Music blared from below as he supposes the glass walls shake outside his private lounge. His eyebrow goes up as he sees a girl enter. Black latex stockings, platform boots, a short pleather dress, Cobblepot seems to be hiring BDSM freaks. Or taunting his propensity for...he doesn't have time to linger on that thought as he looks up into dark grey eyes, short black hair, and pale skin of a young girl bending down and peering into his eyes, her hands resting on the couch back. Her facial piercings shine even in the dim lighting on her brow bone, the bridge of her nose, her septum, and her clavicle. Not to mention the multiple piercings in her ears and on the ones on her mouth.
Her voice is soft and soothing, not exactly what he expected, "Can I get you anything to drink doctor?" He smiles icily, his eyes briefly flicking down to her chest, "No, sit." A nervous frown briefly crosses over her face as she stands up tall again and he's surprised by the intricate makeup around her eyes. Someone who's essentially a glorified escort doesn't typically have such artistic propensities in his books. His voice is less cold as he adds, "On my lap, I want to look at you." She sits down on him and he bites back a very uncharacteristic purr.
He gently feels through her soft hair as he delicately tilts her chin with his other hand to look at her, his voice soft, "Then what's a young girl like you doing in a place like this? This isn't a place that would appreciate your hard work." Her expression turns blank as she replies decidedly deadpan, "I don't appreciate condescension, even if Oswald told me to be careful with you." He doesn't smile, but the amusement in his eyes says it all, "I wasn't talking about working with old men, I meant all the work you put into yourself. Tell me, is it out of vanity or for another purpose?"
The girl smiles at him, a tiny thing, but he's surprised by how warm it makes him feel, "I misjudged you, I'm sorry. If you don't mind, I'll answer your questions and assumptions in order. First off, I am 23, not underage as some delightful people have asked me." She sneers at the word delightful, and he has to agree with her judgement, "Secondly, I work here so I can afford both this city and my hobbies. Lastly, I do what I do on my face because it's calming to be forced to still your fear momentarily and channel all your focus so you can be precise, don't you agree?"
He's a little bit surprised by her tiny teasing smile at the end of her question, but pushes up his glasses and smiles wider, "Point well taken miss...?" She looks momentarily worried and swears under her breath, "Fuck I knew I forgot to say something when I came in here...Oswald is going to be pissed with me. My name is Korone Kontos, I'm pleased to meet you Dr. Crane."
He is intrigued by her admittedly, such a quick mind with some intriguing possibilities for how she works. It's obvious to him she's anxious, which as Scarecrow mutters in the back of his head means she's perfect for the fear toxin. He's admittedly surprised that his logical brain says she may have autism, it's reportedly rare in women. The thought of having a new test subject that would probably have to make him adjust his toxin formula intrigues him, but the lurch in his heart convinces him that it is a very bad idea. He's curious though, he wants to know if those two diagnoses are what others have given her, or is there something that his mind hasn't found yet?
His grip on her waist tightens momentarily, and he's mortified he showed such obvious emotion in front of her. "I'll say you remembered everything, how about that? That way the old man can't yell at you." She had seemed unbothered by the brief silence that passed between him before he responded and seemed unaffected by his hand on her waist tightening. Instead, she looks down at her feet, a little embarrassed, "I appreciate it, I'm sorry to ask a favor of you Dr. Crane when we've only met, but can I take these big boots off? I'll leave them somewhere so you don't have to look at them... and I guess I'm sorry for being a pretty lousy conversationalist." He notices how nervous she looks, her body quietly shaking. He doesn't like that; he narrows his eyes at the pit of writhing people beneath him. He thinks he should talk to Oswald about scaring the girls that serve him, especially the pretty ones.
His voice is soft as he replies, taking his arm from her waist, "I'll take them off for you. You can put them by the bar if you like. It's hard to be good company when something hurts." She nods and his hand briefly brushes against the brief gap of thigh he can touch. The skin is soft, helped by the fact her faint leg hair is unshaved. He holds back another shudder and carefully helps her out of her boots. He marvels as she walks over to the bar at how short she really is. The brief flash of black lace as she gracefully puts her boots somewhere not obvious makes his pupils dilate and he exhales, tensing up so he doesn't make things worse. After all, he thinks he's found a cute little crow for himself.