Two hundred seventy six. That's how many interviews he's had in the past three months. That's how many times he'd been rejected within the first minute, if he even made it past the door.

Two hundred and seventy seven … He took a deep breath as he walked under the construction scaffolding covering the sidewalk and stopped in front of the small club. This was two hundred and seventy seven … No matter how many places were open in Gotham …. He was becoming desperate, and running out of options.

The pink glow of the neon fish bones shone surprisingly bright in the early morning light. The short thin man stood in front of the sign, looking at it with trepidation as he clutched his resume tighter in his trembling hands, creasing the pages in multiple spots.

He took a deep, shaky breath as he walked towards the door, smoothing out his thrift store suit and brushing his long, choppy hair out of his face. He reached the door and pushed but the door didn't open. He fidgeted more as he looked around the street, feeling even more nervous. He smiled nervously as a man passed by him, giving him an odd look.

When the man had passed Oswald turned back towards the door and knocked. He played with the paper in his hands again before brushing his hair out of his face again.

No one answered the door. A few moments later he raised his hand again to knock, but before his knuckles could hit the wood the second time the door opened outwards so quickly Oswald was smacked in his beak-like nose and sprawled out onto the wet cement.

A bigger man in a suit looked down at him and shook his head. "Door opens outwards kid." He said, twisting the handle as if to show him it was open.

"R-right … Of course." Oswald said standing up and brushing the wet dirt from his suit and smiling nervously, his brown teeth making the man cringe slightly.

"What do you want kid?" The man asked.

"I-I-I-" He stuttered, trying to get the words to come out.

"Spit it out …" The man said leaning heavily on the door frame. Oswald swallowed loudly and held his paper out to him.

"I-I-I'm looking for a job. I was wondering if y-you were hiring?" He asked still holding out his paper. The man looked down at it but didn't take it from him.

"You're looking for a job?" The man asked. "Here?" Oswald looked away from the bigger man, trembling even more than he was before.

"Y-y-y-yes sir." He said, still holding out the paper.

The man looked him up and down before stepping away from the door frame. "Alright …. I'll get you in to see Fish Mooney … She's watching some auditions right now … But I'll tell her you're here." He said as Oswald stepped into the small club.

"Th-thank you." He said holding his resume in both hands again. He stood in the doorway as the bigger man walked over to a table in front of the stage, bending to her ear to whisper something to her.

"Fine, send him in," Fish responded with a dismissive wave of her expertly manicured hand. She was almost finished with auditions today anyway… There had been no promising talent this morning in any case. It was as if every amateur dancer in Gotham had conspired to waste her time.

Butch waved him in and Oswald came into the room, his resume held even tighter in his trembling hands.

"H-h-hello … Miss. Mooney." He said hating how his voice was shaking as badly as he was. "I-I-I was really hoping … well …"

Fish gave the pathetic, ragged-looking young man before her an incredulous look. She really needed to have a talk with her security staff about screening job applicants. Butch did a fine job neutralizing threats… but identifying time-wasters was, evidently, beyond him. Still… this odd, nervous little man had mustered up the guts to come in here in the first place, even though he was so clearly ill-suited to work here… That alone piqued her curiosity.

"Stop," she held up a single finger. "Breathe. Then try again." The way he was stammering was just embarrassing to watch.

Oswald smiled nervously again. "Well I-I-I …" Stammered again. He paused and took a deep breath trying to still his trembling but it just got worse if that had been possible. "Iwaswonderingifyouwerehiring." He said quickly before he had a chance to stutter again.

"You and everybody else," said Fish wryly. Which still didn't explain what in the world made this bundle of nerves think he'd do well here. She gestured to the paper he was clutching as if for dear life. "Is that your resume?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"Y-Yes ma'am." He said holding out the crumpled piece of paper which had become partially wet when he'd landed on the cement outside.

Fish took hold of the paper lightly, as if it might be contaminated with something, her eyes scanning over his mediocre education section and nonexistent experience.

"Look," she said, then glanced at his name on the paper. "Oswald…"

Oswald? What had the boy's parents been thinking? The last name, though… that made her pause. She frowned slightly. "Do you have any work experience at all? What kind of job exactly do you think you're going to find here?"

Oswald opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't find the words. He looked like a fish caught on land for a moment before he smiled nervously again. "Well … I don't really but … Please, give me a chance. I-I-I'll do anything. I've applied at almost three hundred other places and this is the longest interview I have ever had. Please …. I'll do anything. M-m-my mother … She's going to lose her apartment. We're going to lose everything we have … We'll end up on the streets. Please, I-I-I … I'm desperate."

