horrible person he truly was. Perhaps, this was all his fault. Perhaps, there were things he could have said, or maybe in this case have not said. To have had the amazing ability to keep things to himself. Maybe then things would have gone a bit differently than they had.

Oh, this was not helping a bit was it? If nothing else it was only making him feel a million times worse than before, and that was no good for anyone. The best thing to do would just be to sleep and hope that creeping doubts would allow him that.

However, as he started to drift off a new sound caused him to bolt upright. The sliding of something on the ground. Something small. Under the door? Otto turned to look at the floor. The cat was fast asleep. What on earth had been that noise?

Goddamn ghosts.

“You’re not allowed in here!” he yelled in not particular direction, hoping to sound intimidating as he covered his eyes with his hands. After a few second he peaked out from behind his fingers. Nothing flung about…maybe it wasn’t a ghost, but if not that then what? Getting up, Otto walked to his doors, very carefully as if the floor was going to cave in under him. Maybe that would be for the best. Knock him out or better yet kill him. But no such thing happened. He simply made it to the door. No drama. It was a bit disappointing.

To die would have been an awfully big adventure.

No ghosts. Just an unassuming little letter. Then again…who the hell sent letters anymore? Well, anyone in the Capitol anyway.

Bending down, Otto reached to grab the thing, but something caused him to freeze. Something enough to make him recoil, draw his hand back sharply. Something he had never experienced but had heard Seneca complain about from time to time.

Mutts v. Monsters