Chapter Thirty-Two: Csilla
Sylvia strode into the manor, unaffected when she saw that at least fifteen people inhabited the living room, along with blue ribbons and a banner that was planted on the wall that read 'Oswald Cobblepot For Mayor: 'Make Gotham Safe Again'.
Had she not been burdened with her own dissatisfaction of not finding Ivy, the scene itself might have been overwhelming.
Two or three other people were walking around, putting up more ribbons and balloons, talking amorously to one another about how Gotham would be a whole new city under the rule of their favorite candidate.
The normally empty elongated oak table was seated with six people, men and women who were answering their own corded phones, emphasizing the promises Oswald insisted on keeping in order to do what he vowed (making Gotham safe). The room was filled with ringing phones, the same loud chatter that would accompany it.
Upon her arrival, the couple of people that weren't busting ass on the hotline, noticed her and they met her with open arms.
"Mrs. Cobblepot, what do you think of these decorations?"
"—Mrs. Cobblepot, do you think these pins will do—?"
She minded them with a polite smile, but didn't offer them any suggestions or feedback on her end. She walked past them, and shut herself in the kitchen, leaned over the counter and rubbed her temples.
Was it bad that all she wanted to do right now was go to bed?
"How was your afternoon?"
Sylvia looked to her left from where the voice had spoken, and she peered at its owner with little enthusiasm.
It was Butch Gilzean.
"Long," she answered vaguely.
"Guessing the search for that girl didn't go well."
Sylvia straightened, placing a hand on the counter as she questioned, "How the hell do you know about that?"
"Penguin said you were looking for her." Butch answered, shrugging a shoulder. "Hopeless, in my opinion, but I like your determination."
"Get the fuck out of my kitchen, Butch. I don't feel like talking."
"Oh, man. That search didn't go well at all."
"Need I tell you twice?"
"No." Butch reassured. "You don't. I'm pretty sure if you really wanted to, you could just pick me up and throw me out of here. If you really, really wanted to, that is."
Sylvia glared at him, looking at him for a while before she rolled her eyes, and started towards the refrigerator. Half-haphazardly, she opened the door; the contents in its side shifted unceremoniously; rattling again when she closed the door after taking out a bottle of orange juice.
"Fine. If you don't want to get out of the kitchen, I will." Sylvia told him frankly, leaving him behind as she strode out to the patio where there was no one else around to which she was very grateful.
Still, to her discontent, Butch followed.
She took a seat in the nearest chair, minding the chilly air before reclining back. He stood next to her, almost like a body guard, or maybe someone who was waiting to ask a dreaded question with dangerous consequences…like he was waiting for her to have a moment before he relayed some bad news.
When she opened her eyes, he was still there.
"What do you want?" asked Sylvia unhappily.
"Nothing, really. Just wanted to see how you were doing."
"You can't tell from my behavior?"
"Well, I can see you're mad." Butch noted, looking her up and down. "And you might want to be alone, but I'm also thinking that you might need to talk something out."
"You're not exactly the ideal 'shoulder to cry on', Butchy."
"I can be, if you wanted."
"Well, sorry to tell you this, but I'm not in the mood to talk. Or cry. So, you have my permission to leave." Sylvia muttered, closing her eyes and shifting in her seat.
"You remind me of Fish a lot." Butch conveyed carefully. "I bet you don't get that often."
"I get it a lot more than you think," Sylvia sighed. "Is that why you're still here? Wanna talk about her?"
"If you want."
"What I want is to be alone."
"I'm actually curious," Butch continued (Sylvia sighed sharply), "Why you don't have Demetri around you."
Despite her frustration, he was right. Demetri wasn't around her, and that was odd, wasn't it.
"I'd normally be pissed by now," Sylvia said, sitting up, "but you have a point. Where is he?"
"I don't know." Butch returned. "Probably making your bed, or refurbishing the bathroom."
Hearing his tone, she sent him a look.
"Hey," he said defensively, "everyone knows he's been trying to kiss your ass since you let him live. I'm just making suggestions here."
Sylvia rolled her eyes, stood to her feet, and started through the mansion. While Butch had mentioned Demetri in a passive-aggressive way (was he low-key jealous?), he had a point. Demetri would normally be on her heels the moment she came home, trying to service her in any way that was humanly possible, and yet, his absence had only gone unnoticed, until now.
She willfully moved through the living room where the countless fans fanatically answered phone calls, but didn't see Demetri in sight. Or Oswald for that matter.
And she thought the worst for a brief second.
Both of them were gone. Not in the manor…then what…
Suddenly, her brief moment of panic subsided when she saw Oswald and Demetri coming down the stairs.
Demetri had a pen and notepad in his hands, writing down everything Oswald was telling him. As they reached the bottom step, Demetri repeated back the information, then momentarily paused when he and Oswald saw Sylvia, looking up at them.
"Do you want to meet with the school attendant as well?" Demetri asked, smiling politely at Sylvia before turning to Oswald dutifully.
"It's inevitable at this point, Mr. Byrd," Oswald said confidently. "Might as well get that underway as well."
"Yes, of course, sir. And when were you planning on meeting with Mr. James?"
"Tomorrow. Afternoon, preferably."
"And if Mr. James insists on the evening…? You know how he can be, Mr. Penguin. A man like him…"
"My evenings are preoccupied," Oswald told him coolly, glancing at Sylvia, who smiled in response. "I'll be unavailable."
"And if he insists…"
"I have dinner with Sylvia every evening," He emphasized. "My evenings are non-negotiable, Mr. Byrd."
