Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin

Subject Facts

Full Name: Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot
Codename: The Penguin
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Archetype: Rogue
Aliases: N/A
Marital Status: Single
Affiliation: None

Subject Attributes

Meta-Human Abilities: N/A

Standard Abilities:
-Avian Autocracy- Oswald Cobblepot is the undisputed king of Gotham City. The Joker may be the Clown Prince of Crime, and Batman the Dark Knight Defender, but it is only the Penguin whom ultimately reigns supreme. His fiefdom, the Gotham underworld, trembles in trepidation at even the thought of crossing the old bird's path. Cobblepot boasts the largest and most magnanimous criminal empire in the city, with only Black Mask and Two-Face to rival his power. He is the established order in Gotham, ruling the land with an iron fist. It is only the lunatics of Arkham and the unhinged vigilantes across the city who dare stand against him.

-Flock Together- The Penguin and his avian allies have a very peculiar relationship. Miraculously, this precarious prince of pigeons has some intellectual link between himself and birds of all shapes and sizes. A bird whisperer of sorts. From vultures to condors to even cassowaries, the Penguin is able to craft and unyielding bond of loyalty between himself and these birds. As an aside, Cobblepot boasts quite a collection of rare and endangered birds. He adores them, far more than the average human.

-Buccaneer Bird of Business- A criminal mastermind and dutiful tactician, Penguin can make virtually any situation fall into his favor. An expert at playing the hand he's dealt, Cobblepot is one of the few villains to ever evolve and learn from his mistakes. He applies himself aptly to any scheme or ambition he conjures up, garnishing him quite the selection of talents. Most recently, these pursuits include entrepreneurship and political maneuvering. Arguably the most affluential black market dealer in the world, but most certainly the best in Gotham, Penguin is a known swindle but guarantees a level of discrepancy unheard of amongst the Underworld. He has contacts all around the world, from Paris to Peru, and is known to flock along with them best and brightest of even high society.

-Vicious Bird of Prey- In spite of his blatant obesity and overall questionable tactics, the Penguin is actually a more than capable combatant. He is an expert fencer, with preferred weapon being a rather sharp umbrella. Even when disarmed, Cobblepot is nothing to sneeze at. He knows a fair amount of Judo and is no stranger to fighting rather.... Viciously... Arguably feral, in fact. Penguin is more than willing to use his bare teeth as a weapon. He is especially weaselly and ferocious whenever his life is on the line.

-Decadent Dandy- Despite his savage grotesquery (in both appearance and cruelty as a mafioso), Oswald Cobblepot is quite the charismatic chap. Quite the snappy dresser, and all in all an intelligent gentleman of crime. His sultry voice and poetic monologues allow him to excel in fields of politics and overall rabble rousing.


Paraphernalia:
-Umbrella Assortment- The Penguin's signature weapon, the umbrella is far mightier than the sword! (Especially when that umbrella is armed with four dozen .388 millimeter rounds fired at nine hundred miles per second). While most are mere fashion statements, Penguin is armed to the teeth with these trick umbrellas which include, but are not limited to:
----Rifle Umbrellas
----Machine Gun Umbrellas
----Poison Gas Umbrellas
----Flamethrower Umbrellas
----Sword Umbrellas
----Shiv Umbrellas
----Helicopter Umbrellas
----Umbrella Gliders
----Acid Umbrellas
----And many more

-Ornithological Enclave- The birds. His babies, his minions, his people. Cobblepot has weaponized these creatures on many occasions. From carrier pigeons, to the poison tips of hummingbirds, to emperor penguins armed with rockets, the barbaric baron of birds bolsters quite an arsenal of the avian variety.

-Firearm Fowl- Penguin is passionate about a great deal of things. Opera, Art, Birds, Clothing, Poetry, but perhaps the most profitable of his passions is firearms. An unrivaled arms dealer for the black market, Penguin only uses the best. Military grade weapons and armaments from an unknown origin. Although he prefers the umbrella motif, and the classical mobster Tommy, he and his goons are more than willing to weild top of the notch military guns and ammo.

Subject Weaknesses:
-Pompous Penguin Pariah-- The Penguin. There is a reason why Oswald got that name. With that beaked nose, plumped belly, goofy walk and grotesque flipper hands, he is well and truly a circus freak. Struggling to fit in with both high society and the criminal underbelly, the Penguin finds himself more often than not, cast aside by all but his little birdies.

