Gotham is a waking nightmare for the perpetually anxious.
Walking quickly down its dark—yet bustling—streets, lit only by neon signs and billboards, Jan could think of very little more unsettling than the idea of even one of the city's many, many disturbed inhabitants lingering within the shadows of each alleyway. Worse than the small and out-of-sight, though, are the ones that aren't.
He keeps his head down as he passes Pauli's Diner. The yellow police tape strewn over the corner building is shiny from the artificial light and occasional raindrops pattering past its broken windows. Only a couple of weeks ago, a chemical attack from Scarecrow turned all of the diner's patrons against each other in a violent frenzy, the survivors each reporting what seemed to be a mass hallucination of monsters.
A GCPD officer, apparently having just arrived for breakfast, ended up shooting 7 people dead, before he was incapacitated by another maniacal customer. The horrific scene and a single billboard threat was enough to have the entirety of Gotham—almost 6.2 million people—evacuated overnight. Then, only 24 hours after that, Scarecrow was caught by the Batman. Aside from the ruined diner, it's almost as if the city-wide incident never happened at all. The citizens were used to that kind of tragedy by now.
Yet, still, despite the insanity, Jan stayed.
It's not that he wouldn't know where else to go; he'd heard good things about Metropolis and its heroes, and the young man had lived from a dumpster just fine in the past. If he took the first bus out and brought his very few savings with him, he may not even have to go to such measures to start again, assuming he could find a job fast enough.
... But, for some reason, it didn't feel like he could leave. Gotham, for all of its horror and fear, for all the gloom and darkness and how the smell of piss and trash from every backstreet always made its way to your nose one way or another, had its way of holding on. The city may be a magnet for the deranged, but there were good people here—good, stubborn people that held on to their beloved, broken home, that were forced to suffer through these tragedies together. Jan supposed that mass trauma-bonding may not be a good reason to stay, but he wanted to be here regardless. He wanted to be one of the people of his city that held on long enough to one day see it fixed. He wanted to be here for the day where there was no need for a Batman.
However, until that day arrives, some unfortunate decisions have to be made in the name of survival.
The young man's wandering footsteps eventually come to a stop in front of their bright, flashy destination; the Iceberg Lounge. Usually, someone of his... status, wouldn't be able to be caught dead around such a prestigious place. Usually.
Walking hesitantly up to the large, warmly-dressed bouncer guarding the doors, Jan keeps his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. He looked pathetic, like a sewer rat; wet with rain, still in his bland, beige work uniform from a temporary transfer to Blackgate Prison. Having a staff shortage in both the prison and Gotham's most well-known mental asylum due to rioting or escapees may have been a catastrophe in and of itself, mostly due to the high rate of trauma, death, or permanent injury in either place, but Jan did his best to see it as an opportunity; he needed money. Not only did the opening of available shifts give him that, but it also gave him something more... Unexpected, as of late. The bouncer stares down at him expectantly.
"Um— hi, excuse me," Jan stammers, "I'm, um, here to see Cobblepot?"
When the bouncer laughs, the custodian visibly withers. "I'm— sorry, I should have— I'm a janitor, at Arkham Asylum? He asked me to come, to— um... Squawk."
Jan hoped to God he didn't sound like a blatant idiot. It was a good 50/50 that this man even knew what he was talking about. Did the Penguin tell him about someone stopping by? Would he even believe it'd be someone like Jan, as ridiculous as it would seem?
The lounge's interior is a stark contrast to the semi-cybergoth of the city outside. Despite the building's expected chilliness, warm bulbs light the classy, music-ambient atmosphere, catching Jan by surprise. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the lack of strain. Trying his best to not lose the bouncer in front of him, he takes the brief opportunity to glance around at the nightclub's well-dressed patrons and fancy interior design; each small, round table is swarmed by partiers lounging in comfortable baroque-style seats, toasting over alcohol and praising the speed of the busy waitstaff. Almost immediately, Jan feels a sudden pang of something akin to guilt or shame for daring to set his wet work shoes upon the clean, white-and-brown carpet. He once again puts his head down to pass them by.
