Oswald Cobblepot

He extended his hand to her then. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you..” he smiled widely then. “Is there somewhere we could talk..perhaps, in private?” he tilted his hand, waiting for her to take his hand. 

Butch reached the stairs then and stood behind him, towering over his boss like a giant. A jagged ‘V’ etched into his forehead. Oswalds eyes twinkled still in this light, his teeth crooked as he continued to smile at her. But it was strained, his jaw was still tense. 

“We can talk in my booth up here, it’s private enough for me,” she told him, and what was good for her was all that mattered.  She looked over to his giant lapdog genially, “You can have yourself a drink while you wait for your employer and I to return from our lil’ chat,” she informed him in a way that said she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.  In fact, she didn’t care for an answer from either of them per her replies, she turned and walked ahead back to her booth, her perfume wafting in the air where she stood.

He hid his thoughts with a smile, remaining polite as he let his hand fall back to his side. “That’s very kind of you..” he looked over his shoulder at Butch. “Go see if they have your favourite..” he turned back then and followed her, hopefully letting her know that he didn’t need his bodyguard to be dangerous, and that the lack of one wouldn't make him soft. 

He extended his hand to her then. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you..” he smiled widely then. “Is there somewhere we could talk..perhaps, in private?” he tilted his hand, waiting for her to take his hand. 

Butch reached the stairs then and stood behind him, towering over his boss like a giant. A jagged ‘V’ etched into his forehead. Oswalds eyes twinkled still in this light, his teeth crooked as he continued to smile at her. But it was strained, his jaw was still tense. 

He let those thoughts melt from his mind as he looked to the stairs. “Boys, get yourselves a drink...Butch..with me..” he gestured with his hand as he approached the stairs. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I come up for a chat” he said as he placed his hand on the bannister. He remembered her then when he would spy her in Falcones mansion, with a shock of flame hair and always some form of fur elegantly draped around her shoulders from the cold. He smiled to himself, wondering if she ever caught sight of him. Or if Daddy dearest ever told her the name of the blade that struck his heel. 

“Well, I… I’m 28 years old, born November. I’ve lived all my life in Gotham, though I was born in New York. Uhm…. only child of Gwenyth and Patrick Valentine….. my hobbies include reading, travelling, art…. philosophy. I currently hold a degree in both psychology and business management…”

He gave a nervous giggle at Oswald’s observation, managing to stop himself from being loud about it, and he grinned widely before taking another few sips, feeling embarrassed and uncertain.

“I…wouldn’t quite say that,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, tittering gently again. He himself may not have seemed so but he failed to see himself as attractive in any way; he had a list of faults in his appearance and personality but guarded them well with bravado.

He had learned a long time ago that confidence was key to getting by in life and that nobody cared to hear one’s insecurities. Many people would rather come across a pompous, arrogant asshole than a pathetic, suffering fool. At least being arrogant made you infamous rather than forgotten.

“What I mean to say is… your appearance is not atypically perfect, but nor is mine.”

He paused, not knowing what more to say: since Oswald was more or less a reflection of himself, should he go on about how gorgeous he was the way he believed himself to be on a good day? Or should he comfort him by saying that he wasn’t attractive but that he didn’t care that much because nor was he?

His suit was impeccable, his hair alittle too gelled and moulded into a crest like shape. His skin was pale and his nose seemed alittle red. But they shared those deep oceanic eyes, the jawline...they shared the same big hands...it was unsettling.

He waited to be asked to take a seat, as was polite, and wondered why Oswald walked in that way. Was it a defect or an injury? It certainly was a little off-putting, but it gave him… character.

He also wondered if they were both the same age, if they had similar backgrounds or interests, if they both had certain tastes that were best kept hidden. For half a second he wondered if they had similar anatomies, so to speak, below the belt.

He stared at Rich again. Gazing and taking everything in. It was honestly like someone had taken him and air brushed him. His hair was nicer, his smile, his...nose!

He glanced around, hoping they weren’t drawing attention to themselves, hoping no one was staring. He felt on the verge of mania, of mad giggling and girlish hand movements. What should he do? What should he say? He had to remain in control… breathe…

He was hobbling as he walked, his gait was off from it and his foot seemed to be permanently directed at an angle.

He wandered straight over to the mini bar and pulled out a bottle of moet. It was the only thing left in there. “W-Would you like a drink?” he asked then, not looking back.

He tilted his head as he closely observed the almost perfect double before him, resisting all urges to laugh or run away. This was just… fucked up.

“…can I ask if… uhm…” he paused, words failing him again. Should he investigate? Did he want to know?

He stared at him in silent surprise, eyes widening: this guy… looked just like him! Well, almost… the guy was shorter, didn’t have as nice a hairstyle or nose, and his teeth needed whitening. Did he just limp over? Rich didn’t limp, so there was another thing… but apart from those things…

He didn’t know what to say; he was caught off-guard, unprepared. As impossible as this situation was, it was happening.

Rich broke in to a wry grin to hide his nerves. “Well hello, handsome…”

It’s like me...but with all my physical imperfections corrected.....

The thought slightly upset him and he swallowed hard, finally closing his mouth.”Uh, hello there..” he seemed nervous. “I...I don’t believe we’ve met before...I’m...Oswald Cobblepot..” he reached out an open hand to Rich.

He was dressed finely as always in a tailored suit, hair neatly gelled, and his pale skin almost glowing under the overhead lights; he was feeling particularly good about himself tonight and hoped that he might get lucky… even if that meant someone would have to be unlucky.

Oswald had spied the bartenders reaction and set his gaze to the man at the bar. He frowned as he looked at him, his eyes staring and cold. Curiosity niggled at him, since he couldn’t see his face. He walked over to the man and stood infront of him. “Good evening, sir!” he said over the din of the music.