[ If nothing else, Iona doesn't seem particularly offended by this line of inquiry, her mouth drawing itself into a thin line as her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. She's never liked talking much, but some conversations require a little less reticence. ]
Didn't figure I'd get an audience if y' weren't intr'ested in somet'in'.
[ The cocktail length of the cigarette holder is settled between two rows of teeth that some claim are religiously sharpened. He can taste blood, that Cobblepot. He takes it with two fingers, tapping out ash into the nearby, porcelain tray. All the while, his eyes watch her. One behind a monocle, they both remain fixed. ]
[ Rumors aren't new to Iona — they proliferate, the more well-known a person is. (She's got her own share, though the difficulty in finding her in the first place has most of them petering off into an abject sort of silence.) She knows better than to put stock into most of them, the end result being that she doesn't seem ill at ease or anxious to even the smallest degree. If she gets bit (metaphorically or literally speaking) then that's that, a lesson learned. ]
[ The hard plastic is brought back to his mouth. Lips enclose around it as he inhales a lengthy drag of tobacco. Smoke follows, as it always does, taking hold of the silence and wrapping it in long tendrils that lure in the unsuspecting nothingness. Oswald places the cigarette to the tray once again, and this time, he extends a hand, acknowledging the chair seated before his desk. ]
You see, Ms. Marling, I'm a man of opportunity. I seek them out, I draw them in, and occasionally — oh, how rare they may be — they find me. In the world of the gentleman, opportunities are oftentimes equal. In order to receive an opportunity, you must give one in return.
This, Ms. Marling, is simply your opportunity to level the playing field.
[ It's odd, being addressed by her last name. She gives it out about as rarely as she willingly makes conversation, those two syllables the last link to a life that she'd left behind along with a history even more unpleasant than the one tailing her now. But she sits when he gestures at the chair, her limbs somehow seeming even smaller framed by its back than they had been when she'd still stood in the center of the room. Her gaze leaves his face only once, following a curl of smoke as it disappears into the air. ]
I get t'ings fr'm people. Bury secrets, dig 'em up again. Collect debts, pounds o' flesh.
[ A beat, as she shrugs. He knows what she does — the basics of it, at least — and if he turns her down, it's no skin off her back. A pity, sure (as much as she enjoys simply getting ghost, she enjoys a little certainty, too, and she'll only ever make the offer once, to the best in the business), but no irrecoverable loss. ]
'S a piece off t'e playin' board an' in y'r pocket.
[ Indeed, he is aware of what she does — what she's capable of. The woman possesses unique gifts that several of his — colleagues might find useful. Still, she isn't sitting pretty (rather, beautifully) in their offices, is she? No. Here she sits, offering her services to Oswald Cobblepot.
It's enough to make them positively squawk with envy. ]
Might I ask why you've chosen me? Of all the powerful men in Gotham, you've come to the likes of myself. Beautiful women hardly flock upon my doorstep without their reasoning, you see. You can understand my curiosity.
[ His eyes narrow, but his lips curl into a slight smile. ]
[ Her expression hasn't changed all that much since she's stepped foot into his office (she's a spare kind of person, the small apartment she keeps in the city almost exactly the way it'd been when she'd first bought it save a handful of belongings that would all fit easily into a duffel bag at a moment's notice), but there's a flicker of surprise as soon as the word beautiful leaves his lips. For what she knows about him, he isn't the kind of man she'd accuse of idle flattery. But, like whatever other microexpressions she's offered up, like the way she speaks, the expression is there and then gone.
Mildly (and not completely humorlessly): ] Y' askin' if I'm a gold digger?
[ A single finger is brought to attention, raised to pause the entirety of their conversation. He frowns only slightly, the corners of his lips pulling downward. ] You misunderstand my meaning, Ms. Marling.
[ Oswald extinguishes his cigarette, putting it out against the porcelain. When he clears his throat, it's a hollow sound, something bordering the murmur of an animal. His eyes, however, never leave the sight of the woman. ] What I am inquiring is this:
What do I have to offer you? I see to it my business partners are not without. If we are to align ourselves with one another, then I should like to know why. Tell me something that I, in this humble moment, don't know.
