#sadswald

YOUR POV

Being one of the staff at Fish Mooney's club was no easy task but you had to admit it was an interesting experience. You had never delved into the underworld before, barely dipped your toe in, but since working at Mooney's you found that you had jumped straight into the deep end. Suddenly every day consisted of powerful mobsters, overhearing snippets of criminal plots and schemes, illegal parcels being discretely placed in the kitchen and pantry until the recipient arrived, and witnessing a lot of people being beaten and often killed for various reasons. You were only new to Gotham originally and you had never really been given any real warning before you started the job, just to keep your mouth shut and only speak when spoken to. After your first day upon seeing a man being dragged outside to the back alleyway kicking and screaming you quickly decided to follow the advice you had been given.

All in all the work wasn't bad otherwise. You were paid fairly well for your position and you weren't noticed very much as you scurried around the club taking orders and serving drinks. The customers rarely gave you much bother, mostly because they all knew to be respectful in Mooney's club if they wanted to stay breathing. You were invisible, a nobody running around after everyone else and watching the world around you from the shadows. However, this didn't mean you didn't try to take this to your advantage. You had a mental list of facts about nearly everyone who entered the club using the scraps of information you had overheard. Most people were boring but you knew Fish Mooney had big plans for taking over the title as ruler of the Gotham underworld. You admired her to some degree; she was tough, determined and clever, but you never agreed with the dismissive way she treated you, even if you were just a low-level servant.

Strangely though there was one person you couldn't quite figure out as well as everyone else. Oswald Cobblepot, his name was. Cobblepot was Fish Mooney's umbrella boy, an extremely meek and subservient one at that. He dressed well in a cheap fitted dark suit, had black feathery hair that was slicked into spikes over his forehead, sickly pale skin with freckles, and startling light blue eyes. He was a very thin and small man, almost frail in his appearance as though a slight breeze rolling by could break him. Other staff members liked to call him Penguin which he openly despised. You yourself never uttered the nickname. Though he never seemed to take any notice of you, you always made a special effort to be polite and friendly towards Cobblepot when he was around. He was a mystery to you. Everyone else was so easy to figure out their motives, position in the underworld, and how much respect they held amongst their peers, but Cobblepot kept whatever cards he held very close to his chest. You could see he was smarter than he let on and sometimes, when he thought no one could see him, you spotted him throwing a knowing smirk at someone's retreating back, as though he knew something they didn't. What you would have given to know what he was thinking. What laid behind those intelligent blue eyes? It was enough to make you go mad with curiosity.

Still, you knew your place and you knew that to survive you had to keep your head down and your mouth shut. To the world you were nothing and you knew nothing and that was how it was going to stay. Only you knew better. Perhaps with this new world of crime you would find your calling? All you had to do was worm your way into Mooney's trust somehow, find out her darkest secrets and whisper them to a mobster in a higher position than her to gain their trust and simultaneously remove her from the picture. Falcone was the only mobster really worth selling the secrets to as far as you understood Gotham's underworld. Working for Falcone, now that sounded like a good career move. The pay would be better, the position would hold more respect, and if you were good enough as an underling then you might gain the friendship of the most powerful man in Gotham.

“Girl!”

Miss Mooney's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. It was closing time and Miss Mooney and Butch Gilzean were sitting at a table in the middle of the dimly lit room watching a couple of dancers performing on the stage. The dancers, both women with bright smiles on their faces, were dressed in golden and silver sequin dresses that shimmered in the stage lights as they moved. A faint melody played to accompany their moves but you didn't recognise the tune. Oswald Cobblepot was also in the room, sitting off at one of the tables at the side of the room by himself. All eyes were on you as you quickly ran out from behind the bar to Miss Mooney's table.

“Yes, Miss Mooney?” you asked politely, shaking with nerves and eyes wide with fear. The last thing you wanted to do was to piss off Fish Mooney of all people. She had a short temper and wasn't opposed to sending someone off to be killed if they didn't meet her expectations.

Miss Mooney held up her empty glass with the ice still resting at the bottom. “Another drink.” she ordered.

“Yes, Miss Mooney.” you nodded, taking her glass and hurrying off back behind the bar. You dumped the glass on a shelf below the bar and grabbed a new glass as fast as your hands could move. You put four ice cubes exactly into the glass and filled it with alcohol before rushing back out and delicately placing the glass in front of Miss Mooney on the table. “Your drink, Miss Mooney.”

