#birdofpower

A business man, that was the first thing Oswald Cobblepot was to Braelyn. It was Penguin to Batwoman but to Braelyn, Cobblepot was a fellow Gotham business owner, a man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it.

   “Good evening, Cobblepot.” Braelyn greeted.

It was a standard social event for anyone of wealth in Gotham. A chance to show off what they have done in the past year or what they were about to put out into the world. In Laymen’s terms: a pissing contest... with fancy clothes, food, and alcohol.

His tongue tapped gently against the roof of his mouth as he watched the woman before him, she was evidently scared. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot had been running the underworld of Gotham city for years as the Penguin, he had toppled the rulings of the old families and even withstood onslaughts from the freaks that took their place. But was it time to hand over the reigns?

A warm smile slowly crept over his face as she spoke of the absent clown, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder he spoke, “Harleen, my dear girl, the clown is long gone from this city. We’ve not heard a single utterance from him in a long, long time.” Oswald’s hand then moved to the side of her face, his thumb stroking at her cheek affectionately.

“Besides, I didn’t say that I’d be leaving it up for grabs.. I have a few ideas of which clown queen would be to replace me.”

“You...you mean it?”

Harley peered up at him in shock. They’d always had a bit of a rocky sort of friendship, one born out of necessity, especially after the Joker went missing. In the Penguin’s underworld, it was hard to get by, and virtually no criminal could function in Gotham without his oversight. But he’d kept her safe. Saved her life, even, a handful of times, when Joker would have gladly left her for dead, or worse; rotting for a lifetime in Arkham.

❝So, what is it Penguin?❞ Harleen asks, hands falling to her hips as she looks down to meet his gaze.

Oswald Cobblepot was not the person Harleen wanted to entangle herself with. Rumors among the streets of Gotham ran like wildfire, particularly in the Underground circles. He was dangerous, and while she respects that, it doesn't mean she wants any part of his attention, business or otherwise.

But Harleen has a bad habit of chasing after the rush of destruction, delighting in the chaos she brought the city and herself. So, though she was sure it was a bad idea, she was here, meeting The Penguin in person for the first time.

The jazz quartet on stage at the front of the restaurant is talented, the singer familiar and crooning, but even they cannot make up for the fact that the place is dead — in Gotham, as in most cities, there is an interim limbo between the end of the work day and the night's true beginning. Something waiting to unfurl itself.

"Miss me?"

Mary Dahl is — for one second — only two hissed words and a parasitic little grip around Oswald Cobblepot's shoulders from behind. Standing on tiptoe to reach him, laughing, snatching her arms back from the surprise embrace before she can be struck-shot-strangled.

Instead, she steps sideways, leans on the arm of the chair, flashes twin rows of white teeth.

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Oswald laughed lightly under his breath, folding his hands atop his desk as his piercing dark eyes burrowed into her own.

“That is very true, just ask the Falcone’s. What’s left of them anyway.” the portly man then cleared his throat, sighing slightly.

“But the question still remains, why on earth should I kill someone for you?”

Mary smiled a moment, perfectly sweet, and tilted her head. “Why, because you love my charming personality of course,” she said. In anyone else it might have seemed genuine – coming from her it just seemed sardonic.

But that wasn’t the way to win Oswald over, she knew that, and so dropped the act almost immediately. Instead she was cold, cruel, all business.

“I’d watch your tongue, bird,” Bane warned, “Or else I’ll rip it out of your throat.”

A meeting between himself and other rival gang leaders, successfully coerced into either working for him or leaving his operations be. Under threat of excruciating death, of course. They had wanted to meet in public, at their preferred place; the Iceberg Lounge.