[ (They're all animals in this town — he just has the nickname to go along with it. Some wrangle their way out of the system, but for the most part, it's dog eat dog, the weak serving as cannon fodder and gristle for those stronger, for those smarter than them. It's the most simplistic way of putting it, granted, but it's the kind of thing that becomes useful to keep in mind.) ]
No loose ends, no unnecessary questions — security. [ At length, she shifts, but only to cross one leg over the other. (Silent concession, if he's looking for it.) ]
Freelancin' puts people on both ends of t'e knife. Works fine f'r me, ot'ers tend not t' like it as much. Went for t' best choice, after.
Flattery. [ His fingers fold, wrists on the wood of the desk. His head tilts and the way the sun hits the side of his face through the shutters allows the other side to remain in darkness. Oswald nods. (It's knowing; it's rarely anything else). ]
They say it gets you everywhere, dove. [ He takes a moment to consider the pros, the cons. What she might provide for him, for his entire business operation. Why, the possibilities are innumerable, aren't they?
The prospect is curious, but not without its merits. ]
[ While others might look away or otherwise redirect their attentions, Iona keeps her gaze fixed on Cobblepot as the silence stretches, as if memorizing his features for some later reference. (It's habit, now, a single direct line in conversation despite how avoidant of contact she seems otherwise.)
It's not the follow-up question she's expecting, though she doesn't bat an eye once it's posed. There's no harm in an answer, or at least no harm that's terribly evident. Still, there's a pause before she answers, the shift of fabric audible as she raises a hand to brush her hair back from her face. ]
Why, Commissioner Gordon, I had no idea you were such a sentimentalist. [ The tips of his fingers, each gloved in the finest threads, press into one another. They meet ever so neatly at his chin. ]
Correct me if I'm wrong, but you make it sound as if I have a case currently worth occupying your police force's time.
Can't help it. Kids' Disney repeats get to you after a while. [ It's a lie, but a harmless one — they both recognize it. Gotham isn't a city that allows for much sentimentality in its citizens, hidden away or not. ]
Anyway, it's not about the present, Mr. Cobblepot, [ he continues, his own hands neatly folded together. ] It's about something a little more sustainable.
[ His lips purse. Even now, as he watches the Police Commissioner stand harmlessly before him, he can feel the underlying taunt. Perhaps, of course, the man's goal isn't to tease, to prod at the man, but he always sees it there. In their eyes, in their clenched, sweaty fists — they have something more to say. Look at him. He's disgusting.] Of course they do.
[ Oswald stands on his own two feet. Not a man of tremendous stature, nor a man of overwhelming looks, his power comes from something else entirely. Each of his fingers clasp at the curvature of his spine and he glances down his nose at the Commissioner. ]
[ He crosses the floor to a small table with empty glasses and several crystal bottles. At the word 'sustainable', his fingers freeze, gloves hovering over the lid of a classic scotch. ] You have my attention, Commissioner.
[ Even if it's discomfort that Cobblepot never states outright, Gordon isn't stupid. He's read the files, seen the change in behavior among the officers from criminal to criminal. And even if he himself doesn't buy into any of that bullshit, he's a cop. He's a them, not an us, and you don't get rid of stigma like that with just a few kind words. ]
I think we can help each other out. Maybe it's a bit of a leap, but I'll keep it straight to the point. We need someone as well-informed — well-connected — as you are, working the other side of the fence.
[ Oswald laughs. It's cold, but brief. Empty, but not without its amusement. His back remains to the opposing man while his hands work to pour himself a small glass of the aforementioned scotch. After a quick swallow, he pivots slightly, catching the sight of Jim in the close distance. ]
Is that so? [ When he turns fully, he swishes round the contents of his glass, brow quirked curiously. ] And in return, you intend to so graciously grant me —what, Commissioner? Some form of amnesty?
[ He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and sips at his scotch. ]
[ Gordon smiles uneasily, wondering briefly if there'd been any way of phrasing the deal that might have gone down just a mite better. But the bridge has already been crossed and he knows better than to worry too much about spilled milk. ]
It's not that raw a deal, all things considered, [ he says, though there's not much argumentative spirit in his voice. ]
[ Oswald steps around his desk, seating himself back within his desk chair. It takes a few moments for the silence to finally pass. One elbow rests on the leather arm, fingers curled beneath his chin as he watches the Commissioner.
Finally, a single finger is pointed at the man. ] James, I really must ask:
[ Gordon's demeanor instantly changes. The line of his jaw goes taut, his entire frame seems to tense. He's used to threats against his own life, but even the suggestion of his family as a target never fails to set steel in his blood. ]
Thought you'd heard, [ he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. ]
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one tap for pb shenanigans.