She didn't reply and neither did you expect her to, merely waved you away with a rolled of her eyes. You didn't wait around and got away from the table with haste. You were originally going to head back to the bar and allow yourself a small panic attack out of sight, until you noticed that Oswald didn't have a drink, simply watching the dancers with a bored expression and occasionally flickering his eyes over to Fish Mooney. He had that look behind his eyes again when he looked at her, you noticed. It was the look of knowing something that the other person had no clue of. You needed to know what he knew. Fish Mooney's trust could come later. Right now you needed to befriend Oswald Cobblepot before your brain exploded with curiosity.

Deciding to take your chance, you walked up to the darkly dressed umbrella boy. His light blue eyes shifted to you with surprise as he noticed you approaching him. You stood at his table with a warm smile.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

A polite smile sprung onto his thin lips as he quickly shook his head. “N-No, I'm fine, thank you.” he stuttered slightly. Most people didn't notice him just like they never noticed you, and especially not after talking to Fish Mooney. You had obviously taken him by surprise.

You gave a solitary nod. “Well let me know if you need anything.” you turned and walked off to the bar. Internally you scolded yourself.

Well that was short-lived! Well done, ______! You two are going to be great friends by the end of the week! Great job!

With a weary sigh you went back behind the bar started on cleaning Miss Mooney's glass. Perhaps you should focus on winning Mooney over instead? Though you couldn't help but feel unhappy with that idea. You wanted to talk to Oswald. Even without the curiosity you held there was just something about him that you liked. He was different to everyone else you had met in Mooney's and in the few brief moments you had talked before he had always been polite and respectful towards you.

You glanced upwards and saw the back of Oswald's head. He was watching the dancers. You shook your head as you put down the cleaned glass and started on the bar itself. No, he didn't want to get to know you. He probably didn't even notice you as separate from the rest of the staff, just another face serving drinks. He likely had more important things to do than talk to strangers who were beneath his position anyway.

You just had to face it, you weren't important enough to be noticed by him.

OSWALD'S POV

Oswald watched the sequinned dancers twirling and gliding around the front stage, feeling somewhat ready to grab the table light inches away from his fingertips and finding a way to kill himself with it. His interest of course wasn't in the dancers, it was in overhearing the conversation between Miss Mooney and Butch Gilzean. Unfortunately he couldn't seem to be picking up anything of interest and was therefore doomed to spend his evening watching two young barely dressed women leaping around like ballerinas. The boredom he felt was excruciating.

“Girl!” Miss Mooney suddenly shouted. Out from behind the bar a young woman Oswald recognised well by now as ________  hurried over to Miss Mooney's table. You were an unusually nice person for the setting you were in and, if Oswald was honest, he found you very beautiful. In the few times he had interacted with you he'd noticed that there seemed to be something more to you, a hidden cleverness that seemed to be watching and waiting behind your eyes. Strangely no one else seemed to notice you like he had, but then again you did seem to excel in keeping out of sight and out of mind, much like he did. Unfortunately for you he was especially gifted in his observance and he saw that you were hiding something. It was as though you knew something that no one else knew, and Oswald was finding himself more and more determined to find out what every time he saw you.

You stopped beside Miss Mooney's table with your hands politely clasped behind your back. You were dressed in the typical red staff uniform and Oswald noticed, with a small amount of embarrassment, that it suited your body shape well. “Yes, Miss Mooney?” you asked in that soft yet dutiful voice of yours. It was pleasant to the ear, almost musical. Certainly better than the droning melody that spewed out at the dancers on the stage, Oswald thought bitterly.

“Another drink.” Miss Mooney ordered blandly, holding up her glass filled only with ice for you to take. You were quick to grab the offered glass and hurry off back behind the bar. Oswald refrained from throwing a glare at the back of his boss's head for the disrespect. You had been the only person who had been consistently polite and thoughtful towards him, despite your limited interactions. He had wanted to talk to you, but the only reason he could think up was to order a drink and that could only work so many times before he started looking like an alcoholic. Not to mention getting drunk on the job would definitely anger Miss Mooney and that was the last thing he wanted.

You returned almost instantly with Miss Mooney's drink, placing it delicately on the table in front of the woman. “Your drink, Miss Mooney.” you said as you put it down. Miss Mooney merely waved you away with a bored roll of her eyes. Once again Oswald felt a twinge of anger. You didn't deserve such treatment, even if Miss Mooney treated almost everyone that way. He respected Miss Mooney, somewhat at least, but he greatly preferred you to his boss. At least you had always treated him with respect.