-Cold Blooded Killer- Twisted and foul, Oswald Cobblepot is a ruthless mobster, known far and wide as a tyrant. He's feared by most all, and for good reason. The punishment for failure is more often than not, worse than the crime. Known for his ruthlessness and snide back alley deals, the Penguin is not at all trustworthy.

-Bat in his Belfry- The relationship between the Batman and the Penguin is one of mutual respect and disdain. So long as Cobblepot keeps his beak clean and acts as an occasional informant for the Dark a Knight, Batman steers clear of Cobblepot's business. Should the fowl feathered fiend step out of line, however; Batman will always be there. Always. That being said, Oswald is forced to work through shady back alley deals and legal loopholes in order to avoid a one-way ticket to Blackgate.

-Flightless & Fleeting- Oswald Cobblepot is no superman. In fact, he's quite the opposite. A stout and defenseless penguin-man with very mortal limitations. He could go toe-to-toe with the odd reckless vigilante, but when it comes down to things, he is no meta-human. One on one with these creeps in costumes? Roast bird is usually on the menu.

-Complexe Napoléon- Pompous and proud, overconfidence has been Oswald's demise on several occasions. He is known to taunt, flaunt, and otherwise underestimate his prey, often leading to the tables turning in their favor.

-A Fowl's Fear- Penguin is horrified at the prospect of death and losing all that he's accomplished. He wants his name to live on for centuries. To him, to be forgotten and nobody is a fate worse than death. That being said, as aforementioned above, he is quite terrified of death. He'll do anything to avoid dying, and is far from above groveling for his own life.

-Avian's Avarice- Cobblepot, the selfish animal that he is, is quite easily susceptible to very human sins. Specifically greed, lust, wrath, pride, and gluttony. These less than ideal traits have cemented him is a lonely, pathetic, and twisted little creature.

Subject History

"My name is Jimmy, but my friends just call me the hideous penguin-boy" - Tim Burton

For centuries, the Cobblepot name stood as a pillar for the Gotham community. Wealthy, prominent, and affluential since the city's very founding. Yet, it did not last. A century or so the Cobblepot fortune faltered, and their name nearly forgotten. In the days of Tucker and Miranda Cobblepot, that vast wealth and influence had all but shriveled up. They lived a sheltered life. Far from poor, in fact. More, upper middle class then the elite that family had grown accustom. That was when young Oswald was born.

In the waning years of the Cobblepot legacy, there birthed.... A penguin.... Not the birth of a beautiful little baby boy, with five chubby finger digits... It was the birth of a penguin. Hideous, malformed, and fat. With a hooked nose and flippers for fingers. So hideous was it, that old Tucker Cobblepot dropped it in disgust and horror. Tucker thought it was hideous... Grotesque and foul. He didn't want it. But not Miranda... Loving and motherly, she felt blessed. She found an inner beauty that none before nor after could see. Her beautiful baby Oswald.

The Cobblepot family grew. With Tucker, Miranda, Jason, Robert, William, and Oswald. Tucker despised young Oswald, and Oswald's sibling's followed in their father's footsteps. While his mother coddled him with love and adoration, his siblings and father bullied him relentlessly. Things would only take a turn for the worse when young Oswald hit that ripe age for schooling.... It is astounding just how cruel children can be. "Penguin" they'd call him. "Big fat ostrich" or "hideous penguin boy", he was hit with all manner of bird related insults and taunts. There were times when his arms and legs were tied to the monkey bars to give the illusion of flight. Then other times when children would barge in while he was on the toilet and squawk "Penguin's laying an egg!"

The little bird's only respite was a sanctuary of his own design. An aviary where young Oswald housed a flock of pigeons. They were kind, and loving, and never ran away from him. They became his only friends. After an onslaught of bullying and harassment from his peers and even his own siblings, these little birds and their nests and their children provided a sort of peace. A tranquility he'd otherwise never know. But, in an ultimate act of cruelty, Oswald's brother' sand his peers ransacked the aviary. They smashed it to bits and shattered the eggs. The poor defenseless children, his friends and his true family. Horrified and heartbroken, Oswald swore revenge. No longer would he be treated like dirt. No longer would he be bullied and beaten. No longer would he be pathetic and defenseless. From that point on, Cobblepot embraced the moniker of Penguin as a vicious and ruthless bird of prey. His revenge was swift and ruthless. Jason, Robert, and William all mysteriously passed away, leaving Oswald as sole heir to his family's fortune.

