capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO: Oswald Cobblepot and Dr. Crane
WHERE: Iceberg Lounge
WHEN: Tonight!
WARNINGS: ...Idk? Nothing? Maybe Horror since Jonathan is involved!
SUMMARY: Gothamites! Gothamites meeting in a classy, expensive lounge
FORMAT: I'm starting with para, but we can move to quick!

Tinking laughter, perfectly-tempered music, and soft lighting was how the Iceberg lounge gained it's reputation. That, and the waitresses were gaining a reputation for being the very best in The City. The lord of the fresh dominion, already becoming the hot-spot for the wealthy and bored, Oswald Cobblepot was often perched on his own balcony, overlooking his subjects for the night.

And they were his subjects, in a way. He changed the music, they reacted. He encouraged fresh drinks to the right people, and they spent more later, or their tongues came loose, and the information the girls and bouncers picked up was filed away for later.

But tonight? Tonight was a night for meetings, apparently, when he caught sight of a somewhat familiar figure from his days in Gotham. One he didn't often catch outside of the network, not that he favored actuallly meeting with very many from his home city more than once in a blue moon.

However, he knew the folly in simply ignoring him. That was a recipe for disaster he couldn't indulge, and Oswald stepped down to greet him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Part of him had wanted to go the hackneyed, melodramatic route--sneaking in, showing up in his office, maybe toying with one of his rare and exotic birds (Jonathan really did like birds, when he got right down to it, after all). But that was the kind of overture he'd make for an enemy, for someone he wanted to intimidate, and Oswald...

Well. For the moment, they were getting along fine. Why buy trouble?

So he was nursing a glass of Perrier and looking almost gratified when the Lounge's owner and operator approached.

"Just the man I came to see."

It had a twofold purpose--to inform Ozzie he wasn't there to fearbomb the place, and to (hopefully) endear the man to what he hoped to propose.

"...It's busy in here."

"Why Dr. Crane, so nice to see you finally make your way to my humble establishment," mock words, of course. There was absolutely nothing humble about the Iceberg Lounge. He swept a hand up, toward the booth, where there were bodyguards.

"Perhaps you'd enjoy talking somewhere more private? The Lounge rarely sees a dip in business, of course, but things seem a bit less chaotic from a proper perch."

With that, the much shorter (and much stockier) man began leading back toward the balcony, tipping his head to the appropriate clientele, as well as the best looking. It had been very liberating to drop the twins.

He followed, eying the guards with a kind of leery disdain--not half as close as the pleasure of fear, but he had other things for that.

"I don't mind a little chaos." It was so hard, so hard to refrain from trying to pick a fight, as he usually did, "And I would have come sooner, but I thought I should wait until the heat was... less. You're legitimate, of course."

Not a question.

He surveyed the floor, once they got to the balcony, and exhaled slowly. "But if you're completely legitimate, we don't have much to talk about, you see."

Oswald turned, lifting an eyebrow. "Please! I'm Oswald Cobblepot!" It wasn't an affirmation or a denial, always careful and cautious, one never knew if there were little batty ears listening in. The intent, however, was implied. Whichever way one took it, though, was up to the listener. He knew that Dr. Crane would assume the right answer.

"I do always enjoy a conversation with you," a lie, but again, implicit. Dr. Crane was concerning, one to be cautious with, but he was from Gotham, and here, it seemed, they stuck together. A small community within an already close community, but who could blame them? There had always been an interesting relationship between the rogues (and former rogues) of Gotham.

He looked over the crowds below one last time, before moving back to the larger booth, made for his particular height, settling in with the pack of import cigarettes on the table.

"Of course." How to phrase this? More often than not Scarecrow didn't bother with gangs, but while in Roman's employ the notion of owning one had (practically literally) fallen into his hands, with Roman's departure.

He leaned on the table, ragtag clothes draping on his frame like the tatterdemalion that he was.

"I find myself in possession of items that may be difficult--or awkward--to rid myself of. It's a buyer's market, you know. And funds--for my experiments--are always vital."

"A buyer's market?" an eyebrow lifted above his monocle, his lips splitting only slightly as he assessed the situation. He knew Dr. Crane would favor his experiments over anything else, but what they could be... well, color him curious.

"I'd be curious about what goods you have. I'm always interested in a good opportunity, if it would be of use."

"I brought a list."

Like hell was he going to mention aloud all the shit his gang had stolen, all the drugs he'd made specifically to push on the street, etc. He handed the paper over two-fingered, letting a thin smile grace his lips, and then--surprising--an admittance of some weakness.

"I'm not suited to this kind of business, but I know your acumen for it. I have resources going to waste. I'll take advice and give you a cut, same as you could expect from someone like Roman. Perhaps even slightly more reasonable than Roman, god rest him."

And why not emphasize the idea that Roman was dead, still? Hardly anyone knew the truth.

The list slid his way as he half listened to the rest, slipping the corner upward to start reading, before he peeked at the rest, resting it flat down when he was done. "Indeed, well, with Roman six feet under, I do think we can make use of what he's left for you," and Jonathan was speaking his language.

A cut, even, was a generous concession, but he was sure that Jonathan probably wanted an expert's hands on this, and that was something he could do.

"I think that these goods could be moved for quite the profit. It will take some time, of course, especially some of the more homebrewed ones. We need a market for it first."