She gave him a skeptical look. "So, you're telling me that working for me is a last resort? I have a reputation for many things, but charity isn't one of them." Desperation was hardly a skill or qualification… though it could potentially translate into loyalty. But, looking at Oswald, it was hard to see any real potential in him. And then there was the matter of that last name.

Oswald looked shocked at her assumption, he hadn't meant to make it sound that way. "No, no no no … I-I-I just heard about this place last night. I didn't even know about it …. It's not a last resort it's …." He paused and looked at Butch for help who held his hands up in mock surrender, Oswald was on his own. "I know you don't run a charity but …. I'll do anything … Anything you ask, just tell me and it'll be done. No hesitation."

Fish Mooney raised an eyebrow. "That's not a promise to make lightly… But even so, saying you're willing to do something means nothing if you're not qualified to do it. This place isn't for you. You're going to have to look elsewhere." She motioned for Butch to show him out.

"No. No no no no." He said quickly falling to his knees, his hands taking one of hers. "Please. Please I'll do anything. Give me anything, let me prove myself I-I-I can be loyal … I'm obedient …. Just get me to do something I can prove to you I can be useful. Please!"

Fish stared at him for a moment, taken aback by this sudden, unseemly display of groveling. She had thought he was pathetic before, but this… this was just pitiful. This man clearly had no idea of how to present himself to others, as if he'd never been taught to control how others perceived him. Given the last name, she had started to suspect that he had been sent here, and that this was all an act… but was it really possible to fake being this pathetic? Fish pulled her hand away from him. "Stop," she said firmly. "Get off the floor. You're embarrassing yourself." She waited to see whether he would comply.

Oswald let go of her hand when she pulled it away and he stood up, straightening his suit again. "I … My apologies Miss. Mooney I-I-I-" He paused and looked down at the ground. "Thank you for your time." He said, his voice suddenly less shaky. He brushed his hands on the old material of his suit as he walked away from Mooney towards the exit.

Fish watched him start to walk away, and then said: "Wait. I might be able to find a use for you after all."

Oswald turned back to her, wondering if he'd misunderstood what she'd said. "What?" He asked stunned.

Fish smirked slightly. She could hardly blame him for being surprised… She had hardly expected it herself. "I said I might have a use for you. Come back tonight at eight for a trial orientation. I'll decide then if you're a suitable fit for the job."

Oswald didn't know what to say at first before he smiled. "Eight o'clock. Sure … I-I-I I mean Thank you … I won't let you down. What ever it is … It'll be done." He said looking quite happy that she was giving him a chance. "Thank you." He said as Butch grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him to the door.

"Come back at Eight, do not be a minute early or late …. Eight o'clock sharp." He said as Oswald turned to say something Butch shut the door in his face.

"Butch," said Fish, once Oswald was gone. "I have a little assignment for you. Find out whether William Cobblepot is any relation to our new acquaintance. If he is… find him and bring him here in time for Oswald's orientation."

"Of course Fish." He said smirking as he left the room.

o0o0o0o0o

Oswald took a deep breath as he stood in front of the club that seemed to be in full swing. A few people brushed past him and entered the club, ignoring the strange man. He swallowed loudly before he stepped into the club at exactly eight o'clock. As Butch had said not a minute before or after …

When he entered Butch looked up at him and glanced down at his clock. "You know …" Butch said coming around the front counter and walking towards Oswald. "I didn't think you'd take me seriously. How long did you stand outside staring at your watch for?" He asked taking in Oswald's soaked appearance. It was raining outside and it looked like the kid had been out there for a while.

"F-Fifteen m-minutes." He said shivering slightly. Butch shook his head.

"You could have come in." He said looking over Oswald. "Come on …. Fish is waiting for you downstairs. I'll take ya." He said leading him towards the basement. Oswald followed him through the noisy club, a band playing on the stage loudly. He wasn't sure how anyone could eat dinner and have a conversation around the noise. He followed Butch downstairs into the large open basement, freezing on the spot at what he saw.

