Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

The Dark Side

   Oswald and Mrs. Cobblepot have been in that room for quite some time. While I can imagine the things she’s saying about me, I’m still curious as to what exactly those words are. I creep over to the door, looking through the old-fashioned keyhole into Mrs. Cobblepot’s room. Unlike Oswald’s room, her room is filled with vintage finery, with decorated lamp and bed, and a large jewelry box on her dresser with numerous necklaces and pearls sticking out. If they have all of this stuff, why are they seemingly eating nothing but government-supplied tuna?

“I just can’t believe you’d let a whore like her into our house!” she scolds her son, keeping her voice low but still just as forceful.

“Mother, she’s no whore, she’s-”

“Have you even asked her where she comes from exactly? What kind of education she has? She could be a tramp off the street for all you kn-”

“None of that matters Mother!” Oswald shouts, his clear voice overpowering her hushed tone, “She..she was kind to me. She helped me, she doesn’t make fun of me...she doesn’t call me Penguin...she’s...she’s my best friend.”

What kind of messed up life do you have to lead to call someone you’ve hardly known a day your best friend? And he’s clearly not the type to call all of his friends his “best friend”.

I back away from the door and reseat myself on the couch as they approach the door. Opening the door, Mrs. Cobblepot smiles at me warmly as Oswald takes my hand,

“Now Ozzy...what did we talk about?” Mrs. Cobblepot warns him.

He reluctantly lets go, but not before making sure my hand slides across his as it falls to my side, “I’ll...get you one of Mother’s nightgowns.” he scurries back into his mother’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Mrs. Cobblepot puts her hands on her hips, “So...how long have you and Oswald known each other?” she interrogates sternly.

“We...we met just today.” I confess.

She nods, “And you don’t find it strange, how he’s taken such a liking to you so quickly? Invited you into his home, introduced you to his mother?”

“Well, in a sense, yeah, it’s rather strange.” I admit freely, “But...having grown up in this city, you grow to understand that people here are desperate for allies, or at least other people they know they can trust.”

“So you would use this to manipulate Oswald?” she asks accusingly.

I pause, “...I’d like to think of our friendship as...mutually beneficial.”

Oswald walks out of the room carrying a long nightgown that flows to the ground even in his hands, “Here you go.”

I take the nightgown from him and turns to Mrs. Cobblepot, “You don’t have to offer this to me, I can sleep in the clothes I have right now-”

She jolts back, shocked, “Go to sleep in those day clothes? What, were you raised in a barn?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes, and she catches note of this, “Don’t roll your eyes at me young lady! I have it on good authority to send you out of here-”

“Mother!” Oswald interrupts.

I turn around, “Well, are you going to kick me out or what?”

This time, she remains silent, and I back into Oswald’s room to change. I take off my dress, tucking my knives under the dress, and I’m picking up the nightgown when Oswald opens the door, “I’m sorry about thaaa…” he suddenly realizes my dress is off, with only my undergarments to cover me. I pull the nightgown in front of me to conceal my bare torso and legs, “Just...give me a moment to put this on.”

I throw the nightgown over myself, shuffling into it as the soft fabric falls over my body.

“Are you going to change as well Oswald?” I ask, changing the subject.

He nods, holding out a set of purple silk pajamas with blue umbrellas on them. I smile, “Those are...amazing. You’re adorable.” I tell him, playfully messing with his hair.

He turns around as I walk over to the couch, “I...I’m adorable…”

   I’m jolted awake by a sudden sound. All of the lights are off, it’s still night time, the only source of light comes from the Gotham skyline through the open windows. I look out and realize what a wonderful view they have of the city, with the exception of a couple of high-rises, you can see straight out past the Gotham bay, almost all the way to Bludhaven.

There a creaking sound from within the floorboards, I whip around, but I see no one. Grabbing one of my knives from under my dress, I keep it behind my back as I slowly approach the dark shadows of the small kitchen in the corner. I make it to the kitchen...empty. All of a sudden, I feel a sharp breathing on my neck, strong enough to blow my hair ever so slightly. Posing my knife to attack, I turn around, and stop myself at the last minute as I see it’s Oswald, bashful and smiley as ever, “...hi.”

“Oh God, Oswald, you scared the hell out of me.” I whisper, relaxing myself, casually hiding the knife behind my back again.

He points behind my back, “Whatcha got there?”

Damnit, he saw the knife. Guess it was kind of inevitable, since I was just about to strike him with it. I present it to him, the blue highlights seeming to glow in the dark slightly. He gingerly takes the knife, examining it closely, “Wow...fourteen inch military grade Persian styled knife. Custom designed too, where did you get this?”

Okay, while most Gotham natives have had their fair share of knife fights, even they wouldn’t be able to identify a knife like that so easily. Where’d he learn this?

“A friend gave it to me.” I tell him, it’s at least half true.

I grow increasingly paranoid as Oswald continues to hold the knife. It eventually rests in his right hand, gripped tightly. He raises the knife up, and I instinctively grab his wrist, and turn him around, kicking him in the back of knee to knock him onto his knees, pressing my weight against his back and pulling him into a typical police arrest hold. The knife goes clattering to the ground, and I pick it up and put it away, concealing it from view. I suddenly see Oswald starting to laugh, a joyous but somewhat maniacal laugh, that further concerned me as to whether or not he was actually going to try to stab me.

“Oh...oh you’re good. Brava Trixie, brava.” he applauds sincerely, even as I hold him down.

Is...is this some kind of joke to him? While yes, his general attitude is innocent and playful, there’s something, something rather unsettling, just under the surface.

I release him from the hold. He falls to the ground and rolls over to face me, smiling gleefully, “I confess, I rather liked that.”

I raise an eyebrow, well, now I know what he’s into. He stands up, “You know, I wish I could do things like that, to grab someone and....and just be in control for once.”

“Self-defense is not about being in control, it’s about preserving your life and the lives of those around you.”

His smile suddenly turns from naive and  innocent to absolutely devilish, “Who said anything about self-defense?”