This story is set before the events of Gotham's first season. My muses have never taken me down a DC road before but, what do ya know, the start of a Gotham fan fic showed up. The character of Claire Selton was adapted from an entry in the DC wiki. Please let me know what you think!
Oswald Cobblepot walked down the crowded street with a black umbrella open above his head. The rain was misty, noiseless against the canvas shrouding him. It was the kind of rain that stuck to your face and clothing no matter what one tried to use against the elements.
Most of the other pedestrians had not bothered to protect themselves from the drizzle, ignoring the precipitation as much as they were ignoring each other among the mob of bodies streaming onward down the worn pavement.
Typical day in Gotham City. Grey and wet and moving, like storm clouds over a dirty river. With the people flowing through it as mindlessly as the sickly fish swimming beneath the Metro-Narrows Bridge.
Oswald, however, moved with purpose, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of his surroundings. He paid attention. He observed and adapted each step to the city's incessant pulse. A pulse tied together by veins as bloody as those feeding his own beating heart.
His destination was the same as it had been each day for the past year. Mooney's Nightclub. It was located deep inside Don Falcone's territory, its unassuming entrance marked by the red, neon bones of a fish. Fish being the known name and title of the club's infamous owner.
Oswald turned a corner, away from the bustling main avenue and approached the entrance to Fish Mooney's establishment. He paused, the red light from the luminescent bones glinting off his cold blue eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, suppressing the wave of resentment which momentarily marred the sharp features of his face. His expression quickly softened, fading into a nervous, passive mask.
Pushing open the main door to the club, Oswald closed his umbrella, gently shaking water from its folds. He placed it against the front corner of the cloakroom, which was empty of any other garments this time of day. It was just before noon, several hours before Mooney's would open for the evening.
He tugged on his suit coat and vest, doing his best to ensure he would be presentable before encountering this employer. She had contacted him this morning to say she had a job for him. She had not given him any details other than she wanted him specifically to carry out the task.
Oswald walked past the bar toward the club's main hall. He spotted two of Ms. Mooney's hired guns sitting at nearby table. The large men were sharing a bottle of cheap whiskey, laughing about whatever inane topic engrossed their limited intellects.
One of the men glanced at Oswald as he approached and sneered.
"Yo, Penguin!" he called, "Heard you're gettin' library duty today. Think you can handle it?"
Oswald's stride did not slow as the other goon replied, "You're kidding? She's gonna send him? Neither Chet or Tony or Gilzean could get anything from that library bird. What's he gonna do?"
The men laughed as Oswald moved beyond the main hall toward a staircase behind the stage. He felt his face flush at their contempt and the use of the objectionable nickname bestowed upon him by the thugs in Ms. Mooney's employ. Oswald made his way up the hidden stairs, struggling to keep his temper in check.
Pawns, he thought bitterly, Just pawns. Some day... I'll show them who really controls this game...
As he reached the top step, Oswald spotted a man leaning casually in the open door frame to Fish Mooney's office. Butch Gilzean turned toward the stair and grinned.
"Morning, Oswald," he said affably as the younger man approached, "Weather getting any better out there?"
Oswald returned the greeting with a seemly nervous smile, "Unfortunately not, Mr. Gilzean."
"Too bad," Butch replied, "Better keep that umbrella of yours handy then..."
"Oh?" Oswald asked, "Will Ms. Mooney be going out? Will she need me to..."
Butch held up a hand and Oswald paused.
"She's not the one who'll need it, pal," Butch said, then jerked his head toward the office, "Go on in and Fish'll explain the job."
Oswald nodded and shifted passed the larger man. He glanced around toward Ms. Mooney's desk and found it occupied by his employer, who was studying an object on her desk.
Fish Mooney looked up as Oswald approached and smiled. The expression did not touch her eyes. The dim light glinted off her gold adornments which stylishly complimented her low cut dress. Her presence seemed to fill the room, though bodily she was shorter than him and slim. Everything about her seemed to have an edge, razor fine and barbed, an aura of something dangerous.
Oswald stopped a few feet from her desk, consciously shifting from foot to foot in a way he hoped displayed barely contained anxiety. Fish waved a hand toward a nearby chair.
"Oswald," she purred, and then added, "Please, sit."