Interrupting his racing thoughts and pounding heart, the man stops laughing almost immediately. With a nod, he states a simple, "come with me", before nudging another tall, similarly-dressed man nearby to take his place, and walking inside. Nervously, Jan follows.
Finally, the custodian is led around a long hallway, fully circling an immensely open room with a giant glass dome ceiling above. In the massive space is, in fact, a giant iceberg, with flat platforms carved into the ice. On those platforms is where the band resides, playing their... their... well, Jan doesn't quite know what this style of music is called, but it sounds fancy. Is this what jazz is?
"Well, well, well! You've finally arrived." A familiar, cockney-accented voice calls, snapping Jan back to attention instantly. It takes him a moment to realize where they are; VIP, beside a small booth fit into one of the hallway's many evenly-spaced recesses. Oswald Cobblepot— the Penguin— is a short, squat man in a clean tuxedo, sat at the table with two of his goons on either side of him, staring down the young man with his remaining good eye. Though he appears to be in a good mood by the cigar hanging from his smiling lips, and the lack of a painful-sounding growl coming from the man's damaged throat, Jan can't help but feel the hairs raise from the back of his neck. He'd always been a little dense at times, but even he isn't naïve enough to think this couldn't become dangerous at a moment's notice. So long as he follows the rules he set for himself, though, things may just go well.
"Don't look so stiff in a party, boy! Come on, come sit. You an' me have some 'fings to discuss." Oswald invites, his statement ending with an unmistakable edge that almost made Jan wish he could beg his escort to bring him back outside. Alas, the two goons stand, both them and the bouncer quickly making their exit. Now, it's just the cleaner, and the crime boss. Jan swallows, hard.
Rule number one; don't say 'no' to the Penguin.
"I'm honoured to be in here at all," he says quickly, taking a step towards the table so as to not risk accidentally defying the man in front of him. "I'm just worried I'm not dressed well enough, and the water might ruin your seats."
Cobblepot, however, doesn't miss a beat in his reply.
"These old 'fings have had more blood cleaned out of 'em than I can fill a pool with. Sit down."
Jan follows the order without hesitation; it isn't likely that Cobblepot would repeat himself a third time. Once seated, a waitress hurries over to ask if he'd like anything to drink, then rushing off to retrieve a glass of water for the young man. His full attention turns back to the Penguin.
"Now," the older man begins, "let's cut to the chase, eh? Not a dime changes hands in this city that I couldn't tell you 'bout. If anyone knows any'fing about what's goin' on in the underground, it's me. Problem is, that means some people fight harder to keep things from me above ground."
Feeling something within him twist, Jan nods numbly along, wringing his hands beneath the table. The Penguin stares back. "I've heard some 'fings about you, in Arkham. A newer guy, eh? One of the lil' ones, bottom of the barrel. I heard you started making trades. You been hearing things, too. To be blunt, I wanna know what you've been hearin'."
Jan's glass of water is placed on the table beside him, but he barely registers it. Suddenly, he can't help but wonder why the hell he ever even considered showing up. Now, he's here, in the same booth as a man known for being cruel and sadistic to his own men, let alone his enemies. Jan has no idea where he stands in the Penguin's eye, or if it would matter anyway. He forces himself to speak.
Rule number two; don't keep the Penguin waiting.
"I don't know everything you know." He blurts, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. "The only things I hear are the little stuff... No one really keeps track of where every janitor goes, you know? Just, like... Stuff the guards say. Who escapes, who breaks the rules, who, um... who's been working for who, that kind of stuff. And, I only trade enough. If I can get something tasty for spilling if Catwoman's at Blackgate, or passing a message for a brooch or something, it's only a 'yes' or 'no' for dinner. It's... I'm just a neutral party trying to get by. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"Ay, then tell me this, messenger boy," the Penguin rasps, "what've you heard about Two-Face?"