"Of course, sir. Also, a press conference is allegedly going to be held by Mrs. James…" Demetri informed, glancing between the two Cobblepots. "She has information that might cripple your campaign" (he glanced at Oswald) "about Miss Sylvia's past."
"If Mrs. James has anything negative to say about me," Sylvia interjected coolly, "She's more than happy to say it to anyone she likes…provided that they actually listen to her." She crossed her arms, saying to Oswald, "I might just go to this interview myself."
"What happened to 'no longer expending any more energy', that sort of thing?" Oswald recalled.
"If she wants to make a fool of herself on television, in front of the media, that's her choice."
Demetri said uncertainly, "So should I call Gotham News and let them know that you'll be in attendance, or…?"
"When is it?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"No, then."
"No?" Oswald and Demetri repeated simultaneously.
"That's right," Sylvia returned. "I'll be going with you to this dinner with Aubrey James."
"He specified that he wants to meet with Mr. Penguin alone," Demetri reminded.
"Then he can meet him alone…with me."
Oswald sighed, "I'm more than capable of handling myself, Pigeon."
"I'm more than aware of that, but I still don't trust him." Sylvia said coolly. "Besides, anything he wants to say to you, he can say in front of me. If anything, he wants to try and intimidate you out of this election or blackmail, and if he wants to play games, I'm more than happy to play. Besides…I'm bored."
Oswald rolled his eyes, saying, "You have plenty to do here," and he gesticulated to the people surrounding the phone lines.
"Politics." Sylvia corrected. "I told you before: I don't do politics. I have no interest. But meeting with someone like Aubrey who wants to meet my husband alone—now see, that interests me."
"No harm will come to me," Oswald promised in an attempt to persuade her.
"You bet it won't." She reassured.
Demetri glanced between them uncertainly; seeing as there was no way to deflect Sylvia's overprotective nature to something else, Oswald told him that Sylvia would be in attendance, and therefore, her presence at the interview with Mrs. James would be one of absence, instead.
Demetri scribbled a few notes down, then asked, "Is there anything else you'd like me to do, Mr. Penguin?"
"No thanks. You've been more than helpful."
Demetri gave a short bow of his head and then left shortly to accomplish his other tasks. When he did, Sylvia looked after him, then grinned knowingly at Oswald, who gazed at her coolly.
"So you finally caved." Sylvia said sheepishly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Oswald took her hands and placed them on his chest, saying, "He was insistent."
"And you caved." She repeated, smirking. "I told you he just wants to be helpful."
"And so far, he has been."
"I'm happy you've started coming around."
Oswald kissed the back of her hand, and she beamed at him.
"How was your search?" He asked gently.
Sylvia's face fell.
"It was a fruitless endeavor," Oswald told her.
"But not a hopeless one," She reminded. She hugged Oswald around the middle, putting her head on his shoulder. "Ivy didn't really have anyone, you know. I was probably it. But no one has seen her. And it's been a long time."
"More than a few weeks."
"Long enough, then."
"So what now?" Oswald asked, kissing the top of her head.
"I don't know." Sylvia murmured, her voice muffled with her face in his suit. "I don't know what else to do."
"Perhaps there's nothing more you can do," He offered.
"Perhaps not."
A moment passed during which Oswald just held her, knowing that Sylvia was feeling helpless and not in such a way that she would like. With all the power, and resources she and Oswald had, there was still little chance in her finding the orphan, and that seemed to take out any hope she might have had left.
"Have you been thinking of names?" Sylvia asked, lifting her head so she could look up at him and meet his eyes.
Oswald smiled guiltily.
"Not really," he admitted. "The campaign has really stole my attention."
"I've thought of one." She uttered quietly. "But perhaps it's too early to tell."
Hearing that she had a name in mind, Oswald's eyes lit up with interest and curiosity. He wrapped his arms around her waist, moving her closer to him if that was possible.
"Tell me." He said softly.
"Well…you know, I've been thinking." She said gently. "Your mom was Hungarian. I felt it was only fitting to have our daughter's name be Hungarian as well."
Oswald smiled saying, "What is it?"
"Csilla."
"'Csilla'?"
"Mm-hmm. C-S-I-L-L-A. The 'C' is silent." Sylvia said shortly, grinning up at him. "Her middle name would be 'Trudy'. After your mom."
Oswald gazed at her, transfixed, nearly.
"I'm not a mind reader, Oz. You have to tell me. Do you like it?" Sylvia asked.
"I love it." Oswald whispered, grinning widely.
Sylvia gasped quietly when he suddenly kissed her, but she melted into it. Tender, loving kisses followed. When the kiss broke naturally, their lips still lingered, as though the idea of leaving the other's embrace would be too painful to bear.
"How long do these campaigns typically go on for?" Sylvia mumbled.
"A few months, if not longer." Oswald answered.
"Do these people leave at the end of the day?"
"They will, yes."
"Good. I don't care to have a few bodyguards prowling about, but having this many people in the manor is kinda creeping me out." Sylvia admitted. She kissed his cheek, and added, "Plus, I don't mind it so much but I'd like to have sex later on tonight and I don't think you'd be comfortable having all these people hear us upstairs."
Oswald grinned at her.
She was so shameless, but how he loved her for it.
Author's Note/Disclaimer: For everyone's awareness or curiosity, Csilla is pronounced as it would be in the name "Priscilla"…but it is not to be mistaken for a nickname in this story. I know the spelling can be pronounced other ways, but this is it :) Let me know if you do too. :)