deep waters

𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙴, 𝙸 𝚆𝙸𝙽

[arcticrime]

laws develop as a society evolves. gotham has regressed. and in a regressed society, perhaps a fixer's skewed view of law is just as valid as a costumed vigilante's. who's to say that i won't be the modern hammurabi whose code of life shall lead us into the future?

arcticrime. a writing blog for the penguin of detective comics. carrd.

[arcticrime]

weh.

[arcticrime]

to that end, i will be slowly building things out over here @inl4ndempire. again.

[2pistols]

GOTHAM’S EMBRACE IS A COLD RECEPTION. devoid of all the usual bells and whistles a city has to offer. everything damp, underhanded, eclipsed in gloom. a dark haven for the opportunistic looking to fill their pockets by any means, no matter their status. she’d arrived in town alone, had only been in about a week—sighted in gotham heights for the most part—said to be visiting old friends, enveloping herself in certain crowds. but her sudden appearance in the city could only mean one thing: she was searching for something. tangible or otherwise. even while fraternizing over drinks with high society, it was to scope out the playing field.

THE RESTAURANT IS HARDLY BUSY AT NOON; GOTHAMITES ARE NOCTURNAL. 

@arcticrime: why don’t we enjoy our lunch first?

❝of course, you’re right. i haven’t eaten for the day.❞ spoken plainly, and mildly restless, soft in tone but with a sting of sharpness. it’s true she had an appetite although not for the food, she hungered for something all the more valuable. something she could turn in her hands, admire, and add to her growing collections. if only the supplier wasn’t holding out past the reasonable point. now, with @arcticrime sitting across, every word, every gesture is another swing in the knife fight of tough business. under the lull of dim lights, she sheds her fur-trimmed coat to hang at the back of her chair. she could heed his words, and for a moment she considers it, placing her napkin lightly over her lap. but there is no point in waiting. ❝it’s silly, but you should know the strangest thing happened to me yesterday,❞ she speaks as if surprised, but sarcasm poisons her tone and burns off her tongue. ironic amusement in her features. ❝i was on my way to an exchange—an important one. a man promised to meet me at the docks for a trade. but by the time i arrived, he wasn’t there. i wondered why. i wondered if he had gotten cold feet.❞ her glare is steady, like ice. ❝we had a deal. a good one. i told you i’ve got the cash. why didn’t you show?❞

❝don’t you trust me?❞

[arcticrime]

❛ of course i do. ❜ he looks pained by her insinuation to the contrary. perhaps exaggeratedly so. ❛ i only ever dine with my friends. ❜ a man with many friends, by that definition.

rain dapples the windows, reducing the afternoon light to little more than a thin gray film. within bamonte’s, a waiter orbits the room with a book of matches, producing floating circles of candlelight. it illuminates the plate of baked oysters in front of him, fanned out on their half-shells.

❛ there was a minor complication, ❜ oswald says at last. the restaurant's red-carpeted interior invites silence in the manner of a tomb. no one, including him, seems inclined to speak above sotto voce. ❛ unrelated to our business, but it left me unexpectedly preoccupied for the evening. ❜ curling his hand around his fork aggravates the tender bruises hidden beneath his glove. a parting gift from last night’s unwanted guest. he conceals a grimace in the corner of his mouth. ❛ most unfortunate. for that i do apologize. ❜ his other hand touches his heart. ❛ but rest assured, our deal is sound. ❜

[arcticrime]

i'm messing with you. - jonker

❛ lucky me. ❜ he shows his teeth, his face pinched white with rage, freckles standing out in sharp relief like buckshot. ❛ if i wanted a magic trick, i’d get that two-bit hack pulling cards out of his sleeve on the subway. ❜

oswald stalks to one of the barrels standing on the bed of the delivery truck, grabs the lip of it and wrenches it onto its side. grain pours out, spilling onto the concrete floor of the warehouse with a voluminous hushing sound like rain. carried along on the wave of grain are colorful bits of plastic, blue and green and orange. toy water pistols field-stripped into parts.

he tips over another one. ❛ where the hell is my shipment? ❜

[arcticrime]

a couple big stressors in my life that need to be resolved bfore i can be here more ... hopefully next week.

[arcticrime]

as i work my way back here and do some offline writing — like this for me to send you memes/prompts

[1defense]

" WEEEEEELLLLLL OZZY." @arcticrime

There are many ways one can tell Harvey from his other. These days, Harvey is a quiet, solemn man, living in his grief like it's a one bedroom home. IT DIDN'T USE TO BE THAT WAY. HE USED TO BE WHOLE.

