Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

The Rise of the Penguin

   Well that was...awkward.

I lie in the bed next to Oswald, still fully clothed, or at least as fully clothed as a leather one-piece and fishnets can be. Oswald is without his jacket, and he’s also loosened his tie. We’re pretty sure Gilzean has stopped listening by now, and our hour is almost up anyway. I turn to him, as he lies silently beside me, staring up at the ceiling. The disheveled look kind of works for him, he looks kind of nice…

I turn away just as quickly as I’d dared to look. Just, focus on something else, anything else-

“You’re a good screamer.” he comments, followed by a chuckle.

I cringe, not quite sure if I should take that as a compliment or slap him right here and now. That train of thought is interrupted by muffled sounds coming from the other room. One of the voices, the female, is very familiar, the unmistakable low-toned, seductive inflections, although the exact words being exchanged aren’t quite audible. I rise from bed and press my ear against the wall, trying to get a better listen.

“Mhm, you’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?” it’s Fish Mooney’s voice, as I suspected.

“I’ll...I’ll do whatever you say, Ms. Mooney.” the timid male voice replies.

Is that...Lazlo? The waiter from earlier.

“Trixie, you might wanna have a look at this.” I turn around and see Oswald’s out of bed, looking at the mirror on the wall.

I walk over to the other side of the bed, where Oswald stares intently at what appears to be a normal mirror. He reaches over to the corner of the mirror, and with his long fingernails, picks at the edge until the thin adhesive screen comes peeling off. He removes the screen to give a full view of the room next door, where Fish has Lazlo pinned to the bed, their backs turned to us. I quickly lose interest in watching them, and walk back over to the bed.

“Do you think she’d ever do that to me?” he asks, his eyes glued to the actions taking place next door.

I shrug, “Well, you certainly seem like her type.”

Oswald flicks his head to face me, “What do you mean?”

“Look at Lazlo. Thin, tall, young, sharp cheekbones, dark hair, fair skin, nervous demeanor, very similar to yourself.”

He reapplies the screen and sits down on the bed with me, “Do you...have a type?”

“Don’t know, I don’t really ever look at people that way.”

“But you do.”

I sigh, “Well, if I do, I suppress it...to the best of my ability.”

He smiles almost knowingly, cupping his chin with his hands, “Why?”

“Because, I’m just not cut out for that sort of thing-”

“Because of your job?” Oswald interrupts. He grabs my wrists, and pushes them into my lap, leaning in toward me, “Well I’ve got something to tell you Trixie, you’re not working for the CIA anymore. You can be free my bird, free to do as you please.” he kisses my cheek, his lips sliding down to my neck…

There’s a loud banging at the door, “Yo! You two finishing up in there?” it’s Gilzean, of course.

I get up to answer the door while Oswald scrambles to collect his jacket and fix his tie.

“Yeah, we’re about done.” I tell him, opening the door and leaning against the doorway.

Gilzean stuffs his hands in his pockets, examining the situation, “Well, why are you completely dressed? And why isn’t he?”