He did as she commanded, for the instruction had not been given out of courtesy. He folded his hands in his lap and met her gaze. She studied him for a moment, her brow creasing in thought, before she spoke again.
"How are you this evening, my boy?" she asked. Oswald allowed a timid smile to form on his face.
"Very well..." he replied, "Thank you, Ms. Mooney. I came as soon as I could after you called..."
"Of course you did," Fish said, placing a red cloth over the object on her desk, "You are always so reliable. I value that in you. Some of the other boys around here can barely seem to read a clock, let alone be on time when I need them to be."
Oswald lowered his head and looked at his clasped hands, appearing bashfully pleased at the compliment.
"Which is why I called you here so early today," Fish continued, picking a red file folder from her desk and standing to walk around toward the younger man.
Oswald jumped to his feet as she neared, but she waved him down into his chair and then sat next to him. She held out the red folder and he took it, frowning.
"You know I have a particular love of antiquities," Fish explained and Oswald nodded. Ms. Mooney's office was decorated with several pieces of her personal art collection, all which had been acquired via black market trading. Items which would have been more at home in a museum rather than a nightclub in downtown Gotham.
Fish continued, "As it happens, I have had something come into my possession that I would like to learn more about. It is covered in very old writing... in a language that only two people in this city can translate. One is the curator of Gotham's Natural History museum, who not only detests private collectors...especially me... but, frankly, is as blind as a bat..."
Oswald frowned curiously. Ms. Mooney had never spoken to him about her collection before. He had never really thought on it beyond the aesthetic nature, assuming Ms. Mooney simply enjoyed getting her hands on things that were rare and valuable. He never would have guessed she had any academic interest in those items.
"The other..." she said, with an odd smile, "... works at Gotham City Public Library. She's helped me with translations before. Unfortunately... she was a student of the museum curator, shares some of his feelings about privately held antiques and can be a bit... stubborn..."
Fish sighed and stood from her seat, heading back around her desk. She placed light fingers on the red cloth covering the object on her desk. Oswald opened the file folder and scanned the first page of information. It contained a brief description of the object, including the strange language that Fish needed translated.
"A librarian?" he asked, and then shook his head, "If she's only a librarian, then why not just send someone with a bribe? Or one of your other men to... persuade her...?"
Fish sighed again, "As I said... she's stubborn. And no bribes or... other persuasions... have convinced her to assist me in his venture."
Oswald looked surprised and, for a rare moment, his expression matched what he was feeling. Fish Mooney had a small army of thugs whose main expertise was in bribing or physically "persuading" people do to what Fish wanted them to do. And she worked directly for Don Falcone. What made this librarian so immune to such tactics? If she would not take money, why had Fish's men not just thrown the librarian in the back of a van and dragged her here?
He closed the folder and asked, "Then what do you think I could do? If money or threats won't work..."
"Then..." Fish interrupted, "... I need you to try something else. Something... more subtle... to get her attention. If you can get her to look at the information in that folder... just one look... then I believe she will be very interested in examining this artifact."
Fish delicately tapped one sharpened finger nail against the shrouded object on her desk.
"What do you suggest?" Oswald asked. With a gold plated fountain pen, she wrote a name on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
Fish Mooney shrugged dismissively, "I'm sure you'll think of something," before adding with a dark grin, "I know you won't disappoint me."
Gotham City Public Library sat on the cusp of the city's financial and educational districts. It was an imposing structure, embellished by dozens of statues and gargoyles whose faces were stained from decades of exposure to the damp weather.
Oswald Cobblepot scaled the front steps, taking caution not to slip on the wet marble. The rain had stopped and his umbrella was hooked over his left wrist, ready for action should the sky open up again. He entered the main doors and, stepping out of the main flow of foot traffic, glanced at the people within his view.
It was only just after 2 pm so the patrons were mostly comprised of elderly citizens and chattering groups of school students. His intended target was in her mid-20s so he had hoped she would stick out in the library's current population.
He walked along the stacks glancing down each aisle. Each person who appeared to be restocking books or helping wayward students was far older than the woman he was looking for.
Oswald made his way to the rear help desk. The counter was covered with postings for library events, fund raisers and other similar nonsense. Beyond the desk were two open doors leading to back storage rooms.
The only librarian present was a woman with graying hair who was assisting an elderly patron search the card catalog.
