Lott never knew  what she wanted to be when she grew up. Truth be told, any question about the future filled her with dread. When people asked her where she saw herself in five years she’d pause, pretend to think, and reply with some sort of canned, inoffensive answer like a managerial position. In reality, the idea of going five more years down any kind of set path just seemed exhausting because she could hardly make it through the five day work week without losing her mind. Still, she secretly admired the people who were adamant in what their future would hold, those annoying little pricks who thought they could actually be somebody. More often than not those intolerable twerps would realize the futility of their dreams and settle like she had, but every now and then a few of them would breakthrough into greatness. That’s how Lott saw the five candidates as they hung around the common area of the Swathe Street complex: all great in their own special way, and all equally as insufferable. 

Gatch’s publicist stood off to the side, unnoticed, just as she preferred to be at times like these. Lott had arrived earlier that day with Gatch’s advance team. While they saw to it that the complex suite’s were properly prepared and (probably) bugged for the four other candidates, Lott took it upon herself to train everyone on staff how breaching certain topics to the media or other candidates would be in violation of their contracts. Basically, the message boiled down to “smile, nod, and keep your mouth shut”, and judging by the cold shoulders she had been receiving for the rest of that afternoon it had seemed to sink in. She was growing accustomed to the icy reception from the other members of Gatch’s team. Lott was fine with it; the fewer people who talked to her, the fewer people to notice how incredibly wasted she was currently.

It had not been Lott’s intention to get so twisted that she’d spent the last five minutes staring at the reflection of her face upon the black screen of her tablet, but sometimes it happens. Usually not at work, but today's work had gone on longer than usual and there had been plenty of time to kill and besides she’d taken a few doses of her anxiety meds to counteract the effects of the uppers she’d popped and she was totally as cool as a cucumber and surely nobody could tell anyway, right? Right. Right? Lott looked up, ready to see the entire room staring back at her and found that everyone was engaged in their own thing like usual. She smiled at her reflection. See, nobody even noticed. Her reflection didn’t smile back. It knew that Lott was in no state of mind to determine if someone was even looking their way. She looked back up. Gatch caught her eye.

It was the signal. She breathed deeply and tried to slow down her racing heart, a difficult task for anyone to do when they were about to approach a group with Samsara Washington standing among the others. Lott tucked away her tablet and moved across the lobby. It felt like she was walking on ice, so she kept her arms tucked into her coat pockets out of fear that she’d otherwise start flailing them. Her eyes didn’t leave Washington. He was a great dresser. Made Gatch look like some jerkoff wearing some thrift shop suit. She wanted to know where Washington got his suit, how much it costs, and if they could make one in her size. Lott was curious if they needed a publicist. She wouldn’t mind being under him. The corner of her numbed lips twitched as she gave Washington a final once over, and then turned to Gatch. 

The look he gave her told her it hadn’t been the signal. Lott froze, pulled out her tablet, and stared into the blackness again. She was close enough to hear the candidates verbally jousting with one another. Lott’s ears perked up as she heard APEX Industries get targeted. Gatch may have been their golden boy but officially he was not a representative of their company. Technically, Lott wasn’t an official representative of their company, either, despite having a job lined up for her once she completed this campaign trail. She shot Petrukov a look as the woman suggested APEX wasn’t a necessity. If it hadn’t been for APEX sending Lott to reach out to Petrukov’s lawyer with some sensitive information the woman probably wouldn’t even be in the running for council. 

Lott looked at Gatch and saw that he had no defense ready for the pre-debate debate. Screw waiting for signals, he was floundering. No media was to be allowed inside of the complex yet, but that didn’t mean people weren’t recording. She knew that she was. As much as she didn’t care for the Mayor, it’d look bad if word got out that he couldn’t spar. It’d look worse for Lott if she just let the other candidates gang up on him and tear down her boss and her (“former”) company. Lott slid up beside Mayor Gatch, tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, and pinned her tablet to her chest like a shield. She blinked. What was the plan here? She had just inserted herself into a conversation with some of the most potentially important people in the Twin City Sprawl and she was too high to even concentrate on anything but the pretty lights on Washington’s glasses. 

[color=lightgray][b]“Cool glasses. I need to get me a pair of those,”[/b][/color] said Lott. Her voice was hollow and empty. Even when she wasn’t in an enhanced state of numbness her words always sounded so passionless, as if she was either always being sarcastic or just bored by the mere thought of existence. She had meant what she’d said about Washington’s glasses, she just hadn’t meant to say it outloud. She tried to smile at him to show that she wasn’t being a jerk. It didn’t quite work—her face, that is. Sure, muscles moved and teeth were bared, but nobody could ever confuse that look for a smile. At best it was a pained grimace from someone who was aware of their own awkwardness; at worst it was a sneer from someone who thought the other person’s sense of fashion made them look like a real prick.

[color=lightgray][b]“Ms. Petrukov,”[/b][/color] said Lott, turning her attention to the Pirate Party candidate. [color=lightgray][b]“We can assure you that the influx in employment of private security firms is little more than preventative maintenance to dissuade the sorts of unsavory characters that often attach themselves to political campaigns.”[/b][/color] She let her eyes linger. [color=lightgray][b]“However, I can get in touch with a media crew if you’d like to make a statement in regards to your belief that the Reclaim doesn’t deserve protection and that the hardworking men and women of the security firms should be unemployed.”  

“I’d also like to remind everyone that working with APEX is not working for APEX. The Mayor works for the people of the Reclaim Zone. While Mayor Gatch and the Reclaim are grateful for what the company does to help build and grow our little slice of the Twin Cities, any information we provide on the subject is mere conjecture. If you have any questions regarding APEX Industries, I can reach out to one of their representatives. Otherwise, perhaps we can save the debate for the debate?” 

“If you’d like, I could show you to your room,”[/b][/color] she finished. The offer was to any and all of the candidates, but Lott didn’t look at anyone other than Samsara. His glasses were just too cool.