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"Yeah, weaponizing too.." Truth be told that was one of the worst jobs he had to do. It was smooth enough when the subject was willing, but... there was some guilt involved. It made him wish he didn't have a soul, sometimes. Spying, he also hated. Golem missions were a strain on his patience. Was there any job within Death he actually felt proud to do?

America's question was timed too perfectly. He grimaced and shrugged. "Does it matter?" He tended to assume the cleaning list was punishment for being useless. Seemed a fair deal.

Nodding, America jabbed a piece of crust in Otto's direction, "It matters because, despite all the doom and gloom some sorts like to throw out, this is the rest of your life. Your future." She took a bite, almost continued talking with her mouth full, but caught a look from Kostya which had her swallowing it down quickly. "I mean if you're been around this long, you're obviously good at more than mopping floors. Why not do something you at least find satisfying?"

She held up her plate for more, continuing, "If not in Death, maybe another division?"

It appeared that tag-teaming concern over the well-being of grumps was going to become their thing.

Kostya found this to be acceptable.

"Vell. Now have learn to not be in vay. Having much time to learn to do vhatever else am vanting, da?" Otto had survived a lot, from the way he spoke, and in Kostya's opinion, it was time to learn what he wanted to do, instead of what he needed to.

Otto gave a disgruntled sigh of fatigue, looking to Kostya with a tired look. "Why would I be able to do what I want? What is there on this island possibly worth me wanting to do?" All their gabbing sounded so alien or naive, it was almost funny. Almost, but mostly just annoying.

"So is everyone else on this island." Otto remarked to America with a flat look, "That doesn't make me unique or talented." Her remarks about the Sahara did make him pause. The fact anyone noticed he was capable of handling a bad situation at all was uplifting. He tried not to let it get to his head. "Being valuable and being able to work without ******** up aren't the same thing." He muttered passively. Maybe neither of them had really been to many Caelius pep talks...

"Would I want to?" That was an odd word to use. "I'd feel obligated to. I doubt I'd do much good. Ain't exactly observant or smart. Only way I'd see a clue is if it hit me in the face."

Wait a minute.. they were focusing on him quite a bit. He tensed his shoulders and leaned back. "Look, stop tryin' to 'help', alright? Eat yer damn pizza."

America tore into the delivered slice like it was her first, a look of deep concentration on her face. She nodded along with Kostya, gave him a very intensive bit of eye-contact, and then added, "Not a dinnertime conversation, we can drop it." For the duration of said dinner. The trainee continued casually, "I've been thinking of maybe transferring divisions myself," specially, to Moon, "...should probably go and talk to that Caelius soon, ask more about Death missions and the like."

It was an unspoken agreement: Project #2 had commenced, even though Project #1 (Obadiah T.) was still in progress.

"Last time, he had collect key." A slight, guilty gaze at Otto. "...Ve did not get key. Maybe next time can collect. Just being careful, America. Not kind man."

"Well, we woulda gotten the key if someone knew the rule of 'no touchy'." Otto grumbled, a lidded glare cast at Kostya. Otto wasn't sure what to make of that generalization America made though. He chose not to make any remarks on it after some thought. Yeah, it was probably wise not to comment on it.

"No man is kind and all chics are crazy. Noted." Okay he lied. He totally remarked on it. Otto dusted off his hands and licked his lips. "I'm full. Good supper, grandma!"