"Excuse me..." Oswald said, "I was wondering if you could..."
The librarian gave him a critical glance over her glasses and interrupted, "Just a moment, young man."
Oswald put on a mask of good humor and smiled, "My apologies, ma'am, but I am in a bit of a hurry and..."
"Just a moment," the woman repeated before turning her back to him and walking toward the stacks with her other customer.
A brief surge of anger washed over him at being so curtly dismissed. He took a breath and put his hands on the counter. He could hear other staff moving books in the back storage rooms and clenched his hands into fists. He hated being ignored and he needed to find his target quickly so he would have time to convince her to come to the club that night.
Oswald noticed a small silver bell next to a yellowing, large computer monitor.
Next to the bell was a colorful sign reading, "Need something? Give us a ring!".
He rolled his eyes and tapped the bell three times.
"Just a minute!" a voice called from a back room. Oswald ground his teeth and scowled. He felt no need to maintain his passive facade when he was away from Mooney's club.
He turned to check whether or not the graying woman was returning when he heard someone walk out of one of the back rooms.
Oswald spun around, prepared to give this new arrival the full force of his displeasure, and found himself facing an auburn haired young woman. She placed a stack of books on the counter before speaking.
"Hi," she said with a quick grin, "Sorry... it's a bit crazy back there..."
Oswald opened his mouth to reply but could not find words, his anger utterly forgotten. The woman before him was dressed simply, a soft white blouse hanging loose over denim jeans. Her hair was pulled back, a few wisps framing her face and curling up toward her blue eyes. She was a stark contrast to the sharp dressed socialites Oswald catered to at the club and, for some reason, she caught him off guard.
"Oh...hi..." he said, stammering slightly.
When he did not say anything additional, the woman repeated with a bemused but friendly smile, "Hi. Can I help you?"
"What?" he said, then shook his head, jarring himself back to clarity, "Oh... yes. Yes, you can."
The woman nodded with a light chuckle, "Okay... What are you looking for?"
"Who," Oswald said, tilting his head with an apologetic shrug, "It's who. I'm not looking for a book, I'm actually trying to find one of the librarians. Claire Selton?"
The woman blinked with surprise, "Oh. Well, you found her then."
"You... you're..." Oswald said, "Oh... um... that's fortunate..."
"How can I help you, Mister...?" she asked curiously.
"Cobblepot," he said quickly, then extended his hand, "Oswald Cobblepot."
Claire Selton took his hand in return, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cobblepot."
"And you as well," he said with a smile, then added, still holding her hand, "I've come on behalf of my employer. Fish Mooney."
"Oh..." Selton said, the smile fading from her face as she released her grip and lowered her hand.
Oswald pulled the folder from beneath his coat as he spoke, "Yes. Ms. Mooney has acquired a very rare antique and was hoping you would help with its translation..."
He held the folder out to her but Selton made no move to take it. She sighed and leaned her hands against the counter that separated them.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cobblepot," she said, "But I can't take that."
"But... why...?" he asked before Selton continued.
"Please," she said, "Please... tell Ms. Mooney... I have no interest in whatever new thing she's picked up from the Underground criminals peddling stuff that should be in the museum..."
"Ms. Selton," Oswald interrupted, "I implore you to reconsider. Ms. Mooney feels you're the only one in Gotham who would assist with..."
"You know you're not the first one she's sent to me about this," Selton said her voice low but her eyes flashing with anger.
"No..." Oswald lied, then added in an apologetic tone, "I... I didn't realize that. Ms. Mooney only asked me to deliver this information in the hopes this antique might interest you."
Selton narrowed her eyes slightly, examining him for a moment, and then sighed, "Well, as I said, I'm sorry. But I'm not interested. Tell her the only way I'll be interested is if she sends it to the museum... as a donation to..."
"Donation?" a third voice suddenly interjected, "What donation is this?"
Both Oswald and Selton glanced to the side to find the graying haired librarian approach their location. The look in the older woman's eyes was something Oswald was familiar with. He read greed as easily as any of the books surrounding them. An idea took quick shape in his mind even as Selton began to reply.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Tretter," Selton said with a force smile, "Mr. Cobblepot was just..."
