Oswald Cobblepot liked me. He liked me a lot.
Well, perhaps a better way to phrase that was, Oswald Cobblepot liked the fact that my existence had raised him from scape goat status to an actual member of Fish's gang. Or at least, put him above someone in Mooney's strict-but-highly-perverted hierarchy, because being the bottom of the pecking order was better then being the rug the pecking order stands upon.
I was that rug, and the only thing Oswald Cobblepot liked more than me was using his superiority to abuse his one and only underlying. Which happened to also be me.
I figured this out on day one. Day one fucking sucked.
It had started with waking up in a place I didn't know, to the sight of a face I didn't recognize, so I could participate in a job I didn't want. Oswald was that face, and my sleeping quarters were one of the booths closest to the stage. My surroundings were composed mostly of dark, rich brown wood, with yellowed lights pouring from tear glass chandeliers, and the luxurious surface of the bar curved around a sundry of multicolored alchohalic beverages. Long legged black chairs with thin, tan ovals as seats lay scattered about like lone dancers, and in the very back, a rufescent colored, upraised wall stretched, uniform indents layed down in columns and rows. Vaguely, I recalled Mooney explaining that the outer tables were in constant danger of broken glass or bullets- drive-bys weren't uncommon in Gotham. I must have heeded her word, because the one thing I didn't have to suffer through upon waking up was sunlight.
Which was good, because everything else went to hell.
When I first woke, it was without warning, forced back into the world of the living, when only seconds ago, I was dreaming. I was asleep, and then I was not, and I couldn't think of what could've woken me, until it happened again. The first smack was a love tap, the second one was not. I felt my nerves seize painfully, my left shoulder stinging from the blow, and cried out, trying to shield my head from further assault. It didn't come, much to my unrelenting suspicion. When I felt it was safe to look up, I did, cautiously glaring at my surroundings with distrust oozing from every pore. I saw Oswald's face as I turned, twisted by something resembling glee, and only narrowly escaped another blow to the head by slithering onto the floor. Above me, something snapped, and Oswald swore, too softly for me to hear his exact words. He began to crouch down, and I responded by kicking him in the shin, hard enough to extract a low howl of pain as he stumbled over. I jumped to my feet, banging my neck on the tables edge in my haste to get to higher ground. Natural instinct told me to flee, but fear of Mooney's wrath was enough to motivate me to stay.
It didn't, however, stop me from stomping on Oswald's delicate hands, feeling the bones tremble beneath my foot as he whimpered in pain. Up close, he looked a lot smaller, a lot skinnier, and a lot more dangerous. His eyes were disconcerting for reasons I couldn't place, but the intelligence in them was unsurprising. Mooney certaintly didn't keep Cobblepot around for his physical superiority.
I was drawn from my thoughts by his movements beneath me, and watched as he tried to wriggle free. I edged the heel of my boot down his wrist, making him freeze, but before I could do any more damage, Mooney's voice broke over me like a frigid wave.
"Be careful with my little Penguin- he isn't your property to break." Reluctantly, I backed away, letting the skinny man climb to his feet. I noticed his umbrella had broken, which must have been the object he'd hit me with, and I sneered at him as he rubbed his arm. He was glaring at Fish with something akin to hatred. She didn't notice. Turning to Mooney, I allowed my gaze to fall slightly, attempting to look apologetic, despite the bitter taste of anger stuck in my throat.
"It won't happen again, so long as you keep your playthings in check." Mooney seemed to find this extremely amusing, laughing like I'd made a joke.
"Never tell me what I can or cannot do, doll. You'll live longer." Her words sent a nasty chill through my spine, and I flexed my fingers unhappily, shooting Oswald a dirty look while he was inspecting the damage done to his umbrella. I noticed that Butch hadn't come with her this time, which was more alarming then it was relieving. Her only other companion was a long, wiry haired man in a fedora whom I didn't know, dressed smartly but not expensively, and angled toward her in a way that made my scalp prickle. The air tasted like sexual tension and a spectacular degree of mistrust.
"Kyle, this is Harvey." I surveyed him suspiciously, because while his expression was relaxed and cheerful, his eyes felt hard in all the wrong places, and he didn't look like any criminal I'd ever met.
"Is he another one of your boy toys?" I asked, barely masking my distaste behind the tang of innocence. Fish laughed, Harvey did not.
"No, doll. He's a nice detective who's here to ask a few questions about the tragic disappearance of one of my waiters," her voice dripped with laughter and malice, and I raised my eyes at the man. So a dirty cop. I fucking hated dirty cops. There was a special place in hell for dirty cops, right next to child molesters and pedophiles. Maybe I didn't have a fantastic morale compass, but I hadn't gone into law enforcement either.
Harvey offered his hand, and I grudgingly allowed him to take it. When he leaned down to kiss it, I shuddered, pulling back with more than a little haste. He didn't seem to notice, but Fish did, and she shot me a warning look. Despite having spent the night at the bar, I wasn't really sure why I was here, other than I had no other place to go, and Mooney had promised to protect me, and care for my basic needs for as long as she had need of me. I hadn't a clue what that was, but I had the unshakeable suspicion that I wouldn't like it. Still, it was better then spending yet another day freezing my ass off huddled in the filthy alleyways of Gotham. The city wasn't just rotting from the inside; the actual infrastructure was crumbling, and the streets were poorly paved and cracked. The hidden pathways known to the homeless network were dangerous, and even the nicer parts of Gotham's underground were thick with sexual predators, and the kinda criminals that had lost the better part of their soul selling kids to the highest bidder. It wasn't worth the risk.
"Why don't you show Kyle the works, Hun?" Mooney directed the comment at Oswald, who's face had become deceivingly temperate; he nodded, smiling his crooked toothed smile, and waddled off, deeper into unknown territory. I cast an uneasy gaze at Fish, but she wasn't looking, deep in conversation with Harvey.
Taking a last, mournful glance at the outside world, I hurried after the smaller man, wondering miserably if this mistake would trump all others I had made.