Gothocalypse

The New Kingdom

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual content, non-consent, violence, emotional abuse.

Penguin Stood tall and proud, the King of Gotham, addressing his subjects. The war was won, and as he never doubted, Oswald Cobblepot stood victorious. He alone ruled. He claimed the city, its citizens, its leaders, its riches, but his most coveted prize... he had won himself an unmatched pitfall companion. Hard fought and won, a fiery redhead crouched menacingly at the King's feet. Although the former madman's body crouched almost casually, relaxed, the demonic eyes roamed the crowd. the feared grin still lurked behind the fearsome looking bit-gag between his teeth. The thick black leather collar around his neck lead by a glitteringly chrome chain leash to his masters hands, which rested atop his noble cane.

It hadn't been that hard to wrangle Jerome, really. Although intelligent, he was a simple creature, already broken by his upbringing. He didn't ask for much, wasn't complicated. His violence and chaos could be easily channeled, and his loyalty earned. Penguin had him reanimated after his second death, as he had Edward Nygma, and used him against his brother to take the city post-Gothocalypse. (as he called it). Jerome was perpetually starved for attention and gratitude his entire life, and Oswald used that to his advantage. They'd played a game of 'good cop-bad cop' on him. Penguin had regained Zsas's loyalty, and victor happily played bad cop, torturing the red head for hours on end. Penguin would continually rescue him from his torturer's clutches, soothing and praising him. It didn't take long for Jerome's wiring to fry- he fell into penguin like a rescued dog. Penguin always made a point to keep him close, and show him off. Nygma remained Oswald's right hand now, with little option left and the connection between them ever present.

Jerome's dark green eyes scanned the crowd meticulously, ever watchful of his king's safety. He didn't need to be tied or leashed, it was for show really. It gave off that intimidating, awe-inspiring feel; How did Oswald manage to gain control of the City's most feared maniac? It added to the mystery and mystique of the facade. Jerome happily obliged, as it made him look all the more fierce. He didn't see it as servitude, he saw it as leverage over others. If he was scary enough for the king to keep him on a leash, you all should be terrified of when he's not. His bright red mane remained spiked up as it always had been, the scars on his face ever present and all that more shocking. The outfit he wore resembled something Victor Zsas would wear, Black and tight down tot he combat boots, straps and buckles adorning him-glittering against the stark black material. He carried no weapons, save for his gloved hands, from which built in brass knuckles bulged from his fingers. (of course, Oswald wouldn't hesitate to toss a gun at his pet in a dire situation, but again, appearances for now.) The Collar at his throat was thick and heavy, adorned with a heavy silver ring from which his chain leash was locked with a small padlock, and small, sharp spikes around the rest. He gnawed slowly on the thin, almost wire-like bit in his mouth. It was covered in black rubber, and the silver ends laid gently against his scarred cheeks. It sent a message that the Famed Jerome had been silenced, his laugh only heard at the call of his Master. Jerome didn't mind. It wasn't far from truth. He listened absently as Penguin gave his speech, preening when his King's small hand reached out to caress the hair at the nape of his neck.

Oswald glanced down at his prize as the crowd cheers about his latest statement. The Ginger still dutifully scanned the crowd. Jerome had become his only bodyguard- the only one he could trust. Jerome couldn't be bought with money or political alliances. Sure, Butch had at one time been the same way, but that had been artificial. Butch had been aware the whole time that he was forced to do what he was told. Jerome chose Oswald - His loyalty was forged, molded in steel. (even if with a slight nudge in the right direction, and maybe a little bit of stockholm) He had never cared for possessions or politics from the beginning, and now even less so. He had too many guards in the past bought or stolen - betrayal had been his constant worry. But now he knew he would never again have to watch his back. Jerome would always be at his six.