In the middle of the room, a bruised and bloody man was tied to a chair. Fish Mooney stood next to him, idly playing with a knife in her hand. "Right on time, I see," she said, smirking slightly. "We can add punctuality to your list of possible qualifications, at least." She sauntered forward, the fabric of her evening gown rustling slightly as she moved, visually out of place with the rest of the scene, but she seemed completely at ease. "You'll have to forgive my unorthodox methods, Oswald," she said. "It's just that, as I came across your name on your resume, I couldn't help remembering that there was also a William Cobblepot, so I did a little research…" She looked back at Oswald, watching his reaction. "You didn't mention that your brother worked for Maroni."

Oswald stared at William, a sneer clear on his face. "We haven't spoken in years … I wasn't aware he was even still alive." He said. "I thought he'd gone the way of Robert and Jason …" He said barely remembering a small news article about his two other brothers, one had died of a drug overdose in a back alley, the other had been murdered in a hotel with some whore. His mother had been heartbroken of course, but always the dutiful son, he had been there for her.

"I see," said Fish, the last hint of a smirk fading away to leave only blank neutrality. Of course, she could hardly trust his sincerity just yet. But she would see soon enough. "That might make this a little easier on you, then. Given my clientele, I can't take on employees with any connection to Maroni. You understand, of course. It's a matter of loyalty." She pressed the knife into Oswald's hand, now while he was still stunned from what he was seeing, and then moved away to the side, knowing that Butch would take him down if he tried anything. "You told me this morning that you could be loyal," she said softly. "That you would do anything I asked of you. Show me that now, and the job is yours."

Oswald looked down at the knife that was now heavy in the palm of his hand. "W-" He looked at Mooney as William struggled against his binds, "What do you want me to do?" He asked.

William stared at the large knife in Oswald's hand. "No. Please … Pengui-" He paused when he realized what he was about to call him. It had been years of calling him that, he almost forgot what his real name was. "Oswald please …. Please …. I … I'm not like Robert and Jason … I'm not like them you remember? When I helped you. I stopped Jason and Tommy-"

"You helped me because you knew if Jason and Tommy broke my hands I wouldn't be able to do your homework for you." He said, his hand clenching on the knife handle.

"I know … I'm sorry about all that but please, Peng … Oswald. Don't do this ... "

"You got a choice Penguin." Butch said, finding the nickname rather fitting for the freakish little man. "Kill him, or I'll kill him and you're back out on the street."

"He hardly sounds like he was much of a brother to you in the past," Fish said in an off-handed tone, though she was watching Oswald very closely the whole time. "But more importantly… why are you the only one worrying about your mother's financial situation? William already has a job working for Maroni." She tilted her head to look down at William who, at the moment, somehow looked even more pathetic than Oswald had before. "Perhaps, in your defense, William, you can give your brother a reason why you haven't done anything to help your own mother?"

"I ... I ..." William looked up at Oswald. "She was no mother of mine." He said angrily. "She had always been too busy coddling you ... Her perfect freakish boy. Her little baby Penguin!" Oswald's sneer deepened. "Why should I take care for her when she never cared for me." Oswald's sneer deepened as William spoke. As soon as the man's words were out he realized what he'd said and seemed to back off slightly. "I ... I didn't ..." But he knew the deal was done. He'd sealed his own fate.

Fish walked around to stand behind Oswald, her hand over his which held the knife. Her mouth neared his ear as she whispered to him.

"Do it ... My little penguin."

Oswald groaned in frustration and Mooney had to jump back as Oswald lashed out the knife digging into flesh as he thrust it into William's abdomen.

William cried out in pain as Oswald pulled the knife back out again and looked down at him.

"Good," Fish said encouragingly. The blow was far from fatal, however. Either Oswald still had some remaining qualms about attacking his wayward brother or, far more likely, he had never killed before. "The first strike is the hardest," she said softly. "Go on now, and finish him."

Oswald looked at Mooney for a moment before looking down at his brother who was howling in pain, tears streaming down his face. Oswald could feel the warm slickness of blood on his hand where he'd stabbed him and found it oddly ... Pleasant.

He pressed the tip of the knife against Williams heart, one hand gripping the handle the other flat against the end.

"You should have been nicer." He said ever so slowly pressing the knife into his chest. It was almost a minute of loud screaming before the hilt hit flesh and the knife was fully embedded into his chest. A few seconds later and William stopped screaming and stilled in his chair.

Oswald let go of the knife, the hilt still sticking out of the man's chest as he stepped back ... He couldn't believe how good that felt.

"Hey .." He heard Butch say. "Looks like Penguin enjoyed that a bit too much." He said as Oswald turned on him. "You got a bit of a boner there kid." He said laughing.