Purely by coincidence, and not by foul play, Tucker was the next to pass. Oswald's father died of pneumonia out in the pouring rain. His mother, Miranda, mortified at the death of all but little Oswald became far more overbearing, and forced young Oswald to carry an umbrella no matter where he went. This, as you can imagine, have his bullies more ammunition against him. Years later, Miranda still stricken with grief went catatonic and passed away. Oswald was devastated, but determined to honor her legacy, bring glory to his name and be somebody in that wretched and damnable city.

Crime fit Oswald like a glove. There was a certain glitz and glamour to seeing his name in the local papers, The Penguin and his rambunctious crew of rapscallions, squaring off against the dark knight caped crusader of Gotham. There was something poetic in it all, a story for the centuries. At the time, Oswald had joined up with Salvatore Moroni and the Moroni crime family as an art thief. The Penguin was Moroni's golden goose, a lucrative asset and a funny little man. Don Moroni was charmed by the cubby creep, he was funny, he was strange, but nothing more than an ugly goon. So he thought. No one makes a patsy out of Penguin! Cobblepot played the crime boss like a fiddle, and in quite the miraculous coup d'etat, usurped Moroni's position as head of the gang and seizing a significant portion of his operations.

Cobblepot was now a major player in the Gotham underground, with Moroni left only a fraction of the made man he once was. But he was not yet King, nay he was not yet emperor, for Gotham's Roman Empire was still standing. The Falcone Crime Family ruled Gotham with an iron fist. Forming a coalition with Harvey "Two-Face", and several other supervillains and gangsters, the Penguin swore a crusade against the Roman Empire. It was a gang war like Gotham had never known, and nearly ripped the whole city asunder. Amidst the conflict, Penguin and a substantial number of his cohorts were arrested in a firefight with the remainder of Moroni's forces led by Tony Zucco. It was a blow to the morale, but ultimately Penguin landed on top. Not quite fully ingratiated into the life of organized crime, Penguin continued several heists, one of which included a lethal drug developed by Ra's Al Ghul, which he attempted to use as blackmail leverage against Gotham. Once more, his schemes were thwarted by the Batman.

Things for Penguin got a tad muddy at that point. He struggled to establish himself more than what he had already seized. He had several spit relationships, numerous failed heists, and even attempted to go straight once. Following these events, Oswald was then forced to enlist for a mission into the suicide squad. Arguably the lowest point in his career. After one mission, Penguin deemed such a life beneath him. Oswald felt this sudden longing for a quiet, posh and successful career. Something he would not experience for some time to come.

Following this, Penguin was sent back to Blackgate. An insult for which he was less than amused. It was here that Oswald would come to know Mortimer Kadaver. They ultimately conspired together, and formed an alliance to break out. With Penguin faking his own death and ultimately releasing Kadaver as well, who was roped into Penguin's gang. They went on quite the crime spree in Gotham before Oswald stabbed him and the back and both were taken out by the Bat. That was the final straw. Day after day, year after year, always Batman... He was always there. Watching and waiting. Every heist, foiled by a cowled kook and cad. The Prince of pigeons had finally had enough. That posh and cozy life Oswald so desperately desired would finally be in his grasp.

The foul feathered fowl feigned reformation and pretended to absolve and make amends for his past transgressions. Establishing a glamorous new nightclub known as the Iceberg Lounge and purporting the position of a legitimate man of business, class, and culture. This of course was a farce, for beneath the lounge's glitz and glamor lies a foundation of lies. In reality, it is all front for the Penguin's illicit operations throughout the city. This was Pax Penguina! The golden age of peace and prosperity for a proper Gentleman of Crime!