Oswald turned his attention back to the dancers shimmering their way across the stage. How could Miss Mooney be possibly enjoying such a show? Was she even watching? Oswald glanced over to his boss. She was too busy talking to Gilzean to even notice that there were people still on the stage let alone be a judge on the quality of their performance. One day he'd put her in her place, show her what he was really capable of. One day he would show everyone. One day he would be the King of Gotham and people like Fish Mooney would be holding the umbrella for him. Everyone underestimated him, but thankfully that was a huge advantage in the world of organised crime.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed someone walking towards him. He shot his attention to them immediately and was surprised to see you coming towards him. The dim club lights framed your features perfectly and your eyes sparkled in the darkness. You truly were beautiful, certainly not someone Oswald would usually be seen talking to. In his personal experience, girls like you generally weren't interested in having a conversation with him, though Oswald could see you didn't mind talking to him on the few occasions you did. He always had appreciated that.

You stopped beside Oswald's table with the most stunning smile he had ever seen. “Can I get you anything, sir?” you asked. Oswald felt oddly breathless around you. His hands didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, shaking and fidgeting obsessively on the tabletop. He did his best to keep himself under control but he couldn't force down the blush that was burning on his cheeks. Oswald surprised himself with his body's reaction to your sudden presence. He really didn't speak to beautiful girls like you very often. He just hoped that you wouldn't notice how flustered and red he had gotten. It was just embarrassing.

“N-No, I'm fine, thank you.” he stuttered and stopped himself from wincing at his own response. He hadn't meant to sound so nervous. All of your other interactions had been fairly brief and his mind had almost always been concentrating on something else at the time. Now he had his attention completely on you and he suddenly felt as though he was back in school trying to talk to one of the pretty popular girls that always brushed him off or made fun of him. You weren't mean like they were though, which helped his nerves to some degree.

You gave a single nod to him. “Well let me know if you need anything.” you said, your tone friendly and lighthearted to Oswald's ear. You turned and walked back to the bar. Oswald watched you leave with a frustrated frown pressing on his brow. He didn't want you to go but he couldn't think of anything to say to stop you. Even if he did decide to order something you would only leave and return briefly to hand him his drink. He wanted to get to know you, learn more about the clever person he saw behind your watchful eyes. It was so rare for Oswald to find someone he had a genuine interest in and it having nothing to do with improving his position in the mob.

Oswald turned back to the stage with a sudden grimace. He should have realised it earlier. He had developed a small crush on you. The realisation irked him. He didn't like crushes. It had always meant inevitable disappointment and embarrassment for him in the past.

Then again, you were always very nice to him.

Oswald glanced around behind him towards the bar. You were busying yourself cleaning Miss Mooney's previous glass with a small frown of concentration. He couldn't help the small smile that crawled onto his lips as he watched you. Perhaps it wouldn't end so badly if he took a chance and asked you out? Surely it wouldn't hurt to try? Besides, even if you did reject him you seemed respectful enough not to make a big deal about it like the last girl Oswald had tried to ask out.

Oswald gave an involuntary shudder at the memory. [another name] was the second girl he'd ever had feelings for. He was sixteen and it had taken an entire year for him muster up the nerve to ask her out. He had jogged up to her outside of school, shaking like a leaf and stumbling over himself both physically and through his words, and shyly asked her out for a date. He would never forget the twisted mixture of disgust and amusement on her face just before she rejected him. She had then proceeded to give him a long list of reasons of why she nor anyone else in their right mind would ever date him in a million years. It didn't end there either, as for the next month he found himself being laughed at by everyone in the school since [person's name] had thought it a good idea to tell everyone she could about his failure. Ever since then he had done his best to avoid gaining crushes, and if he did find himself feeling something for someone he would do his best to ignore it. No one ever thought of him in a romantic light, he had accepted that fact a long time ago.

A wistful sigh left Oswald's lips as he glanced back at you over his shoulder again. You were cleaning the bar now, keeping yourself busy until you were called upon again. He looked back down to his fingers resting down on the table in front of him, his thin, pasty white fingers with dirtied, unkempt nails. No, it was a hopeless fantasy. You would never agree to a date with him. You were beautiful, absolutely flawless. You could get a date with any man you wanted, why on earth would you agree to one with him?