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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 14:04:34 GMT -5
"Mob hit, wasn't it?" she said, rather bluntly.
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 14:12:53 GMT -5
He crossed his skinny arms tightly.
"Now what on earth would make you say that?" Nobody looking that awful should have sounded that sarcastic. "Never mind, the past is in the past. You don't happen to have an aspirin, do you?"
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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 14:17:21 GMT -5
"Better than that, I got Midol. Don't laugh, it's got caffeine in it, and you look like you could use some."
She waved him toward the kitchen.
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 14:25:57 GMT -5
"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"
His demeanor shifted minutely but pathetically toward the hopeful.
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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 14:29:29 GMT -5
"I don't smoke, sorry."
She turned around from the cupboard and set three capsules on the counter.
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 14:53:07 GMT -5
"Bless you for this." He palmed them. The time to ask whether any of the multitude of terrifying men who apparently drifted through this place happened to smoke was probably not now. He'd have to scrounge one later when he wasn't shoeless and bleeding internally.
"...what about a sandwich--"
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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 15:19:25 GMT -5
"Hope you like Italian meats."
As she started pulling the food out of the fridge, she glanced up again.
"Seriously, though, do you have a name?"
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 15:28:19 GMT -5
Getting hobbled, beaten, shot, and then thrown in a major body of water was not the worst sequence of events he'd ever undertaken to obtain a sandwich. The temptation to rummage was strong, but it still hurt to walk, and his hostess wouldn't appreciate it even if he'd been fully clothed and completely dry. So he stood back against the wall, twiddling a little and swallowing pills in sequence.
"Oh, it's." Think of something, god. Roland. Patrick. Some horrible nickname that no living person outside Gotham's criminal underworld would willingly choose. "Oswald."
Fuck.
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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 15:43:45 GMT -5
She pointed at the glass on the counter.
"Drink that. You shouldn't swallow pills without water."
Mistaking the look on his face for a different kind of name-adjacent embarrassment, she added, "Don't feel too bad about it. That guy whose stuff I brought you was called Herbert."
As she started carefully rationing out turkey, Megan asked, in a casual tone of voice, "They're not going to follow you here, are they, Oswald? Do they think you're dead?"
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 21:22:53 GMT -5
What was wrong with being named Oswald? The water here tasted like copper pennies, but it did not taste like the bottom of the Hudson.
"That was the intention. I didn't start swimming until the tide carried me a little." What the fuck would this mean? Would they go after his mother next? He'd been pretty damn scrupulous about keeping that work-life balance a rigid gulf -- he didn't want to think of his mother and Fish Mooney crossing paths some dark night. And now he was dead, on the wrong side of the Hudson, and mom was going to lose it. "And there was the leg..."
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Post by Megan on Apr 7, 2016 21:51:03 GMT -5
"These were not people who think particularly small, were they?" she asked, dryer than intended. "The leg seems rather redundant."
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 7, 2016 22:22:59 GMT -5
"The leg was separate."
The leg was something special, just for him. A severance bonus.
"But you wouldn't think it would help, would you? I don't seem like a very strong person."
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Post by Megan on Apr 8, 2016 1:03:45 GMT -5
"If that's your way of trying to get me off guard, it's not working," Megan said, smiling pleasantly and pushing the completed sandwich across. "I'm not about to forget that somehow you managed to swim up from Gotham Harbor with that leg and a gash in your shoulder. Anyway, the cheese is Manchego. It's Spanish, not Italian, but it tastes fantastic with like, everything they make in Italy, even herbed turkey."
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Post by Oswald Cobblepot on Apr 8, 2016 9:36:05 GMT -5
"Well, appearances aren't everything." He had hidden depths, which like the hidden depths of the Hudson were mostly cluttered with the residue of crime. And garbage. He made a jerky, one-shouldered shrug and descended on that sandwich like someone who hadn't eaten in a while but wasn't totally committed to it.
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Post by Megan on Apr 8, 2016 10:32:43 GMT -5
"By the way, I checked the labels and there were a few things safe for cold wash as long as it gets laid out flat instead of hung up, so I threw them in. But seriously, am I going to have to worry about the fallout from this?"
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