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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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.