His empire flourished, with a finger in just about every metaphorical pie in Gotham. Sex trafficking, arms dealing, drug smuggling, a jack of all trades and a mastermind in every aspect. Batman was wary of the Penguin's enterprises and ambitions, but instead chose tolerate this illicit affairs in exchange for brokering info. Oswald would hear rumors and whispers of Underworld goings on, and would relay that information to the Batman in exchange for leniency. This coalition proved fruitful, and both enemies have since formed a certain respect for one another. Penguin even saved the Caped Crusader from certain death on a few occasions, such as when the crime syndicate known simply as "The Body" was going on a rampage through Gotham.

The power vacuum left from the events and involvement of the Falcone's, Penguin, and other mobsters inevitably lead to the break out of another war in gangland Gotham City. The Penguin was no longer on the front lines. In fact, he was not even directly involved in the whole sordid affair. Instead, opting to profit off the event in a typical Cobblepot fashion. Penguin had swindled a lofty cache of military grade and experimental weapons from the U.S. Navy and distributed them across all angles, from major mafiosos, to gang-bangers, to supervillain ilk such as Firefly and the Electrocutioner. Despite a few hiccups along the way, these events ultimately cemented Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot as the true king of Gotham.

Despite his new clean record, the Penguin is a participant at the battle of Metropolis along with other members of the Secret Society of Super-Villains. He mostly kept his beak clean and laid low after these events for fear of retaliation from either the Batman or his cantankerous cohorts. During a brief trip away from Gotham, a rival gangster by the name of Warren White felt ambitious. From the confines of Arkham Asylum, Warren, better known as "Great White Shark" orchestrated an assassination of several of Penguin's associates and framed the hits on Harvey "Two-Face". These included The Ventriloquist and Scarface, KGBeast, Magpie, and Orca. Batman swept up the mess, but a score has yet to be settled.

A few other affairs around this time includes a few brief scuffles with Intergang, and motioning Edward Nygma, also known as "The Riddler" towards a more lucrative and legal lifestyle for a more ultimate victory against the Dark Knight detective. It was soon after that Batman mysteriously disappeared. Without the Caped Crusader's support, Penguin begins losing these scuffles with Intergang. This costed Oswald his crown as king of Gotham. Furious, Penguin swore revenge. Allying himself with Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, Cobblepot and Tetch were able to hypnotize the second Batman (a phony who was in fact one of the original's sidekicks) into becoming an enforcer for Penguin. With this new tool, Cobblepot goes on the offense, seiging rival gangster Jeremiah Arkham, Black Mask II, and the vigilante group known as the Birds of Prey. The second Batman had broken free, and Cobblepot was plunged into a scuffle against Black Mask and Intergang. Penguin had sent the Riddler Black Mask's way, and Black Mask sent Firefly to Penguin. Oswald was nearly burnt to a crisp before Catwoman cut in and fought Firefly off. Currently, the Penguin reigns once more as the undisputed king of Gotham.

Subject Interview

This was quite the spot of bother. There is a holy trinity in Gotham of people you don't screw over. Harvey "Two-Face"... With him, there was a fifty-fifty chance of either exoneration or condemnation. The Joker... Well, that maniac would gut you for giggles. But... Penguin? You hear stories about that twisted freak. He was like a twisted cacophony of a Bond villain and psycho murderer. Michael Myers meets blofeld. Perhaps with a bit of Mengele peppered in for spice. Penguin was known for finding new and horrible means of punishment. Often with an ironic twist... Like that loan shark who refused to give Cobblepot his cut? Poor chap got fed to a great white. There's always a bigger fish! Then that snitch who had his tongue put into a blender... Poor bastard was forced to guzzle down that whole fleshy smoothie... And who could forget the thief Cobblepot had crucified by the fingers? A nail in each chubby digit, suspended in the air only by five finger tips. What a gruesome sight it was when gravity ripped his hand asunder. The Penguin found some deranged poetry in each punishment. Each one told a story! "God... I don't wanna be just another one of his urban legends...."

The Iceberg Lounge was like a fortress. A castle for the unrivaled king of Gotham. The city's grand and glorious nobility danced and pranced about the dining hall with an opulent splendor. All the while soldiers, armed to the teeth with only the best and boisterous, marched through hallways and corridors of the frigid and frozen palace. Cobblepot claimed it was for the protection of his guests. In defense of all the socialites and celebrities dancing badly in the dining hall. "No armed robberies on my watch!" He'd claim. But anyone with half a brain cell knew what they were really for.

