He'd tried to ask for more details about what they'd be up against when they went to steal a baby from the underground, but Cedric was already on his phone and if he heard them he didn't deign to answer. He supposed that meant the meeting was over, so he got up from his console and walked out without a sound. It might just be just be bitterness trying to take hold again but sometimes The Owlman really thought that he'd only been called up here to round out the numbers. The L.A. office was noticeably short staffed, regardless of the larger than average number of Meta that lived here, and he was pretty high profile. It really didn't matter though. If all he was expected to do was sit at the big table and look handsome, well, that suited him just fine. Let the others handle the decision making. He'd pose for photos with the rest of them and that would be enough. Show that even people like him could rise up to esteemed positions.
It might be just for show, but that was him all over wasn't it?
It was getting pretty late in the day. He would go check back up with Casper, then if nothing urgent came up it was time for bed...
-----
The Owlman, despite himself, was not a night owl. He'd spent a significant portion of his life avoiding the sun, and it had sucked. Early to bed, early to rise, makes an owl healthy, wealthy, and wise. He opened his large eyes as the morning sun poured through his window and took in the sight of his room.
Beige walls, beige carpets. One large window overlooking the area in front of HQ. There was a series of shelves along one wall upon which rested a ton of memorability, mostly owl related, from what could only be called fans. Stuffed owls, ceramic owls, glass owls, paper owls, one owl that sang when you pressed a button on its base, a perfect replica of that clockwork owl from Clash of the Titans. That one was from a guy in Houston that had six arms and three faces, a construction worker who fought crime under the name Ravana. He'd made the thing himself as a thank you gift for The Owlman after he'd encouraged the big lunk to reconnect with an old girlfriend. He'd sent the owl after she agreed to marry him. Years ago he couldn't stand the sight of an owl. Funny how things shake out.
In front of him, taking up most of the space on the far wall, was a large entertainment system. A huge flat screen television dominated the scene, while under it and off to the side were shelves housing speakers, a DVD player, and a huge library of movies. Viably mostly fantasy and romance, but there were a few cupboards dedicated to horror movies. Horror, specifically monster movies, made up the vast majority of his collection but he wasn't about to broadcast that fact. People might start looking at him funny.
He felt around at the base of his chair and pulled the lever that brought it back into an upright position. He didn't have a bed. He'd found trying to lie in one with nails like his just ruined them, but sleeping in a recliner he could lay both his arms over the side. He picked himself up and got a stumbled over to the quiet corner of the room, beside the bathroom door, containing his computer. He booted it up and checked his messages. A few from monstrous Metas he'd been in contact with. There was a girl in Florida whose body, excepting her bones, had changed to the color and consistency of ballistic jell. She was finally going to apply for that modeling job, to which he wished her the best. There was a guy in North Carolina who had grown something like an organic jet pack. Smelt absolutely terrible every time he flew, but he'd included a picture of a new wing suit he was going to be testing out. Finally there was something in New York, a blob of what could only be described as living booger that a few kids had been secretly sheltering in their basement. They'd contacted him for advice based on his website, and he'd responded by contacting a reformist investigation team lie the one that had found him. After determining that the booger wasn't aggressive they'd given it its own space where the children could visit it. From the daily updates it sounded as though it was slowly coming out of its shell, even trying to communicate.
He was a little disappointed that the strange woman from the park yesterday hadn't contacted him, but it wasn't any wonder with how he'd blown her off.
There was a sudden knock at the door, and the voice of Max came though. "You decent, man? It's getting up time, come on."
The Owlman looked down at himself. Feathers covered his torso, and his legs were stuffed into large sweatpants. He could pull on pants like this just fine. He'd learned, very carefully, to take off his suit. But putting on that suit himself? That just wasn't possible yet. He pressed down on the handle of the door, opening it up for Max who stood there holding a perfectly cleaned suit and smarty shined shoes. "Come on buddy, we don't have all day to get you looking sharp."
-----
It was the shoes that were the most embarrassing, he thought as he walked thorough the building to the cafeteria. The laces, specifically. He couldn't tie them and he couldn't risk them becoming untied while he was in the field. So he wore zips ups. The laces were fake, pinned on to add an air of respectability. More than anything he hated the thought of someone finding that out.
Now, though, he needed to eat. He needed breakfast. He needed bacon, a lot of bacon, if he were going to seize the day. Bacon he would be carrying back to his room, because him eating was really gross and predatory and he really, really, didn't like people seeing him do it.