Oswald looked down and was partially surprised. Butch was right, his cock was straining against his pants. Oswald turned slightly so that his jacket hid it.

Fish smiled in amusement. "I must admit… I hadn't expected you to enjoy your orientation assignment quite so much." She was glad now that she had given this strange, snivelling little man a chance to prove himself. As it turned out, he was indeed obedient, and his brother had proved to be no threat to his loyalty at all. He was inexperienced, certainly, and she would need to coach him on how to better present himself. But he had far more potential than she'd thought. Not only would he kill, if she asked him to, but he would also enjoy it.

"Well ... I-I-I ... He'd bullied me quite brutally growing up ... I ..." He paused wondering if he should tell her. "I always fantasized about what that would be like." He said looking down at the warm blood on his hand.

"And now you don't have to fantasize," Fish said, brushing her fingertips lightly over his cheek, just to see how he would react. He was a repulsive little man, really, but strangely fascinating in his own way.

Oswald sucked in a breath and froze when her fingernails touched his cheek, and his cock twitched in his pants, straining harder against the material.

A satisfied hint of a smirk settled onto Fish's face. Oh, he was far too easy to tease. Having him around could prove entertaining as well as useful. She let her fingertips trail down to his chin, before stopping to adjust the collar of his shirt, which had gotten slightly crooked during the stabbing. "Congratulations," she said. "You're my new umbrella boy."

Butch looked at her confused. Umbrella boy?

Oswald seemed at a loss for words. He got a job? "Th ... Thank you Miss. Mooney." He said, still a bit stunned and confused by the entire situation.

"But first," she said, giving him a quick glance up and down. "You'll need to go and get cleaned up… I can't have you walking around covered in blood. There are rooms on the top floor where you can wash up."

"B-but ... Your customers ... They'll see me and -"

"You'll be fine." Butch said. "No one here will even pay you any attention let alone tell anyone." He said putting a hand on Oswald's shoulder and leading him towards the door.

Oswald nervously walked through the club and to the stairs which were located on the other side of the room. True to Butch's word no one even glanced at him. He headed upstairs and to one of the empty rooms.

He looked down at his pants which were still tented though less so than before and sighed. He had to get a hold of himself. He locked the door and moved into the bathroom to take a cold shower.

Fish let Butch take care of disposing of the body, and went about the business of greeting customers and overseeing the club as usual. After allowing what she deemed a reasonable amount of time for Oswald to wash off the blood, and possibly wrap his mind around what had just happened, she made her way up the stairs after him. If she was going to be seen with him on a regular basis, something had to be done to make him look at least a little more presentable. And, given the wretched state he'd arrived in, she didn't trust anyone but herself to do it.

Oswald wrapped a towel around his waist and moved out of the bathroom, flicking the light off and nearly jumping when he caught sight of Miss. Mooney standing there with a pair of silver scissors.

He looked at his clothes which sat on the bed a few feet behind her and cleared his throat, adjusting the towel so it was more secure around his waist.

"Miss. Mooney ... I-I-I-"

"Relax," said Fish, moderately annoyed. Though she kept encountering him when he had reason to be nervous, she was starting to suspect that Oswald's stuttering was a chronic problem. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before." Though he was without a doubt the scrawniest, most miserable excuse for a man she'd ever laid eyes on. But that was neither here nor there. "If you're going to be working for me, we'll need to work on your image. You'll excuse me for being blunt, but you're well overdue for a decent haircut."

She had no idea what bizarre set of circumstances had led to the mess that had wandered through her door, but the poor man looked like someone had tried to shove his head in a garbage disposal. Had the problem been less severe, Fish might have left him in the hands of one of her employees, but this would be well beyond most of their capabilities.

"Y-yes ma'am ... I can g-get it cut tomorrow morning ... There's a barber just down the street from me. I-I-" He was rambling and he knew that but really all he wanted to do was put his clothes back on.

Fish held up one finger against Oswald's lips to get him to stop stammering. "Oswald," she said flatly. "I highly doubt that the average barber would know what to do with this ... mess. Now, sit down and let me try to salvage something out of this wreck." There was really no tactful way to put it.

Oswald looked as if he wanted to say something again but stopped himself. He sat in the desk chair that had been pulled out already, holding his towel with his hand so it wouldn't slip or fall out of place. His face was red with embarrassment. No one had seen him this undressed except his mother.