It wasn't a comforting sight... All those goons and guards. Sneering down at him, glaring at him, armed and dangerous, and knowing full-well whatever fate awaited him was well and truly grim. Up the stairs and down the hall, guided by one Cobblepot's femme fatales. She was a beautiful blonde haired girl in a rather skimpy, almost swimsuit-esque attire. With fishnet leggings, a collarless bow-tie, and bowler hat she marched smugly up the stairs and around the corner. Past shimmering aquarium walls, and finally all the way to a towering pair of mahogany doors. The office of Oswald Cobblepot... The throne room... You could just faintly hear him squawking on the other side of the doors. He sounded angry... Really angry... "-I am a criminal of class! Of cunning! I'll have you know-"

The henchgirl soon slithered into Penguin's office with utmost discretion. Stealthy, like a ninja. She dared not disturb her master. He couldn't see inside the obvious. Not without an invitation from Penguin that is. It was nerve racking. He knew this was the end... He had already kissed his mother goodbye, but had never explained why. Suddenly Penguin chirped in the background with an irritated growl. "-Oh... Hello? Hello!? Bah!" There was a slam and faint ding. Like a bell, delicate and sweet. Penguin gave a grumble from the background. Then, miraculously, there chirped a chipper cheer. "Ah, Jay! My dainty dove, aren't you a delight for the dreary?" Penguin sounded... So... Kind... Almost jolly. Perhaps the old bird wouldn't be so bad after all? That slight glimmer of hope suddenly trickled down his spine as the soothing and sultry voice of Oswald Cobblepot waded through his ears like water. "Would you believe that gauche guttersnipe of glass hung up on me?" Who would be so bold? Hang up on Penguin? That's a death wish.... A slow cooked suicide! There was a slight chirp, as if a very silently conversation were suddenly carried out, then came the invitation. "Mm? Oh. Yes, ergh, send him in, please!"

Jay, the henchgirl, beckoned him into the Penguin's domain. The nest. The roost. The throne room. Warmly welcomed by a palpable smog of cigarette smoke. So murky was that air, that you could cut the haze with a knife. It was freezing. Beyond freezing. It had to be twenty degrees in there... Maybe even less. He coughed, and he wasn't sure if it was his air he saw dancing in the wind, or rather, that cloudy and obnoxious smoke from the Penguin's cigarette.

The entire room was an impressive sight to behold. A hexagonal pyramid, very large and suspiciously reminiscent to a bird cage. The walls were an intricate dark wood carving, and floors were posh velvet rug of elaborate iconography. There were two massive windows on opposing sides of the room, yet they offered little in terms of light. The cozy maroon drapes blotted out much of tre sunlight, making it all look so very drab and dreary. There were a few bookshelves and some... Bizarre decorations. A human skull, some ornate egg, porcelain knickknacks, and a few paintings of birds. At the center of the room was a beautiful mahogany desk, and above that, a very... Hideous portrait. It was of Oswald Cobblepot. It was scratchy and dark. With charred blotches of black and peeling bits of purple. His eyes were black, and every detail evoked the sensation of either rust or dried blood. The painting was signed: Oswald C. Cobblepot. Well that just about explains it all then.

The timid figure crept in, and saw, not The Penguin, but six penguins. Living, breathing birds waddling about the massive office with aimless intent. They squawked and honked then went about their merry way. Penguin, short and absurdly fat, was behind his desk. Standing beside his chair, and facing away from his guest. With that suit, and his decrepit figure, and his overall round shape, he didn't look human. It was like staring at large black boulder. The timid goon could faintly make out the Penguin's long and stringy black hair, like strands of greasy black spaghetti dangling over his shoulders. There was plump arm stretched out with a malformed hand, reaching out to a perched bird. A proud and grogeous peacock, with shimmering blue quills, and long and glistening green tail sheathed together and nestled cozily beneath it's perch. It was lovingly pecking into the Penguin's pals, munching on a few bird seeds and other healthy grains. Cobblepot gave a sudden turn, his monocle casting a sudden blinding light. An ominous glare, like the magnanimous glow of an omniscient force. "Why hello, dear boy!"

