Are we gonna see any penguin x riddler here? đ„ș
Theyâve been at it for almost an hour by now, hauling crates one by one from the loading bay into the Iceberg Lounge. Some of them are worse than others. The heaviest ones are filled with ammunition and military grenades. Itâs those crates in particular that make Penguin feel like his arms are going to break away at the shoulders.
âI mean it,â Penguin snaps. âThe next time a henchman stands me up on unloading day, heâs going the way of the Titanic.â
âAw, Pengy.â Riddler practically coos it at him, the smug bastard. Heâs lugging his own box without a problem. âTheyâre not that heavy.â
âYours might not be,â Penguin huffs. âThis one weighs a ton.â
âAdmit it. Iâm stronger than you.â
âStronger smelling, maybe.â
Penguin winces internally as soon as the words leave his mouth. He knows heâs getting cranky. And between the two of them, itâs definitely Penguin that smells the worst, his brow glistening with sweat at the hard labour. Riddlerâs not offended, though. He just tips his head back and laughs musically.
âHereâs one for you,â the taller man beams. âI have no teacher, yet youâll find me in a school. Sometimes in forests, but never in pools. What am I?â
Penguinâs nostrils flare. So do the feathers at his coat collar.
âStinky. Thatâs what you are.â
He was just saying it to be mean, at first. Now, though, heâs finding a new truth in it. Thereâs an oceanic scent coming from Riddlerâs general person, so salty that itâs almost metallic.
âI mean it,â Penguin snaps. âYou smell like âŠâ
What is that? Itâs ⊠cleanâbut pungent, somehowâbriny like seawater while still being rich and oily. In a word?
âWhatâs in that box?â Penguin demands. Riddler just wiggles his eyebrows.
âYou tell me, birdbrain.â
It unleashes something in him. Penguin shoves Riddler out of the way, ripping the crate open with his bare hands, splinters be damned. Sure enough, the crate is packed to bursting inside. But not with guns. Instead, itâs filled to the brim with âŠ
âFish?â Penguin says helplessly. âYou âŠâ
Fish. Penguin could cry. Riddler got him fishâraw, fresh fish straight from the oceanâtender and scaly and plump. His stomach growls like a polar bear. Penguin thinks heâs even starting to drool, looking up to Riddler with hearts in his eyes, as if for permission. Riddlerâs eyes turn that little bit softer as he looks back at him, even as that shit-eating grin spreads out across his face.