#oswald c.

[vitalphenomena]

@arcticrime // x

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He doubles over, hands on his quads, as Os knocks over the first container. Then the second. There's a unique sort of hilarity to the same joke happening two times in a row. Maybe it's just 'cause he gets to piss Os off a little bit more, watch the vein in his temple twitch like crazy.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, my old friend. You and your men would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off! Ehehahahahahoho."

He saunters over to a pile of grain and rummages around until he finds a mostly intact water pistol. He'll pocket that for later.

"Let this serve as a lesson to you—though I'm far from licensed by the state of New Jersey to teach, I believe you'll find this rather valuable. Stop FUCKING with every single itty-bitty little enterprise in this city! You're eeeeeverywhere! I'm sick of it!"

[vitalphenomena]

@arcticrime said: forgive me. i didn't mean to laugh.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HE, THEN, THIS FAT FUCK HERE, SOME KIND OF JO—

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Cobblepot."

Perhaps due to his Russian nature, Dmitri is immune to the contagious quality sometimes possessed by certain people's laughter. He remains severe—almost gaunt. There is a cut above his eyebrow that will not heal.

He comes to Oswald not as the Gothamite from that morning after the club, but as a could-be-anybody, just-has-one-of-those-faces meaningless motherfucker meant to help him evade detection until he got his audience with the Penguin.

"You screwed me over. You set me up."

[vitalphenomena]

@arcticrime asked: i told you this is how it would be, didn't i?

"Man, fuck you." Harris spits—really spits. A glob of the stuff lands at Oswald's impeccably-polished feet.

Harris is bigger than him, and stronger than him, and tougher than him—all of these things are so so fucking true—and yet, Harris is not badder than a grown man callin' himself the Penguin.

"You're not gonna live if you threaten them again, lemme just tell that to you right now."

[vitalphenomena]

@arcticrime said: i should never have told you about that.

"Yes, well, you did, my...flightless, far-from-feathered friend. Hehehehe."

The Joker kicks his legs up onto the desk, which is not his, and crosses one ankle over the other. His dress pants lift up to reveal two smart pairs of socks covering his ankles. They do not match. What can ya do?

"You did indeed. Look, Penguin, I only bring this up because I do need...a favor."

[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."