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It wasn't exactly as though Taym had expected a speedy reply from the Death lead. Actually, Taym didn't expect a reply from the Death lead at all, having spent his senior year of high school ensconcing himself in the corporate life of his father's offices and being accustomed to layers of higher-ups mangling every instruction in a game of white-collar Telephone. He'd expected a reply from someone, which wasn't at all the same thing.

But two factors were weighing heavily on his decision to do what he was doing right now. What he was doing right now was seeking out the Death lead's office, against his better judgment and under the influence of three saved-up packets of terrible instant MRE "coffee" and two cigarettes. The first factor was that Taym badly wanted to fill up as much of his time as possible, and was beginning to become enough accustomed to the typical trainee drudge work that he was finding himself able to think through it, which was distressing. The second factor was that Caelius had directly accused them of ineptitude and a lack of a motivation, which bit Taym right to the core.

So there it was: caffeine, nicotine, restlessness, and plain old contrarianism. A lethal combination, or at least an extremely stupid one.

He'd actually shaved that morning. By the time he got to Caelius's office the effort was mostly lost, but at least he did not look like a hobo. This would, he felt, help bolster his cause. If he'd had a suit he'd have worn it. That's the sort of person Taym was. As it was, the best he had was a cleanish shirt.

He hung around for about three minutes, steeling himself and attempting to spontaneously, as they say, grow a pair.

Then he knocked.

Neat and perfect were good, actually: familiar and vaguely comforting. Taym was a man who refolded his socks after he bought them to his own specifications. He was a man who squared the edges on his books when he stacked them up on his desk. He was a man with hands that shook intermittently who still managed to have tiny, perfect handwriting.

This last was something Caelius ought to be aware of, by now. Because by now Caelius should have seen his proposal, or what passed for it.

After a moment's hesitation and of nosily straining to see if he recognized the cities on the maps--several years in and out of various urban centers made him curious--he took it upon himself to take the seat that I am going to assume Caelius has across from his desk unless he legitimately just makes people stand there like supplicants to the throne, in which case that's also hilarious.

"Obadiah Thompson, sir," he said, after a second's hesitation. He was silently grateful that Caelius didn't seem like the handshake type. "Checking on the status of my... proposal." That seemed like a weighty word for what he'd actually turned in. "And if there's anything I can do to expedite either doing it or being told to come up with something better."

Well, two could play at that game. Taym folded his hands across his lap and waited patiently. Or outwardly patiently, at least.

Abruptly feeling outclassed in the "look like they rolled out of a soup kitchen" department, Taym broke the silence again, his voice very very deliberately without inflection.

"I am already fully aware of the enormous gulf between my level of experience and yours. If this is an exercise to demonstrate your superiority to me it's wasted, because we both know it doesn't need demonstrating. If it's an exercise to frustrate me into leaving, I am very patient and will await an outright dismissal. Sir. You asked us to submit proposals. Actually, I think the words you used were to 'stop ******** around.' I stopped '******** around' and submitted one. I'd like to know whether it's going anywhere. From him," he added, jerking a thumb at Mark, "if you can't spare five minutes of your time, since I assume you are adept enough at multitasking to do whatever it is you're doing and talk simultaneously. Sir."

There was a long, stunned silence while Taym processed this, a series of emotions flitting across his face. Bafflement. Then a slow-building anger. And then, as abruptly as if a switch had been flicked, back to nothing. That very calculated nothing that meant a lot.

"You're right," he said finally, his voice a little strangled. "I've been told since day one I got sorted into the house of Sneaky ********>. I left something unsupervised in a room full of the same. That was, as you say, very ******** stupid. Sir."

He reached into his coat and procured the pages he'd had the foresight to extract before he turned the thing in--a couple of print-outs, a couple of copied magazine blurbs, and some idle margin notation in a hand that Taym had no chance in hell of recognizing.

And he glared at Mark. Because Taym was stupid, and for some reason (reason: having assumed from Twitter Mark was something of an idiot sadist) immediately suspected him. "I don't guess these mean anything to you?" he asked, abruptly addressing Mark instead of Caelius.

Taym you idiot.

Well, you could at least say this one tiny thing for Taym: he thought before he spoke. Granted, this just meant that there was a heavy, irritating pause before he said anything, but possibly that was better, from a self-preservation standpoint, than just saying what was in his head.

What was in his head would probably get him killed. He swallowed, but kept his eyes on Caelius's even though it felt like they were going to start watering any second. Looking at Caelius was like looking directly into a fluorescent light bulb: too much intensity for such a small space.

"Not intentionally, sir," he said finally, sounding more meek than he'd meant to. "I submitted a proposal but apparently it was... misplaced before it made its way into your hands. I take full responsibility for that." Even though there was that whole chaos with a ******** body in the wall and you know, the general insanity he wanted to say, and didn't. "With your permission I'd like to atte--I'd like to remedy that. Even if it still leaves me an idiot, sir," he added, because he couldn't help it, "I'd prefer to be a useful one."