Didn't figure I'd get an audience if y' weren't intr'ested in somet'in'.
oh my god. h e l l o.
And yet, the question remains.
:3c
Why'd y' agree to 't, then?
nnnnnfffff.
You see, Ms. Marling, I'm a man of opportunity. I seek them out, I draw them in, and occasionally — oh, how rare they may be — they find me. In the world of the gentleman, opportunities are oftentimes equal. In order to receive an opportunity, you must give one in return.
This, Ms. Marling, is simply your opportunity to level the playing field.
that's the way i like it.mp3
I get t'ings fr'm people. Bury secrets, dig 'em up again. Collect debts, pounds o' flesh.
[ A beat, as she shrugs. He knows what she does — the basics of it, at least — and if he turns her down, it's no skin off her back. A pity, sure (as much as she enjoys simply getting ghost, she enjoys a little certainty, too, and she'll only ever make the offer once, to the best in the business), but no irrecoverable loss. ]
'S a piece off t'e playin' board an' in y'r pocket.
let me kiss u hard in da pourin rain.mp3
It's enough to make them positively squawk with envy. ]
Might I ask why you've chosen me? Of all the powerful men in Gotham, you've come to the likes of myself. Beautiful women hardly flock upon my doorstep without their reasoning, you see. You can understand my curiosity.
[ His eyes narrow, but his lips curl into a slight smile. ]
oh no don't u dare lana me
Mildly (and not completely humorlessly): ] Y' askin' if I'm a gold digger?
u had this coming all along.
[ Oswald extinguishes his cigarette, putting it out against the porcelain. When he clears his throat, it's a hollow sound, something bordering the murmur of an animal. His eyes, however, never leave the sight of the woman. ] What I am inquiring is this:
What do I have to offer you? I see to it my business partners are not without. If we are to align ourselves with one another, then I should like to know why. Tell me something that I, in this humble moment, don't know.
insert chicago musical cue here
No loose ends, no unnecessary questions — security. [ At length, she shifts, but only to cross one leg over the other. (Silent concession, if he's looking for it.) ]
Freelancin' puts people on both ends of t'e knife. Works fine f'r me, ot'ers tend not t' like it as much. Went for t' best choice, after.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f19L5H3eqzQ
They say it gets you everywhere, dove. [ He takes a moment to consider the pros, the cons. What she might provide for him, for his entire business operation. Why, the possibilities are innumerable, aren't they?
The prospect is curious, but not without its merits. ]
Do you like music, Ms. Marling?
THE WORST.
It's not the follow-up question she's expecting, though she doesn't bat an eye once it's posed. There's no harm in an answer, or at least no harm that's terribly evident. Still, there's a pause before she answers, the shift of fabric audible as she raises a hand to brush her hair back from her face. ]
I do.
two taps for canon hijinks.
sweet jaysus.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but you make it sound as if I have a case currently worth occupying your police force's time.
no subject
Anyway, it's not about the present, Mr. Cobblepot, [ he continues, his own hands neatly folded together. ] It's about something a little more sustainable.
So long as you're interested.
no subject
[ Oswald stands on his own two feet. Not a man of tremendous stature, nor a man of overwhelming looks, his power comes from something else entirely. Each of his fingers clasp at the curvature of his spine and he glances down his nose at the Commissioner. ]
[ He crosses the floor to a small table with empty glasses and several crystal bottles. At the word 'sustainable', his fingers freeze, gloves hovering over the lid of a classic scotch. ] You have my attention, Commissioner.
no subject
I think we can help each other out. Maybe it's a bit of a leap, but I'll keep it straight to the point. We need someone as well-informed — well-connected — as you are, working the other side of the fence.
no subject
Is that so? [ When he turns fully, he swishes round the contents of his glass, brow quirked curiously. ] And in return, you intend to so graciously grant me —what, Commissioner? Some form of amnesty?
[ He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and sips at his scotch. ]
no subject
It's not that raw a deal, all things considered, [ he says, though there's not much argumentative spirit in his voice. ]
Why, what'd you have in mind?
no subject
Finally, a single finger is pointed at the man. ] James, I really must ask:
[ He looks down his nose. ]
How's your wife?
no subject
Thought you'd heard, [ he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. ]
Left the city and took the kids with her.