For just a moment, Jan freezes. Realizing how his hesitance may come off, he hurries to take a much-needed drink of water. Once the glass moves from his lips, he exhales.
Rule number three; don't lie unless it's an emergency. If you do, he'll probably know, and it'll come back to bite you.
"I've been at Blackgate, but the last time I heard of him, it was in Arkham, just about two days ago, I think. The guards were saying he escaped the night before; his cell was empty, they, um... They figured there was something wrong with his door. The guys investigating went looking, and someone turned on the electric floors, knocked 'em out cold. I heard that when they woke up, some keys were missing, and the two guys guarding the penitentiary doors were found shot dead. It's all rumours, of course, but..."
Cobblepot takes a big puff of his cigar as he listens, letting out a loud "Ha!" once Jan fitrails off. One hand slams on the table, the other waving haphazardly towards the frightened custodian as Oswald speaks again. "You know what's funny? I only found out that Dent was out today, when he and his modge-podge killed 6 of my men on the edge of 'is turf."
With barely time for Jan to question to himself how on Earth that could be funny, Cobblepot continues, "so, I'll tell you what. You're a neutral party, yeah? I don't usually like those, but if y'really want some extra cash, tell the sorry sap out front what you hear next, about anybody important. The faster it gets to me, the faster I send you a reward for the troubles. If you spill the wrong beans and screw me over, though—"
He can barely finish before Jan sticks his hands up, as if in surrender. "Excuse me, Mr. Cobblepot, sir—I don't want to do anything that would ever screw you over. Um, I'm just worried that I could get hurt by people that really, really don't want me telling you their business, like, um— people like Sionis..."
"Bah!" Cobblepot spits, "then I suppose you'd better not get caught, then. Besides, if you're a middle man, the only real 'fing you gotta worry about is if I hear you've been spillin' about me. You don't wanna go an' be double-crossin' me, would ya?"
"No, sir." Jan squeaks, quickly moving a shaky hand to take another sip of water. The Penguin grins.
"Good. Don't worry about where I'm sendin' your payment, I'll find you. Go on, then: you have a job to get to tomorrow, Crow."
Jan wastes no time in jumping from the booth, only pausing to briefly face the Penguin once again and offer a polite half-bow. "Thank you very much for your time, and seeing me tonight. Please have a fantastic rest of your night, Mr. Penguin."
And, just like that, he scurries through the club, retracing the steps he remembers taking back to the front doors. Upon reaching them and exiting to Gotham's dark city streets once again, finally, he exhales, clasping his shaking hands together. What the hell just happened? And what does he do now? Should he really get involved in something like that? He wouldn't be able to survive Blackgate if he was accused of being involved with the Penguin. But... He needed it. One of the main reasons this city is the way it is, is because surviving isn't enough. The pay from Arkham and Blackgate was barely enough to keep his stomach from hurting, and was hardly even paying for shelters most nights, where pity and pleading had to pick up the rest of the slack. Money from the Penguin, broke as his family was rumoured to be or not, could help him save up much faster. Then, he could have a home; stability. It was risky... But it's just some word-of-mouth. Isn't that worth a stop along his way?
Speed-walking from the area, Jan quickly finds his way back to his usual path, towards the Gotham Grind. In the dead-end alleyway behind the coffee shop, the corner of the next building over stands partially crumbled from some previous accident, its broken brick and inner wall creating a crevice in the forgotten structure just deep enough for Jan to crawl inside and sleep, its openings covered by a cheap tarp he bought at a nearby dollar store. It isn't much, but it's dry, and he could usually get to the trashed pastries each night before the rats did, anyway. It's all he has, and though not much, it's something.
Making his way down the final stretch of familiar, eerie streets once again, Penguin's promise of rewards echo in the back of Jan's mind, following him every step of the way "home".
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