Hitting An Iceberg

[flightlessfelon.livejournal.com]

Even on the quietest of nights, the Iceberg Lounge never falls short of ostentatious. The Penguin lives for his bling, and in stark contrast to the other throbbing, rhythmic nightclubs of Gotham City, his Iceberg Lounge has a rather more subtle, subdued atmosphere. Pandering to the upper class as always, the Iceberg Lounge is a glittering monument to excess. Tuxedoed men romance their dates, serenaded by a dapper chamber orchestra. A few infamous faces sit among the airbrained elite.

High in his private balcony, Oswald Cobblepot sighs contentedly, swirling a martini gently in one hand and listening to the orchestra play. He's kept his beak more or less clean, and it's served him well. He's well aware of the nasty business going on with the Black Mask, but even Cobblepot won't shed a tear for that man's demise. Roman has done nothing but make business difficult for everyone.

He has a special quest in the Lounge tonight. Captain Cold has come all the way from Albania to share a drink with him. Snart isn't his usual choice of drinking companions but Cobblepot has been expanding his network. There's no sense in having friends in just Gotham. After all, no one can say what tomorrow holds, can they?

Comments

[prometheanplans.livejournal.com]

Movement catches Prometheus's eye, and he turns in time to see someone approaching, taking out the two vampires that were posted at the entrance of the alleyway. One of the Batspawn, by the look of him. And as much as Prometheus would enjoy a little tussle, business before pleasure.

"Looks like we've got a flying rodent problem, gentlemen. We'll need to take this tête-à-tête somewhere private." He doesn't wait for Cobblepot's indignant response, clenching one hand on the dimunitive man's shoulder. His other hand, the one holding the Cosmic Key, claps Hush on the back.

A click as Robin puts down the last vampire, and the trio are gone, spirited back to the Crooked House.