Even in the high school swim class he'd worn a t shirt.

Fish circled him briefly, getting a better look at the back and sides, then stood in front of him, reaching forward and tilting his chin upward, looking at the way that his hair fell around his strange, pointed face, closely examining what she had to work with. Finally, she started cutting, with a careful eye for measuring the length in different places as she went. With what she had to work with, there was no way to make his hair come out even, but she could at least make it look as if someone had planned this style on purpose.

Oswald sat nervously, his eyes closed as she cut his hair. His hands clutched his towel as he heard the scissors hiss with each cut. He hated getting his hair cut ever since he was a kid ... When his father Tucker had demanded he get a haircut but wouldn't give him the time to do so around all his chores. His father had dragged him into the garage and cut all of his hair off with a pair of shears so carelessly that Oswald still had scars from where he'd nicked him.

He hated how much he was teased at school for months after that, being told he looked like he belonged in a concentration camp.

"You really don't like this, do you," Fish observed. It was painfully obvious. "You're in good hands, though, I assure you." She carefully scrutinized her work so far in the front, and decided that it was about as presentable as it was going to get, before moving around to the side and starting to trim as well as she could. As she did, she began to notice occasional scars, as if he'd been haphazardly nicked with a blade here and there on the side of his head, the back of his neck… they were very old scars, to judge from their appearance, but once she noticed the first few and began to look for them, she found that they were everywhere. When running a hand through his hair to better judge the length of one section, she thought she might have felt another scar along his scalp. There were probably a few more hidden in this mess that she couldn't see. Well. That certainly explained a little about this peculiar man.

"I see you've had a few bad haircuts before," Fish said softly. Already, she had collected some very personal information on him. She had witnessed him commit murder, which she could always bring up again if his loyalty ever wavered. She knew about his impoverished mother, his history of severe bullying at the hands of his brothers, and now this. Overall, the information she'd gathered painted a very pitiful picture of the "Penguin." This man's life evidently had nowhere to go but up.

"Well ... I ... Uh ..." He wasn't sure if she wanted an explanation on how he got them. He doubted she cared though and stopped talking as she moved to the back of his hair.

"That's alright," she said dismissively, as she continued to snip away at the mess on his head, gradually bringing some semblance of form out of the chaos. "I don't need to know the circumstances." She already got the basic picture. "Whatever happened, you will need to overcome it. Appearance is extremely important in any business. A large part of success is simply being able to influence how others perceive you… And you work for me now. The way that you present yourself should reflect that." No doubt presentation had been a large part of his trouble finding a job in the first place.

"O-Of course, Miss. Mooney." He said trying to relax his hands and realizing that his towel had slipped just slightly. It wasn't revealing anything but it still made him a bit uncomfortable so he fixed the towel quickly.

Fish smirked slightly as Oswald adjusted his towel, but decided not to comment on it for the moment. She continued carefully cutting his hair, taking her time until, finally, she was satisfied that she had made his hair look as presentable as possible. He was still pretty odd-looking, but there was nothing to be done about that.

"That will do for now," she said, dusting off some of the hair that had fallen onto Oswald's pale scrawny shoulders. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Oswald tensed when she touched his shoulders. "N-No …" He stammered. He wanted to go to the mirror to see what his hair looked like. He couldn't imagine her being able to do anything that resembled normal, not since his mother tried to cut his hair and only succeeded in shaving the sides and turning it into a three layered mess. "Th-thank you Miss. Mooney. That was … M-most generous of you." He said, his hands shaking again.

"Think nothing of it," Fish said dismissively. Hadn't she already made it clear that this was about image, not generosity? But if he wanted to be grateful, she was inclined to let him. That might be useful later. She continued to brush off his shoulders, then down his back just a little ways, amused by how tense he was. She didn't think she had ever met anyone quite so easy to toy with. "Why don't you go take a look in the mirror and see what you think?" she said, finally stepping back, allowing him some space.

Oswald shivered as she ran her hand down his back. "I-I'm sure it looks … I'm sure you did a good job." He said nodding up at her.

"Then why are you still so tense, I wonder?" Fish asked with the smallest hint of a smile, setting the scissors down on the desk and stroking a hand down Oswald's thin, pale chest. "You really need to relax. Learn to project a little confidence, or no one will ever take you seriously."

