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Fake Russian communists had to fill out and organize a lot of mission reports in the library - previously in an office, up until half the life labs had been teleported on top of it. Needless to say, it had been... reclaimed. So every time he had stacks of paperwork, he just took over a small empire of tables in the farthest corner. Today was about the most minimal it had ever been, just a few papers.

He nearly jumped when Mark accosted him, sending his pen flying. "Mark? What -"

He had been so caught up in just staying alive and within the parameters Caelius had set for his continued existence, that he had never even considered the possibility of a promotion. Lucky gave Mark a look of serious concern that he may, in fact, have the wrong guy for this.

"That's - um, I mean, sure, but - wait, you're joking, right?" It was hard to believe. Or maybe he just found everything too suspicious lately. "And what did you say about my accent?"

"Excuse me?" Mark had at least successfully dragged him out of the library, even if he had no idea where they were going.

"Oh, uh, th...anks...?" Lucky listened to Mark's explanation mostly wordlessly, looking exasperated at the mention of the helicopter (again) but mostly just curious what the hell could possibly have happened. It did sound like Mark was the one pushing for the promotion. He was relieved to hear it all, until he realized a key piece of the information. "Wait, Mark, he said no - that's not a promotion - Mark, why are we going to his office??"

He made a last-ditch effort to dig his heels in.

Lucky didn't know whether to be comforted or insulted by Mark's description, and his expression said as much.

"You make it sound like a bad thing! There's nothing wrong with being in the background. Sometimes I like not being noticed --" He cast a somewhat frantic look at the office door. "-- by certain people. Are you sure you don't want to just get some regular, non-celebratory drinks instead? I've got half a bottle of vodka left in -"

Mark actually looked surprisingly serious about this. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Maybe if he played along, Mark would realize how hopeless this actually was. "Ok. Fine. Uh. I'm.... smart?"

He spread his hands loosely with the same level of enthusiasm as his voice held, which was to say, very little.

"Really?" Lucky began, arms dropping to his sides as he sighed in exasperation.He had a few more words for Mark, but, upon hearing the other voice, he froze. Oh, no.

Lucky felt a cold chill down his spine as the death lead passed by. He glanced briefly at Mark, then eyed the folder Caelius had pulled out (from where, Lucky unfortunately knew from previous pilfering experience) with growing dread. This was not how he expected the Delta conversation to go. He still hadn't moved from where he was standing just inside the threshold of the doorway. This was humiliating enough as it was.

"If this is about the power failure with the golem, I actually maintained cover. Despite it, I mean." He thought he'd written a very thorough report, so it was distressing to imagine the pages of work being translated into Mark-speak before going into the trash. Even if Mark meant well, it didn't help either of them with their case here.

As for the issue of his lack of promotion, Lucky was never very good at answering Caelius's rhetorical questions. He was pretty sure the answer started with an 'O' and ended with an 'uroboros'. But even so, he panicked, making sure to neatly avoid any eye contact with Caelius while wringing his hands. "And I'm sure you, uh, have your reasons..."

"N-no, that's not why I-" What was he doing here? He could leave right now, and they could all forget this ever happened - and he'd never be promoted, ever, because even the one person willing to give him a chance would be too disgusted with him to bother again.

It would have been so much easier to run.

"I just meant, you have your reasons, but... maybe you would... reconsider them... and promote me..." He shot Mark a desperate look. "Right, Mark...?"

Lucky glanced back and forth between the two of them and looked increasingly more self-conscious. Plus, the way Caelius stared through him was... really disconcerting, possibly even more than when he stared at him.

Nervously, Lucky took two steps to the side --

- just as Caelius finally noticed him again.

"Me?" he began to repeat, buying himself an extra second to glance to Mark again for some more assistance. He furrowed his eyebrows at the mixed messages and went back to staring at a fixed point behind Caelius's desk (eye contact with Caelius was still Not Happening today). Fine. This was an easy answer: after all, someone who didn't consider themselves highly expendable would never have let themselves be transferred to death division. His negligent behavior was pretty clear across the entirety of his hunter record - he was just the quiet kind of expendable. "Yes."

The way this was going, he was going to be getting Mark to buy him drinks by the end of this.

Lucky knew better than to interfere with a miracle, even if it was a very insulting one. He remained a silent and judgmental observer to the conversation Mark and Caelius were having about him, right in front of him and fidgeted uncomfortably every time Caelius dissected another one of his comments.

But somehow, he was once again pulled back into the conversation. His mind raced to picture the few he was familiar with - but none of them needed replacing. Well. One did. But she was dead. Did a dead hunter count?

"I could replace Sam," he suggested warily. Caelius had told him that was kind of his job anyway. "She, uh, already proved herself expendable."