Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Diamond Deposit

    The Gotham Museum shines bright spotlights from its entrance as limousines line up in the street below. Inside, grand oil paintings line the walls, with displays of jewels and gemstones in pristine glass cases, guarded by men in suits and red ropes. By the entrance, appetizers and finger foods on toothpicks line a long wooden table.

A hand presses down on my shoulder, startling me. I turn around, and of course, it's Oswald.

"A lady should never be alone at the party like this. Who knows what could happen?" he smiles, extending his hand.

I frown, my voice dry and humorless, "Haha. Let's get this over with."

I take his hand, and he links our arms together. He's dressed in his best suit, with a black vest and necktie, forgoing his usual color. Thankfully, my dress is just as void of color, a sheer black gown with matching gloves. It's a bit big on me, but at least it covers up my back.

Oswald squeezes my arm closer to him as we wander through the crowd of guests dressed in equal or greater finery.

"What a way to show that we've made it in society. Attending an exhibition at the Gotham Museum with the cream of society, what could be a better activity for the nouveau riche?" he asks, keeping a wary eye.

"We're here for a job, that's it. Remember how disastrous our last society event was?" I remind him.

Apparently my comment was too loud for his taste, and he moves his other hand so that his fingers dig into my back, and I grit my teeth in pain.

His tone loses its friendly touch, "Don't advertise. ...and smile, for me."

I turn away from him, "I'll keep my mouth shut, but like hell I'm going to smile."

Oswald's expression drops from annoyed to a strange mix of shock and, a twinge of sadness. But he snaps out of it as Marsha, Queen of Diamonds approaches us with her henchmen the Archer and the Bookworm.

"Ah, Oswald and Trixie. I knew I'd see you here tonight. Enjoying the sights?" she asks, a glass of champagne in her hand.

Strange, I don't see any other guests carrying around a glass of champagne. Maybe she's the kind of socialite who...brings her own. She certainly looks the part, dressed in a tight-fitting scarlet red gown with a white fur shawl.

"Oh yes, definitely. Everything is exquisite," Oswald replies, making small talk.

He starts pulling me away, "Well, we'd love to stay and chat, but, you know how these things go, so many people to see!"

Just as he's pulling away, the Bookworm tilts his head toward me and whispers, "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

A clue? Or a warning? Or maybe both?

"Ha, those old coots, don't even see what's coming," Oswald snickers to me.

My expression remains lifeless, and after several moments, Oswald simply sneers and turns away. How does he expect me to treat him after what he did? He's delusional if he thinks we could still be friends.

As we pass by an archway guarded by two men in suits leading into the main showcase room, Oswald nods to one of the men. The two men are Gabe and Eel, dressed in slightly different suits than the other guards but still otherwise imitating their stiff posture.

Beyond the archway, a large pink diamond sits on a red pillow under a glass case. The area around the diamond is roped off, with two guards standing around it.

"I convinced the museum curator into allowing Eel to install a tripwire into the diamond's pedestal. When Marsha goes for that diamond, we'll know," Oswald nods.

I glare at him, "You 'convinced' him? You mean you threatened him?"

"He was too rich to bribe," he shrugs.

I scowl and turn away, I shouldn't be surprised at his behavior. He starts prodding me with his elbow, but when I turn to him he says nothing. He simply stares at me with a pleading, expectant expression, folding up his lower lip and staring at me with wide eyes.

I raise an eyebrow, "...yes?"

Still silence. Oswald's chest starts heaving to the point where I can see it through his suit. His cheeks redden, is he angry? Sad? Or just...disappointed?

"...are you hungry?" he asks, shifting back to a confident smile.

I blink several times, unsure how to respond.

Ignoring my confusion, Oswald leans down and kisses me on the cheek, "Well, I was eyeing that table of hors d'oeuvres on our way in and the shrimp cocktails looked too...tempting to resist. Hmph...that makes two things in this room."

I start to pull away from Oswald, "Uhm, you do that. I'm going to keep an eye on the diamond."

It doesn't matter if I'm in the diamond room or not, I just need to get away from him. Now.

Clasping my arm to his, Oswald refuses to budge, "No...you do not leave my sight tonight."

Dammit. Alright, if I want anything from Oswald, I'm going to have to turn up the charm. I'm going to do the exact thing he accused me of, and the sad thing is, I don't feel bad about it at all.

"Oh Ozzy, you worry about me too much," I smile, dragging my finger along his sharp chin, "I'll be fine, I can take care of myself. You go enjoy yourself, don't let me stop you."

He grabs my wrist as my hand leaves his face. Forcing my arm to stay suspended in the air, he slowly starts lowering it back to my side.

Still holding my wrist, he replies, "...o-of course. Enjoy yourself."

Finally letting me go, I flash him a kind smile, before walking off as quickly as I can. Ha...idiot.

    I let her use me.

Oswald clenches his fists as he watches Trixie walk off. He couldn't help himself. It was clear as day that she was egging him on. She wanted something, and he let her have it, whether she deserved it or not.

But that soft hand gliding down his chin...how he craved it. It was what he wanted, what he was willing to torture her, torture anyone for. And just to have a taste, in that moment, he let himself be fooled by her sinister seduction. But it wasn't the touch in that moment, no, it was the implied promise of more to come. Was it a promise of more to come? Or just a trick to achieve an end?

Oswald turns away, his head bent low. He'll forget about her. After two or three shrimp cocktails.

Parking himself in front of the serving table, he takes a shrimp cocktail and downs it as fast as he can. So what if the high society cretins see the spectacle of him shoveling down several shrimp cocktails in succession? He's one of them now, they have no right to criticize.

After the fourth cocktail, Oswald starts coughing heavily. He grasps onto the end of the table, bending over to conceal his coughs. He becomes light-headed, what's happening?

Stumbling away from the table, Oswald starts wandering away from the serving table, still doubled over and coughing. Where's Trixie?

He doesn't make it that far, and trips on his own feet, falling to the floor. People start gathering around him, leaning over to gasp and stare.

As Oswald starts losing consciousness, someone can be seen visibly pushing through the crowd. A woman in a black dress, shorter than all the other party guests, finally elbows her way to him. He smiles, and begins to close his eyes as Trixie gets down on her knees in front of him.

"Oswald...?"