4:00am, January 10; The Iceburg Lounge; ?

An hour after close, after all clean up had been done and the majority of employees had gone home, the floor staff - birds, chicks, and bartenders - gathered in the middle of the main floor, arrayed in a semi-circle before Penguin. Behind him stood four of his enforcers and Butch. He was smiling, chuckling.

"You just will not believe what I heard when I arrived tonight," he started, shaking his head and laughing like he'd heard the funniest joke. "Someone... one of the common rabble... decided to sit at my table."

His hand pressed against his chest, "What a joke, right? But that's not the punchline. The punchline is that he didn't get kicked out immediately. Oh, no! Apparently, two of you - and I haven't heard who yet, because this is just what I heard from Butch, who overheard it from some of the guests who were gossiping about it..."

Another shake of his head and a laugh, "So! Two of you... decided to play along. And serve him. He got drinks. And... I don't even know how this happened... but apparently the kitchen was reopened for him so he could have a... sandwich of all things. A basic, meat and cheese sandwich. Being served at the Iceburg Lounge."

A short pause to get out another chuckle.

"WE DON'T SERVE SANDWICHES HERE!" he screamed, red in the face and all pretenses dropped. A shuddering breath was sucked in, his nostrils flaring. "And we don't reopen the kitchens after they close! Seven is the cut off!"

His wild eyes looked over the assembled staff. Whatever was said here wouldn't go past them. It couldn't.

"The only," he seethed, "good thing to be said is that none of the guests thought this was a pair of you mocking me. You manged to save some face."

A hand raised with fingers pinched very close together, "Just a little. We'll write that on your graves. Did the bare minimum. Saved a little face."

He gave a wordless growl and snarled, grabbing the nearest chair from where it sat upside down on a table. The furniture was tossed by a leg to the side, it's crash and crack as it broke against the floor echoed through the room.

"So!" he grinned murderously at his staff, "Who's responsible?"

Wesker and Wren stepped forward as the rest of the staff stepped backwards. In unison, they accepted fault, "We are, sir."

Penguin's eyes narrowed and he stalked forward. He choose to push into Wesker's space first, looking up at the taller man with a fury that had broken lesser spirits. His voice when he spoke was the very definition of calm neutrality despite the anger he was clearly feeling, "I want to make sure I'm understanding this correctly. You authorized someone to sit at my table. In public. During the busiest night of the week. And you re-opened the kitchens to get him... a sandwich."

"Yes, sir," Wesker answered. He looked like he wanted to say more, but thought better of trying.

Penguin's gaze snapped to Wren and he moved to her, "And you... you served this man drinks and the meal that Mr. Wesker authorized?"

"I did, sir," she replied, also keeping her answer brief.

Penguin sucked his cheeks in, then opened his mouth in an audible pop. He turned around and walked a few feet from them, then spun on his heels and smiled. He shrugged his shoulders, "You're not dead yet because I want to know who this man was and where he is now. So I can go kill him personally."

"He's at home," Wren answered, rushing her words out before Wesker could speak. "I drove him home a little after one."

"You... you drove him home," Penguin asked, looking completely astounded. "And why, pray-tell, did you leave during your shift to drive this man home?"

"His car is in the shop until Monday and he missed the last bus of the night."

"I authorized her to do so, sir," Wesker added.

Penguin laughed again, leaning his hands on the table he'd cleared so violently moments before, "You authorized it. You do realize you are a bartender. Not even the head of staff. You are so... so low on the totem pole around here... What madness possessed you to think you could do any of that?"

Wesker gulped and cleared his throat, "You authorized me to, sir."

"I did?" He turned to share a look with Butch, who was just as baffled as he was, looking at Wesker like he'd grown a second head. Penguin lifted a hand, getting ready to signal his men to shoot.

"Yes, sir. And by the way," he rushed out, clearly trying not to sound desperate, "Mr. Nygma said he was very pleased with the quality of the food."

Penguin's hand stilled. The staff couldn't see his expression clearly from where they stood. They couldn't see anything except their boss standing there for several long moments before his hand slowly dropped. His head tilted to one side. Eyes sliding back over his shoulders, which had straightened just slightly.

"...he did, did he?"

Wesker gulped again and nodded sharply, "Yes, sir. He expressed disappointment that he had yet to find the time to come in during normal service hours so he could try some of the more elaborate dishes. But he was quite satisfied with the turkey and swiss with hot mustard on sourdough the kitchen put together for him on such short notice."

A short span of silence followed, and Penguin's eyes slid away, downward to his cuffs, as he let out a soft 'mmmm'. He shifted his weight and turned his body a fraction so he was more or less looking to Wren in the same manner he'd just looked at Wesker, "You said his car is in the shop?"

"Yes, sir. Until Monday."

"...did he... did he have a good time, do you think?" Penguin asked clearing his throat and finding non-existent wrinkles to try and fix by tugging on various parts of his suit, followed by smoothing certain sections along his arms out.

"No question, sir," she answered, a smile parting her lips as she took a tentative step forward. Butch straightening up stopped her from getting more than a couple inches. But she didn't lose her smile as she continued, "He was very sad to have left without the opportunity to see you again. I offered to pick him up tom- today, now... for lunch. If you'd prefer, I can call him and let him know I won't be able to, of-"

"No, that's fine," Penguin's head came up and he looked forward, keeping his back firmly to the staff gathered behind him. "No need to wake the gentleman up at this ungodly hour." He cleared his throat, "What time... did you say you'd be picking him up at?"

"One thirty, sir."

Another soft 'mmm' and a slow nod followed. After a second, he sniffed loudly and walked away. Butch watched him in obvious confusion, but followed a moment later, waving the enforcers to come with.

After they were gone, a collective breath was let out by the entirety of the gathered staff. Wesker let himself collapse slowly to the floor while Rockhopper rushed to Wren's side and grabbed her in a fierce hug. The rest milled about, talking to each other in hushed voices. A few moved to take care of the broken furniture.

None of them were quite sure what they had just witnessed.