While keeping an eye on Sofia Falcone comings and goings, he had become aware of the orphanage. At first he had been simply outraged and in total disbelief – it was such a good cover for something potentially threatening to his empire.
But the sole heir to her father's name had assured him that this was not so, that she was simply a good samaritan. He wanted to believe that, in some small part. That's why he had allowed her to show him around its inner workings, how wholesome and thoroughly genuine of a place it was – not a simple stage set, decorated falsely.
Martin had been just an annoyance at first.
Oswald usually hated children – they were loud, noisy, irritating. He hated this one too but not as much, not as strongly, he would admit.
"Can I come?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Oswald gave up on fixing his tie and rolled his eyes. He was standing in his bedroom, getting ready for the charity dinner that was going to be held at the orphanage that night. He had accepted the invitation mostly to make sure that his loyalty from Falcone was genuine – which was something he doubted very much.
Never trust anyone in this town.
Emma was lying splayed out on his bed, like she owned it. She had just invited herself over for dinner – as she sometimes did these days. She always came alone – always left alone. He glanced at her over his shoulder and looked back at himself in the mirror, making another attempt to fix his tie. She was distracting him again – she was good at that. It hadn't occurred to him that he could simply send her on her merry way, to deny her entry to his home.
"It's a formal event – you don't like formal." he said.
She hummed thoughtfully and shrugged one shoulder in agreement. She rolled on the bed and let her head dip back over the edge of the bed, watching him upside down.
"True. But I like seeing you at them."
He didn't know what to do with that – this candid honesty of hers. She said these things without thinking, without pause. She said it in a way that made him feel like she wasn't expecting an answer, like she was used to the silence.
He shrugged awkwardly in reply and continued putting on his vest and coat as she watched.
There was still a strange tension between them – hovering between homicidal and something else, something that was getting too close for comfort. He stopped in the doorway before leaving, turning to look at her.
There were so many things he could have said – he could have ordered her to leave his house immidiatly and never come back. Instead he swallowed and looked uncertain, not really wanting to look at her.
"I suppose I'll see you around." he said, and then left.
The first part of the dinner had been normal fare for these types of events. Wealthy guests who sponsored or was thinking of sponsoring the orphanage mingled over drinks and hor d'oeuvres in a large ballroom. A few of the children had been invited as well, as they were going to perform a small song number later on. Martin was along with them, though he did not play as the other children did – something that Oswald had seen on a previous visit. Martin preferred to read in the adjoining library, away from noisy adults.
Just like Oswald had been like as a child.
"Enjoying yourself Mr. Cobblepot?"
Sofia approached him with an easy smile on her lips. She was wearing a dark velvet gown and was drawing many men's eyes. She was indeed a beautiful creature to look at.
"Yes, you certainly have outdone yourself." he said, half-irony and sincerity. Sofia continued to smile, either ignorant or ignoring the implications.
"Coming from you, that means a lot."
It only figured that things had to turn sour.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as you by now have surmised, there's been a change in the program. Tonight, we are proud to present the six merry Gothamites of Squatter's Row, and Martin, from the Falcone Home and School for Orphans!"
Cannibalism wasn't something entirely new to Oswald, that was not the shocking or worrying part. But the moment he saw Martin standing uncertainly next to Pyg, something started to twist in his gut. A gnawing fear that made him sick, that up-ending anger that followed that this person dared to threaten him, and those he had decided were worth living.
"Eat the pies, or the boy dies." Pyg hissed, holding up his cleaver to the boy's throat.
Oswald stared and snarled - wanted to claw the man's eyes out and feed them to him. He wanted to lock him in a small room and personally torture him to death. But all this he could not to at that moment, if he wanted the boy to live. Pyg had two armed men at the back of the dining room as well, preventing anyone from escaping.
"Eat, little penguin, eat." Pyg urged in dulcet tones.
He would have eaten lead if that's what it took – he knew that. He would also eat this pie. But before he could take a bite, a strange new sound reached his ears that made him pause. It was a familiar sound.
Someone panting – no, hyperventilating with emotion, with rage.
Not even a second later, there was a wet thudding noise – so loud it felt like his ears were ringing with it. Professor Pyg arched his back – an awful guttural sound coming out of his mouth in the process. He dropped the cleaver that he had held to Martin's throat, and fell forward heavily to the hardwood floor. By now it was apparent that he had been stabbed in the back with an axe – large and medieval-looking. The blade of it deeply embedded in his back.
In a somewhat detached way, Oswald recognized it from having seen it hanging above the fireplace in the next room.
Right behind Pyg's now dead body stood a young woman – her pale face spattered with blood.
Emma stood there, breathing heavily and staring down at Pyg. Oswald had seen her angry once before – but this was different, deeper. There was no end to it, it just kept going, her dark eyes boring holes into the bloody corpse at her feet.
For a moment the room was completely still – the guests around the table captivated and horrified by what they had just witnessed.
But then Martin gasped and bolted from the room, and Jim showed up wielding his badge. As he and Harvey manhandled the two henchmen, Oswald approached Emma with an urgency that even surprised himself.
He wasn't worried about Sofia getting her hand pierced straight through with a fork – he was more worried about the woman who had just killed their captor in cold blood. Because there was a look in her eyes that alarmed him.
She reached down and pulled out the axe with a sharp gesture – it made a cracking sound, like she was pulling it through bone. She raised it almost beautifully, the intention quite clear as she grazed the blade against the skin of Pyg's exposed neck.
Oswald swallowed – it was not that he minded the violence. But there was something about this picture that he didn't like.
"Emma? it's done now. It's done." He was standing next to her now, speaking quietly.
At first she didn't seem to hear him. She blinked, and then slowly lowered the axe before she dropped it – landing heavily on the floor. She was still looking at Pyg though, not taking her eyes off him for even a second. She breathed out, and he inched closer to her.
His left hand wavered next to hers, barely touching.