"I-I-I …" He stuttered as she ran her hand over his chest. He could feel his cock swelling again as she touched him and he shifted trying to use the towel to hide it. "I'm sorry I …"

"Hush," said Fish. "If I want you to apologize for something, I'll tell you so. Otherwise, don't waste your breath on it." Her hand continued to trail lower, past his far too visible rib cage, over his stomach, down to the edge of the towel. "Do you understand?"

Oswald looked down at her hand and swallowed nervously. What was she doing? He opened his mouth to apologize again but stopped himself. "Yes, ma'am." He said quietly, his voice catching in his throat.

Fish smirked at his nervousness. By now, he had to have formed some idea of where this might be going, but still he continued to sit there passively, as if frozen in place. She slipped her hand under the towel he'd been so anxious to hold in place, as if it meant nothing, watching to see how he would react.

Oswald shifted slightly on the chair, his hands going to the seat. "Wh- … Don't …" He whispered, nudging himself away from her hand but having nowhere to go. Not wanting to go against what she was doing … He had after all promised her anything.

Fish raised an eyebrow. "'Don't'?" she repeated, her hand slowly inching further down. "Why? Are you afraid of me, Oswald? After what you've already seen and done this evening, is this what frightens you?"

Oswald didn't say anything for a few moments, closing his eyes trying to compose himself. "I … No … It's just … I …."

"It's just you what?" asked Fish, tilting her head as she looked down at him, watching just how flustered the poor man was becoming. She wondered whether he actually had anything coherent to say.

Oswald said nothing, not sure of what to say at this point. If he stopped her it could make her angry, or worse, fire him … If she continued …. He kept his eyes closed as her hand remained on his abdomen just below the hem of the towel. He couldn't fathom why such a beautiful woman would want to touch him in such a way and couldn't help but wonder what ulterior motive she had for doing this.

Fish moved her hand further down, coming into contact with his hardening cock, finding it rapidly growing erect at her touch. As she suspected… the Penguin couldn't have ever had much action. She ran her fingers lightly down the shaft, getting a feel for its length. She was a little surprised to find it respectably in the average range; she'd half expected it to be as pathetic and puny as the rest of him.

Oswald visibly jumped as she touched him there. "I-" He bit his bottom lip and clenched his eyes tighter. No woman had ever touched him before, let alone … there. Sure there had been nights where he'd done this himself but …. This was different. He was tense and nervous yes, but … her fingers felt good.

Fish smirked at Oswald's reaction as she wrapped her hand around his cock, her thumb toying lightly with the tip for a moment before she started to stroke slowly, teasingly, up and down the shaft.

Oswald gasped, his mouth falling open as he felt pleasure already building up inside him. If she didn't stop he wouldn't last very long.

Fish stroked up Oswald's cock a couple more times, amused by just how close he was so quickly. If she wasn't careful, though, he could come at any moment.

Oswald looked down at her hand, moving expertly over his shaft and knew he was about to cum. Could feel it building up inside of him about to break at any moment. He felt his breathing pick up slightly, felt his hips move forward slightly. Just a few more strokes and-

Just as she knew Oswald had to be right on the edge, Fish abruptly took her hand away from his cock and straightened, heading briskly for the door, pausing only to pick up her scissors and gesture toward the desk, where a neatly folded pair of pants, button-down shirt, and sweater were waiting. "There's a change of clothes there for you; yours are hopelessly blood-stained, I'm afraid. Tomorrow, be here early; I'll have Butch take you to get a new suit." She turned back to glance down at him and said: "You're not needed for the rest of the evening. Be sure to change and exit promptly."

Oswald sat there stunned for a moment as he looked at her walking away, barely able to register what she was saying. He glanced over at the clothes that were on the desk before adjusting his towel around his waist. He knew not to argue … but … What was all that about?

"Yes, ma'am." He said picking up the clothing she instructed him to take as she left the room. He looked down at his still swollen cock, suddenly feeling rather frustrated. He glanced towards the bathroom … how promptly was promptly?

He groaned quietly as he put the pants on, ignoring the fact that there was no underwear and his didn't seem to be in the pile of his old clothes. He picked up the dress shirt, noticing a small splatter of blood on the collar. He wondered briefly who had been killed in this shirt as he pulled it over his head and buttoned up the shirt the rest of the way, leaving the top button open. He pulled the sweater on over top and left the room. He walked through the club ignoring everything as he walked past. He got a few stares from the angered expression on his face, and he knew he had to calm himself but he found that he couldn't.

He exited out onto the street and made his way towards his mother's apartment … He just wanted to go to bed.