Cobblepot paid little mind to the hapless henchman to his rear. Instead allowing his pet to finish her meal. The figure, in a pinstriped suit, stepped out from the shadows anxiously fiddling with his own fedora. "He-Hello M-Mister C-Cobblepot...." The goon stuttered and fumbled over his own words. Fear oozing out of every syllable like a noxious venom. One of the short and plump little penguin birds in the room waddled it's way over to the thug, viciously snapping at his hungers for the intrusion. "Wenk!" It hissed, and the goon squealed. This inane blubbering was already giving Cobblepot a headache... But, for the sake of pleasantries "Please. Have a seat." The Penguin's flipper guided the goon's attention towards a posh and cozy wooden chair at the front of his desk. Reluctantly, the young man took a seat. One particularly mean penguin gave a waddling sprint towards the goon and gave a vindictive snap.

Between the quaint chirps of the peacock guzzling down bird seeds, one could just faintly hear the Penguin, grunting and groaning like an animal. Squealing, and seemingly whispering sweet nothings to the bird. It was guttural and grotesque, like the grunts and wheezes of some Neanderthal caveman or the squeals of a fat and dying pig. The wait was agonizing. What was Penguin going to do? Was Penguin angry? Was Penguin happy? Was this some form of torture or intimidation. The Penguin offered no answer. Not a single word. Only those guttural croaks and grunts like an ugly quacking old duck.

The last of the bird seeds were guzzled down, and Penguin made slow and awkward turn. With tiny baby steps spinning the avian autocrat in tiny fractions. The timid thug could at long last cast a gaze upon Oswald Cobblepot and all of his hideousness. With dark eyes. Darker than you could possibly imagine. Like a swirling vortex of nothingness screaming naught but displeasure. They glared nothing but a vile contempt. There was a monocle nestled cozily between the ridge of his nose, and the brow of his right most eye. It was gold with thick and elaborate embroidery on the side. A golden chain dangling from the glass all the way to pocket square on his coat. His nose was hooked and pale, with a few faint freckles speckled across the ridge. His lips were pursed, stern, and utterly unhappy with a pronounced Cupid's bow. Most of all, they were black as the night sky. Perhaps it was lipstick, perhaps it was a natural grotesquery, either way they delicately housed a long and beautiful black cigarette holder, with a still lit cigarette at the tip.

Cobblepot's hair was frizzled long and black. Draping over his shoulders and apparel like zig-zagging charred spaghetti strands. Above it all was a large black top hat with a purple rim, and nestled in that rim was a long green quill. Cobblepot wore a silk black tailcoat tuxedo with an elaborate floral design. Coats tails dragged eloquently across the floor with each wobbly step the Penguin took, draped behind him almost like a cape. Beneath that was a pristine white vest with some elaborate glittery black embroidering. Beneath that was a shimmering purple collared button up, with a similarly textured floofy purple ascot around the fat of his neck. The ascot had an emerald at the center of it, and his suit's left most pocket square housed and purple handkerchief. Cobblepot's trousers were purple with thin black vertical lines, and his shoes were absurdly long, like clown shoes, they dragged along the floor with each waddling tiny step he took. Completing his overall attire was a thin black umbrella, which Oswald heavily leaned upon with each step as if it were a cane, and dead black fox draped around his neck shoulders. A soft and posh fur scarf which did the impossible and made him appear larger in girth.

The Penguin waddled his way over with very slow and deliberate steps. There'd be a tap of his umbrella, followed by a limping step. Tap. Step. Tap. Step. Tap. Step. It continued on very slowly until he reached that beautiful mahogany desk. There was an umbrella holder beside his chair with four other umbrellas sheathed within it. Cobblepot briefly admired the one in his hand before allowing it to join it's compatriots. Finally, those shifty clever eyes casted a divine but all too unholy gaze towards the goon. For the briefest moment, Oswald towered over the other figure. It was the only time he could ever loom over another. With one condescending glare, Cobblepot took a seat.

