Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

Oswald Cobblepot

  In the small motel room I checked into this morning, I slip into the dress provided for me by Amanda. It’s probably the most risque number I’ve ever attempted to pull off, but thankfully, I’m in pretty good shape. In my hand, I hold a dainty clutch purse, which contains some money, and the pouch of metal marbles. Under my dress, strapped to my thighs, are those fancy daggers that Amanda gave me.

I’d spent the day walking around the city. Dangerous idea yes, but public transportation is much riskier in my experience, and when you’re a Gotham native, things don’t seem as dangerous as they actually are. I visited all of the spots from my childhood, the apartment I was raised in, or what’s left of it, since it’s been condemned for quite some time now, one of many. I also visited Gotham High, my alma mater, which has fallen into serious disrepair, although they finally replaced the fence surrounding the school, now it looks even more like a prison.

After leaving my apartment at the cusp of midnight, I walk a couple of blocks, and arrive at the door of one of the many seedy bars in Gotham City. If it were up to me, this is not how’d I’d want to be spending my first day back in my hometown but what Amanda wants, Amanda gets.

I open the door to be greeted with a dank, dark atmosphere. There are a couple of drunkards, but it’s apparent that most of these men are on official business, by the way they stare me down suspiciously.

I make my way past the bar to a table where men in black and brown suits are huddled closely together, rolling dice and taking bets.

“Evening gentlemen.” I greet them, placing one hand on the edge of the table.

The men turn around from their game to look up at me. They say nothing at first, and their stares are blank and unmoving.

I push my hand forward, leaning into the group, “I hear that Falcone is hiring.”

The men all burst out into a collective chuckle, before one of them replies, “Falcone? Hiring a pretty thing like you?”

“Why not? Whatever he needs I can do.”

The men put stand up from their seats, and I prepare myself to take them on, but I realize the all stood up at the sound of the front door of the bar bursting open. Two more gangsters stumble in, carrying a much smaller man in a very fashionable suit.

Poor guy, anywhere else he’d be considered of average height, but in Gotham City where the average adult male is a freakish six feet, he’s puny.

“Look who came in crying for a job again!” one of them shouts, slamming the guy onto the bar.

Someone pushes me from behind, I turn around and it’s one of the mobsters, who’s shoving me along with the other recruit wanna-be. I could take them out...but the goal is to make nice with these guys, however hard that may be.

Becoming more aggressive, the thugs throw the man to the ground and start stomping on him. I bite my lip, I could jeopardize my entire mission if I help this man, but then again, I really couldn’t be in much of a lower standing with them right now, could I?

I run in front of the man, shielding him from the gangsters, “Stop!”

The thugs laugh, before one of them throws a punch at me. I block it, but then another one comes from the side, knocking me off balance. I stumble and catch myself against the bar.

The next thing I know, I’m being grabbed by two of the thugs who hoist me up and escort me out of the bar. Looking to my right, I see that the man is also being dragged out, clearly far worse for wear than I am.

The bar doors are flung open and I’m thrown out onto the dirty, wet pavement, with the man launched right next to me, before the doors are slammed behind us.

I look over my shoulder and see that the man is lying motionless on the ground. Is he hurt bad?

“Hey.” I bark over to him.

His head turned away from me, he stirs ever-so-slightly, slowly turning over to reveal shadowy, light green eyes, pasty pale skin, and an abnormally pronounced nose.

What do I say next? “Uhm...you okay?”

With one hand, he pushes himself up, “Yeah...it’s, it’s not exactly easy to find decent work in this town, is it?”

I nod, and as I begin to push my upper half off the dank pavement, I realize my dress is now soaked from the front, covered in the grime of the street, “Dammit!”

His voice is mid-ranged, and very timid, “Why would someone like you want to associate themselves with men like them?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” I tell him, getting onto my knees and rearranging my hair, “Uh...nice suit.”

His face becomes flushed red, he’s clearly not use to getting compliments like that, “Oh, uh...thank you Miss. Uhm..do...do you have anywhere you can go?”

“Yeah, but no where with a place to wash this dress.”

“Well, I have an apartment, not too far from here. There’s a washer and dryer. You could wash your dress there.”

Is he serious? This guy is clearly new to the scene as well, considering how trusting he is. And if he’s trying to pull something, well, considering his small build, he shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

“Alright, thanks. What’s your name?” I ask, picking myself up.

He offers his hand to help me, which I take, and as I rise up, his warm helping hand becomes a firm handshake, “Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.”

I smile, “I’m-” I realize I can’t use my real name, “Just call me Trixie.” ...seriously? That’s the best name I could come up with? It sounds like the nickname a rebellious pre-teen would use. Oh well, I’ll just go with it.

His hand lingers on my own just a little longer before he lets go. His eyes meet mine, and I realize, under the newly acquired black eye, suit that’s just a little too big for his small frame, and slightly offputting, semi-creepy stare, he’s kind of adorable, in a sad sort of way.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the right, “My apartment’s down this way.”

I feel myself blushing even under the cold wind of the night. I nod, and begin following him down the dark and bleak Gotham street.