The night was long, but halloween was finally over. AND TWO | FACE HAD SCORED. A large wad of cash, wrapped together with two beige rubber bands, was thrown onto the PENGUIN'S chest. A payment for guns and goons for hire.

Those who will miss the dirty bills PROBABLY buy from the flightless bird, too. The bank alarms still ring in one of his ears. The other itches.

" ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴀʏ ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴ'."

[arcticrime]

❛ i wouldn’t dream of it, harvey. ❜ he drags his thumb over the ends of the bills, flipping them too quickly for a proper count. that would be gauche to do in company, after all. smiling, his face radiates with a smug pleasure. ❛ on the contrary, you have my utmost gratitude. ❜

oswald puts the money aside and picks up a bottle of scotch from a small tray, set with a pair of glasses and an ashtray. together with the brocade armchairs, it forms an incongruously intimate tableau in the center of the deli’s unfinished basement. ❛ a toast to your success. ❜ he pulls the cork free with a soft, resonant pop and pours a bit into each glass. ❛ i trust there were no unexpected issues? ❜

[wedstrife-a]

there's an almost liminal din to the restaurant—the disharmonious clank and clatter of flatware on china, chatter mulling together in uneven waves until it ebbed together into something indecipherable beyond the stray word she caught from time to time—or maybe she'd simply imagined it so. preferred it over the flat weight of his gaze. she holds it with a polite smile, her hands clasped in her lap to still them.

i'm your friend. remember? ... @arcticrime

it's a choice of word that strikes as odd (grating). overly familiar in that way of all his, their, her, associates on this side. partner. acquaintance. colleague. she doesn't correct him. straightens instead, her lips pursing in a consideration almost performative. a frail imitation she wills to take rigid form.

"I'm—" a beat. she hopes it seems intentional, rather than the stumble it is. "concerned, is all. I'd prefer you speak to me." instead of arthur.

it hangs there, the unspoken.

"as my friend."

[arcticrime]

a fracture, fine and delicate as a hair. drawn by the shape of her silence. he wonders whether it will crack under external pressure. such things often do.

after a moment, oswald dips his head. ❛ you’re absolutely right. ❜ he shakes it, adopting a delicate look of contrition. ❛ it was most unfair of me to exclude you from our conversation, and for that, i must apologize. ❜ leaning forward a little, he smooths his hands over the formica tabletop. ❛ i promise that from now on, i’ll come straight to you. as friends do. ❜

satisfied with his own show of earnestness, oswald sits back. dunks the teabag in his cup a few times, before drawing it out and setting it on a saucer. ❛ i’m sure you have nothing to be concerned about. he had only nice things to say. ❜ about you goes unsaid. a small furrow digs into his brow. ❛ why, was there something on your mind? ❜

[vitalphenomena]

OZ HAS GOT EYES ON DMITRI LIKE HE ALREADY KNOWS EXACTLY HOW THIS IS GOING TO GO. Dmitri is not unfamiliar with such powerlessness—he still resents it immensely.

Even with that tendency to loathe coming so naturally, he is relieved that this isn't the short of exchange that rests upon dollar bills. He cannot help his relief. He is too, too aware of his financial circumstances in this moment.

The train has Dmitri tensing up—any sudden noise would. Gotham's public transportation unnerves him as much as a pebble intercepting his path. He's antsy; this whole thing feels wrong.

"The public servants in your city are crooked," Dmitri says blandly, unable to help himself. Not even mailmen are safe from his ire. "So—I'll help." He's not worried. He has the appropriate disguise for this, and he can slip by undetected. He (almost) always does.

"Quid pro quo," he adds tersely, as Oz's don't you think? is the kind of question that demands an answer. "I arrived early. I left after closing. Is that reasonable?"

[arcticrime]

that’s gratitude for you. his expression hardens slightly, before, shrugging, he throws up his hands. ❛ as you like. ❜ oswald turns to the door behind him, framed by light where it is propped half-open by a discarded milk crate. the light falls out like a sheet as he pulls the door open fully. ❛ i suppose you ought to come in. ❜

beyond is a service corridor, concrete and featureless. and at the end, beckoning from the narrow aperture of another door, the cavernous stillness of the lounge after hours, the bar with its back-lit display a luminous floating island in the dim shadow.

from beneath the counter, oswald pulls out a small package about the size of a shoe-box, wrapped in brown paper. warmest regards is written on it in a slanted, slightly crabbed hand. he slides it toward dmitri. gives it a little pat. ❛ there you are. you’ll have to memorize the address, of course, but i trust that shall prove no issue. ❜