"Offering a donation for your children's fund raiser," he interrupted, then added with a wide smile, "On behalf of my employer... Fish Mooney. She saw one of your fliers and asked me to come down and inquire for more information."
He gestured to one of the bulletins posted on the help desk counter, another colorful affair to match the obnoxious bell sign. Selton gaped at him and then turned back toward the older woman.
"Mrs. Tretter, I don't think..." she began before the other librarian waved a hand at her to be quiet.
"What manner of donation was Ms. Mooney considering, Mr. Cobblepot?" she asked. Oswald continued to grin. He had read the older woman's eyes correctly. He noted Mrs. Tretter glancing over his well tailored suit, evidence that his claims may be true.
"Oh, a very substantial donation, I'm certain," he said, "Which is why she sent me down to speak to Ms. Selton about the details."
"Well, I'm sure I could just as easily assist with any transactions...," Mrs. Tretter said.
Oswald shook his head apologetically, ready to weave the threads of his tale into a fully formed snare.
"Ms. Mooney specifically requested I deal with Ms. Selton on this matter," he said, "You see, she would like to make the donation in dedication to the curator of the Natural History Museum. They're old friends and Ms. Selton was one of his students. But, I'll be sure to give her your name as the main contact for any financial transactions. After all, you are obviously very invested in the library's charitable work. But if you could just spare Ms. Selton for a few moments to indulge Ms. Mooney's request?"
Mrs. Tretter's face broke into a wide grin at this unexpected good fortune.
On the other hand, Selton's expression had shifted into an annoyed glare. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes locked on Oswald as the older librarian addressed her.
"Well," Mrs. Tretter said with breathy delight, turning toward the younger woman, "I'm sure we could spare you. Your shift is ending in an hour or so anyway, Claire. Why don't you take the rest of that time to discuss Ms. Mooney's offer with Mr. Cobblepot?"
Oswald smiled again and met Selton's gaze, his pleasure unaffected by her glare. He knew he held her in check at this stage of their game. Selton would either now need to deny a large donation to the library or meet with him and discuss his proposal.
Selton did not immediately respond. The younger woman obviously did not share her elder's interest in monetary gains or any bribe Ms. Mooney imparted would have been accepted long before now.
"Claire?" Mrs. Tretter said, curtness again edging her voice.
As Oswald watched, an odd smirk crossed Selton's lips. It was an expression he could not fully read and, for the briefest moment, his confidence in the result of his actions wavered. This small doubt was unnerving, though it did not show on his face.
Then, with a sigh, the younger woman acquiesced, "Sure. If you don't mind... then I guess Mr. Cobblepot and I have some things to talk about."
"Good," the older librarian said, sounding relieved, "I'll leave you to it then. And, please, Mr. Cobblepot, extend my personal thanks to Ms. Mooney. Her generosity will benefit many of Gotham's children."
"Of course, madam," Oswald replied, "And thank you for all your assistance with this matter. For the children."
As Mrs. Tretter walked away, Oswald gave Selton another triumphant smile and clasped his hands together.
"So," he asked, "Shall we adjourn to one of the back offices..."
"No," Selton said quickly, and Oswald's smile faded. For a moment, he wondered if she would redact her agreement.
She leaned against the counter toward him again and shook her head, "Not here. Enough people already overheard your generous offer and will be wanting details... and dollar amounts."
Selton bit her bottom lip in thought, "You know the diner down the block? Gracie's?"
Oswald nodded and Selton continued, "Meet me there in 20 minutes. Lunch rush is over so it shouldn't be crowded. Let them know you'll be meeting me and Grace will set you up with a rear booth."
"Why not right now?" he asked not bothering to mask his suspicion, "How do I know you will arrive when you say?"
It was Selton's turn to give him a gleeful smile, "I guess you'll just have to trust me."
Oswald scowled, opening his mouth to protest, when the young woman spoke again. She gestured toward the stacks of books she had been working with when he arrived.
"Just give me 20 minutes to get this stuff put away... and I'll be there," she said.
Her tone was conciliatory and, to his surprise, seemed genuine. Oswald nodded, giving her another smile as he patted the pocket holding his watch.
"20 minutes then," he agreed.
"Oh, and when you get there, put in an order for apple pie," she said giving him another quick grin, "I think you'll find dessert makes me a much more agreeable audience."