✍️

“Ah, I see.” Penn hummed simply. He couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. Given the current situations between Oswald and Sofia, there was a significant amount of stress placed upon the boy’s shoulders. He carefully drew a hand over the book cover to close it carefully. He had limited experience with children, though he had been around the Falcone children often when they were younger. Carmine was often too busy and such parenting duties would fall upon him instead. 

“Perhaps hearing a story will help.” Arthur suggested gently, moving to rise to his feet. “Come along now.” He added, offering his hand to the younger. “If reading does not help I can prepare you some tea to soothe your mind.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his features, “It is something weighing on your mind, isn’t it?”

He considered the offer, lips pursing just slightly before a minute nod was given at the offer of a story. Even if he were tangled in the mess between the two opposing powers, Martin was still a child. A child who enjoyed being allowed to indulge in the simple wonders of the world, such things so very rare when one considered how he’d been brought up. So very rare as he was caught between the two powerful figureheads of Gotham. Sofia wanting one thing, where Oswald wanted another. But Oswald had provided him with something Sofia never had.

A sense of mentorship. Of belonging--the bird always prideful of the child’s accomplishments. Doting on him like...like he’d imagine a Father would. 

Martin waited patiently for the man to finish his work, certainly more than accustomed to finding Mister Penn constantly busy with his responsibilities, long after everyone else had gone on with their evening.  Perhaps he just...really enjoyed his work. Or perhaps he was just constantly behind. 

Martin hadn’t really had the courage to ask--given it was business done for Mister Cobblepot. 

At the information of the late hour, brown gaze flickered across the empty room and a small frown settled on the child’s face before attention returned to his notepad, flipping to the next page and writing an answer to Penn’s concern.

‘I tried.’ 

@ianhowellgcpd 

Despite his more frequent company around Polar, and in turn Martin whenever the child might be under the bear’s watch, Ian is still a stranger. As such, Martin stares at him wearily, watching as his fingers fumble and hesitate through the actions of finger-spelling. Of course–it’s nice to be able to communicate using the unspoken actions, but it’s something he isn’t…..comfortable doing around those who aren’t family.

Oswald. Polar. Ignatius and Ethan. They’re allowed to have conversations with him using it–Ian? Ian not so much. 

Eyes drift down to his notepad and Martin collects it up, writing a message before flipping around for the Officer to read. 

Headcanon Dump 📝

Most of these reflect on my other muses, and I won’t assume they’re related to other Oswald’s without discussion. 

Oswald is extremely encouraging when it comes to Martin’s artistic talent. There’s no shortage of supplies in his room in the Manor and the boy often tries to rope Oswald into spending time with him by means of painting or what have you. Sometimes it’s successful. 

Martin has the privilege of picking and choosing pieces of his art that hang around the Manor; while Oswald won’t move anything of his Father’s original design, he has made space in the empty areas and has pieces framed and displayed professionally. Something that will no doubt embarrass the child when he grows and notices the imperfections in his work. 

Whenever the Kingpin has the opportunity of tucking Martin in for bed, he makes a show of setting up his favorite penguin plush and repeating his Mother’s mantra. Going on and on about Martin is clever...and handsome...and how he’ll be a great man when he grows up. Each and every time Oswald gets a little teary-eyed. 

When being babysat by Polar, Martin teaches him the basics of ASL so they can communicate without the use of his notepad. Martin becomes the first person in Gotham to learn the bodyguard’s actual name with a promise not to tell anyone else. 

Martin is taught how to properly defend himself with a knife and is given a small dagger, similar to Oswald’s cane handle, to keep on his person whenever he may need it. It’s a rather plain design--and easy for roaming eyes to pass over if his belongings are ever searched. 

Martin doesn’t like guns. Whether this is due to the events of his parents passing or something else, he won’t say. But his discomfort is obvious. 

Whenever Oswald gets into trouble with the GCPD or other authorities, Polar is the one responsible for keeping Martin under the radar and safe, until further instruction can come.  

Apprehension is obvious on the child’s face as he stares down at the animal, unsure of just how he’s meant to act or...play with the bulldog. 

Lips press into a thin line before he tilts his head back in Oswald’s direction, prompting the bird to laugh softly and encourage him further. “Let him sniff your hand my boy. He’s very friendly. There’s nothing to be so frightened of.” 

Spiderman Teaching Meme.png

           ✦ 〰〰〰 With his snack in hand, Ethan returned the extra ingredients to their rightful place and stuck the sandwich in his mouth, retrieving the bag from the floor on his way back into the rest of the house. He headed for the sitting room, jonesing for the book that had been left on the couch with the mind to put it away. At least, that what he would have been thinking if he hadn’t walked into the room to find the spot it’d been in previously mysteriously empty. 

          The young man took a deep breath, assessing the area with the hopes of spotting someone he might have missed before. It seemed he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d previously believed. Whoever Oswald had brought into their home apparently had the thought to conceal themselves, putting the teenager just that little bit on edge. He figured that his father wouldn’t bring someone dangerous into their home, but he’d also wasn’t naive enough not to realize just what kind of work the man was in. With no real description of their visitor, Ethan could only assume the worst. 

           ❝ I know you’re there, ❞ he called into the sitting room, taking the sandwich out of his mouth and pulling his backpack up a little higher on his shoulders. Slowly, he crept onward, careful to keep an eye on his surroundings should someone decided to jump out at him. ❝ If this is supposed to be a game, you should come out and let me know the rules before we start. I wouldn’t mind the choice in activity, but the least you could do is make it fair. ❞

          Ethan had come up to the couch, pausing a moment in front of it out of hesitation. Finally, he brought one leg up on the soft surface, leaning over the back of it to see over the other side, his fingers curling around the edge of it, his fair share of wariness painted across his features. 

         His search warranted him results, though not the kind he would have expected. Behind the couch was just some kid, clinging onto the previously discarded book. He was young - a bit younger than Ethan expected, actually. Oswald wasn’t usually that interested in honest-to-God children - and his body language was anything but comfortable. The teenager settled his arms on the back of the piece of furniture, raising a brow and giving the kid a once-over in curiosity. ❝ Hello there. You must be Martin. ❞

Victory over the successful snatching of his book was short lived as the stranger finished up in the kitchen faster than Martin had expected--returning footsteps slower now. Obviously noticing the lack of the book. Eyes darted between his surroundings as if he could think of an incredible escape plan before being found. He could--roll underneath the couch?! (No he absolutely couldn’t. It was much too low for that.) He could make a run for it! Up the stairs and into the security of his room to hide until Oswald returned for the evening and could give the proper introductions. 

Brows furrowed as he listened to Ethan speak--was this supposed to be a game..? He hadn’t been playing anything, lest of all hide and seek. Hide and seek wasn’t fun without a voice. If he were ever ‘it’ there was no way to count out loud which made things unfair. 

 Brown gaze widened as a figure rose over the edge of the furniture and grip tightened on his book, fingers digging into the edges of the poor thing while he froze--standing in his best impression of a deer caught in the headlights of a passing car. Uncertain of his movements. Ready to go skidding to the side should he need.