There was a large and red antique rotary phone between them. Penguin delicately mudged it aside with a leathery gloved flipper. It was indeed a flipper. There was a thumb, and a pointer finger, everything else must have been conjoined beneath a sharp bit of leather. The frightened figure struggled to not stare at foul feathered freak's deformed fingers. An awkward silence blanketed the room. With Oswald studying the creature before him, and said creature making reluctant and uncomfortable eye contact. The silence was broken once Cobblepot's femme fatale returned with a tray of tea clattering between fingers. "A little bird tells me that you're in quite the spot of bother." Oswald at last spoke up, and the blonde girl perked proudly. "L-Listen! M-Mr. Cobblepot! I-I-I can get your money back! Honest! I-I-" The henchperson at first started blubbering, but Oswald cut in. With a delicate hand vainly attempting to give one shooting wave. "Oh, no-no-no-no-no! Shh, shh, shh, shh" Jay, the aforementioned femme fatale of the Iceberg Lounge (one of three, actually) placed the tea set between Oswald and the henchperson. "But-But the Bat came! I couldn't get out fast enough! I-" The goon continued blubbering between Penguin's own words, but Oswald would have none of it. You do not interrupt the Penguin. With a simple yet forceful raise of the hand, Cobblepot silenced the frantic and frightened figure before him. "Now." Penguin began with a disinterested ire. "It would be terribly imprudent of me not to take advantage of this... Quagmire." There were two empty teacups on a platter. One for the henchperson, and the other for Penguin. Penguin poured tea into his cup amidst his monologue. "To me, what you've lost is mere pocket change." Penguin plopped two cubes of sugar into his drink and delicately stirred with a teaspoon. "But, I'm afraid that circumstances have left this precarious predicament we are both in to be a mere matter of principle. My good man, it is nothing more, and nothing less!" Penguin clinked the teaspoon against the rim of his cup, and set it aside. He let his words sing in with quiet sip of his tea.

"God... Ar-Are you gonna off me?" Of course it would seem that way. But the Penguin was a fair and tolerant monarch. A stern and hard lord, but not one without mercy. Oswald chuckled to himself at the prospect. His reputation, that unruly? Penguin found a very sick humor in the prospect. "Oh-ho-ho! Good sir, I may be maniacal, but I am not without mercy!"

"Nay, a favor is all I ask." The gentleman of crime took a second well-deserved sip of his tea, than quietly placed it upon his platter. "Wh-What sorta favor?" Penguin pulled a manila envelop from his desk and slid it towards the goon. He steepled his flippers and allowed the thug a moment to read the enclosed documents inside. "Can it be done?" Was all he asked. "Ye-Ye! I can do this! Thank you for this Mr. Cobblepot!" Penguin narrowed his eyes, then motioned his head towards the door as if it were a sign of dismissal. A cascade of hope and relief crashed against the henchperson. He stood, smiling jovially, and turned to leave. "Oh, and before you go... What was it you said about not running fast enough?"

"Wha-" He didn't even have time to turn. It all happened so suddenly. So randomly. He couldn't fathom it.

*BANG*

A searing blast of pain, and his legs gave out. He screamed, clenching his teeth in agony. He could feel his legs and the stabbing throbbing agony but he could not use them. The henchperson turned his head faintly, and there was Penguin. Penguin with a crooked evil smile. Penguin standing their with a shotgun clasped between his flippers. That crooked grin exposed a mangled and horrific line of teeth, sharp and crooked and ugly oily green texture. He wheezed out a crooked and evil laugh to match that crooked and evil smile, coughing out some grotesque and green vestigial juices unto his lips. That same oily green stomach bile which laced his snarling fangs. "Oh-ho-ho! Wenk-henk-heh-heh-hah!!!" The Penguin coughed and wheezed painfully between each maniacal cackle. The penguin birds all waddled and marched towards the now paraplegic and screaming henchperson, swarming him and pecking at him viciously and angrily, making Cobblepot cackle even more. "Heh-henk-hack! Now, dear boy! Let's see how fast you can run, now!" Penguin fully expected this doofus and delinquent to carry out this favor. Even if it meant doing it in a wheelchair. The goon desperately clamored to crawl out of the office and away from the cruel swarm of flightless birds. Oswald gave a grandiose flourish of his cap, and waved his guest off.

"Ahhahhahhahaha! Au revoir, my good man! Tallyho and off you go! And you have twenty-four hours! Else the arms are next! Ahahaahahahehhenk! Wenk! Henkhehheeeh!"

Author's Notes

Player Alias: Overlord

Other Characters: Evan McCulloch

How did you find ARFD?: Rp'd here some time ago