[arcticrime]

some notes on the lounge:

it is located in the old iceberg fish company warehouse, formerly the site of fish mooney’s, for those who are old enough to remember. he’s restored the original signage but the interior has been gut renovated. it’s a mix of art deco and streamline moderne, a lot of smooth curved surfaces and horizontal lines, mirrors, geometric patterns, metallic reliefs forming starbursts, fountains, etc. in the wake of the flood, there is now some tastefully concealed water damage, if you know where to look.

the club’s clientele largely fall into two categories: local criminals who consider themselves celebrities, and local celebrities who want to feel criminal. to that end, while it evokes the elegance of a bygone era, it also has a carefully crafted seediness to it, and has developed the reputation of a place where just about anything can happen. most evenings include live performances that grow increasingly risque as the night goes on.

despite (or because of) its reputation, very little criminal activity actually occurs on the premises. there are side rooms used for gambling or for private meetings, and there are illicit drugs (sourced either from patrons bringing in their own supplies or one of the ‘off menu’ cocktails that are suffused with coke) but the lounge’s profits are clean. it mainly serves as a distraction for the authorities and others while he runs his enterprise through other fronts.

there is a strict ‘no fighting’ policy. break it at your own risk.

[babydxhl]

Blood and spit mix on the mat, on the fists, on the faces of both men. This is not a nice, manageable fight. Violence for violence's sake. Members of the crowd crane their necks, clamber up over the shoulders of people in front to get a better view.

Mary watches Oswald out of the corner of her eye with raised eyebrows, as though she finds his dilemma unimpressive. "And would you feel so badly about paying him if we could get him to bet against his own interests further down the line?"

The suggestion hangs there between them. Funny, how much of their conversations involve not talking about things, but talking around them, talking in half-truths and riddles to avoid losing any plausible deniability.

"Easy money," she echoes expectantly after a moment.

[arcticrime]

he turns his head to look at her directly, his expression flatly assessing. if she’s serious or if she’s toying with him, the way they sometimes do with one another. baiting the other into something foolish, like a school-yard game of slapsies.

all the same it sends an anticipatory thrill through him, the thought of humiliating warren white. now that she’s placed it there, he finds it hard to let go. as she likely knows.

❛ i assume you have something specific in mind. ❜ unable to convincingly effect disinterest, he scoops another bit of prosciutto and melon into his mouth, a preemptive whetting of his appetite. the prize fight below has shrunk to a remote corner of his awareness. ❛ by all means, enlighten me. ❜

[arcticrime]

what did the gazette call me? \ from @ofcoinflips :)))

he opens the paper with a theatrical snap, makes a show of skimming the pages. ❛ 'half-baked harvey,' ❜ he says, with relish. oswald folds down one edge with his finger to look slyly at @ofcoinflips, the large front-page photograph of mayor real at a press conference wilting slightly. ❛ a bit on the nose, wouldn’t you say? ❜

although it is past noon, he has a breakfast spread out before him, a plate of thinly-sliced sausage and cheese, a couple of half-eaten pastries stuffed with jam. a squat enamel teapot, from which he fills his cup. ❛ i wouldn’t put much stock in it, counselor. the gazette has always been a bit of a rag, if you ask me. ❜

oswald lets the paper droop in favor of taking a bite from one of the pastries, the jam sweet and tart. ❛ but i’d keep a tighter lid on that temper of yours all the same. ❜ amusement shadows the corner of his mouth. ❛ did you really threaten rupert thorne in public? ❜

[night-dawn-day]

The Twilight Zone - Season 2 Episode 9 (1960) “The Trouble with Templeton”

requested by 24000-kerching-necktoll

[arcticrime]

what is it you're really after? \ from @ofunethics

he’s always detested doctors. psychiatrists are especially distasteful, trying to shuck him like some common oyster. it’s a testament to the quality of lecter’s company that oswald frequently forgets this. how uncouth of hannibal to remind him.

above the rim of his glass, his smile is slightly pinched. ❛ a giant yacht, ❜ he pronounces, flippantly, and chases it with a taste of the wine, crisp and dry as a pear. ❛ and an ocean to sail it on. ❜

oswald’s eyes slide momentarily to the scallops, fresh from their shells, waiting to be seared in butter. the doctor’s kitchen is fastidiously clean, finely polished chrome surfaces that catch the light coldly. a hostile environment, or it would be without the smell of shallots and crushed garlic forming a light veil of warmth. not unlike the man himself, in that regard. oswald leans against the counter, watching @ofunethics preparations. ❛ perhaps i’d even invite you to join me. as long as you promise not to get seasick. ❜

[antigonick]

“A man’s power is in the half-light, in the half-seen movements of his hand and the unguessed-at expression of his face. It is the absence of facts that frightens people: the gap you open, into which they pour their fears, fantasies, desires.”

— Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall

[killerdame]

YES, OF COURSE IT'S CHILDISH.

thinking she can rebuff him with words is as juvenile a hope as packing a bag and believing that means she can leave. and yet there she is, a woman reduced to a little girl on her knees, elbow-deep in a half-packed trunk. glitter mixed in with her tear tracks, like a child's rendition of tragedy.

"on the stage to sing, and to bring those men backstage." and he's right, all things considered: there's no one that could do it half as well. no one has. she proved that, last time, inadvertantly. before she knew what it was to take oswald's suggestion without questioning it first.

but you've always known that nothing good comes for free, haven't you, dovie?

"i'm not going to do it." she turns back to the trunk, still resolute and undersized on the floor. "this isn't what i signed up for, os."

[arcticrime]

while her back is turned, he rolls his eyes. then composes his face, the indulgence slipping into something more earnest. it’s not a chore to conjure up; that’s quite a lot of money and influence threatening to run away, after all.

❛ isn’t it? ❜

oswald gestures back to the dressing room door, the unseen club beyond it, the strobing lights and clouds of smoke floating over the heads of a crowd perched on the knife’s edge between giddiness and hysteria. ❛ an audience falling over themselves to adore you. they’d shove their own grandmothers into traffic for a chance to touch your hem. ❜

the passing chatter of a group of showgirls bleeds through the wall. he lets his arm drop. ❛ some of those men hold a lot of power in this city. ❜ or imagine that they do. ❛ and you can have them eating out of your hand. anything you want, you could have. ❜ he steps closer, hovering by the vanity. not close enough to crowd her, but enough to obstruct a direct path to the door. ❛ and you want to be somebody. i want you to be somebody. why don’t we help each other get what we both want, hm? ❜

[vitalphenomena]

@arcticrime // x

DMITRI LOATHES THIS.

He is meant to move in silence. He blends in, forgotten. To need an alibi this badly—desperate to be remarkable enough to be remembered after a long, crowded, sweaty night in a club full of high-profile mal-intents—is humiliating and out of his comfort zone.

To that point—his anonymity, his nobody-ness—Dmitri is almost one-hundred percent certain that Oswald has no idea who he is. Oswald would have to be some sort of stalker or superfan, things Dmitri does not have, to recognize Dmitri in a face this pathologically, unrepentantly average. Still—Oswald plays along without hesitation, without question.

Dmitri narrows his eyes in suspicion. Getting what he wants is never this easy. He is a man accustomed to hardship, struggle.

"I wouldn't say I made a fool of myself," he begins slowly, "But maybe that's up to interpretation." He reaches into his pockets, fingers brushing against his mask. He looks down at Oswald meaningfully.

"If paying my tab might sharpen your memory..." He sighs. He will regret this. "By all means. Tell me the damage."

[arcticrime]

he watches dmitri’s dithering with a polite, expectant expression. awaiting that sigh of resignation, the mutual understanding that this is not a deal in discussion, but rather a foregone conclusion.

oswald shakes his head. holds up a hand, the teardrop opal in his cuff link flaring against the night sky of his sleeve. as if he needs this person’s money. ❛ i promise you, it will be quite painless. ❜

overhead an unseen train thunders past, the rails screeching. ❛ i’d like you to deliver something for me. it’s rather important that it gets to where it’s going, you see, and the postal service in this town has always had a bit of a sticky finger. ❜ a light air of dismay enters his voice, showy and conspiratorial. ❛ all you need to do is leave it on the doormat. and then, ❜ the smile that had slipped from his mouth comes back again. ❛ why, i’d be happy to help you with your little predicament. one good turn deserves another, don’t you think? ❜

[arcticrime]

i just wonder how you see me. ( from victor! )

his face is momentarily blank. then he smiles, the way one might at a small dog that has given up its belly. a show of vulnerability that deserves its own reward.

the pigeon in his hands ruffles its wings with a burbling coo. oswald places it delicately back inside the coop with its fellows, which puff their iridescent breasts and tip their heads. ❛ as a diamond in the rough. ❜ latching the door, he peels off his surgical gloves, exposing his pale fat hands. one of them gestures to vic, almost patting him on the chest. ❛ with a little polishing, you could really be someone in this town. ❜

the wind slanting over the rooftop tugs at the hem of his coat. ❛ trust me. i am an expert in these things. ❜ his brow creases, as if with concern. ❛ you do trust me, don’t you? ❜