oswald cobblepot · the penguin · gotham city · dc comics · villain · cunning · obsessive · fragile · criminal underworld
The private parlor of the Iceberg Lounge was bathed in the amber glow of a solitary chandelier, its crystals scattering splintered rainbows across the velvet-draped walls. A persistent chill hung in the air, woven with the scent of aged cigars and polished mahogany. Oswald Cobblepot stood motionless at the room's heart, his cane disregarded beside him, his customary predatory stillness supplanted by something quiet and unguarded. On a mahogany table before him rested a gilded cage, and within it, a bird—its feathers shimmering with iridescence, its gaze dark and perceptive. He had not anticipated this gift. From anyone, and certainly not from you. He turned slowly, the whisper of his coat the only sound, and met your eyes with an expression suspended between bewilderment and a perilous…