Nygmobblepot One Shots

The Entertainer

Summary: Oswald is great at playing people, but she could use some help on the piano. Edward is great at playing piano, but can she be a great teacher? For Oswald, maybe.
CW: Various topics like murder & addiction mentioned in Nygma internal monologue. CW for edward's screwed up psyche, as written by me

a/n: split into two parts bcuz ive been teasing my friend(s)* (*the asterisk is Maybe multiple. Idk) abt this for a while and i want to get it out quicker!!! that might be more annoying but Lol

"Oh, wonderful! It's here!" Oswald laughs, jovially, looking to a new centerpiece in the living room, seconds away from rushing to it, when Edward gently grabs her wrist to get her attention. "Your coat?" She asks. The ravenette pouts, playfully, but shrugs off her coat, allowing her friend (and chief of staff, since it always seems to come up in moments like these) to take it and hang it on the rack with her own.

"You have such a way with things," she teases, then makes her way to the new piece of 'furniture'. "Look. It's the grandest grand piano I could find. Not just in Gotham, but in all of the world. Shipped out from Germany," she explains, tracing her fingers delicately along the rim of the top board, smile all-encompassing on her face—her small, round face, which seems such compared to such a huge, extravagant thing. Suddenly her tailored wool suits and patent leather shoes and fine cashmere gloves and gold-encrusted cufflinks feel like thrifted scraps. By all means, yes, it is a very grand piano.

"Does the size seem excessive?" Oswald asks, knocking them both out of their stunned dazes. Edward shakes her head, laughing. "No, um... the size is crucial." She presses her hands together. "A grand piano is set apart from other designs because of its dynamic, broad, huge sound. It fills up a room. An auditorium, a concert hall. It—this is amazing." She laughs, a little embarrassed at how just an instrument got her gushing. She's a cold-hearted criminal, isn't she?

Well, we all have hobbies.

Oswald nods, chuckling. "You know a lot, huh?" would usually be a terrifying phrase to hear from Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin, in any other context, but here it is just flattery towards Ed. She nods, and Cobblepot continues on, praising the design and make of the instrument and how beautiful it'll sound and how gorgeous it looks. Ed fidgets, twitchy. Her hands itch. All she can look at is the keys. Perfect black and white, bright, reflective, cleaned until pristine, rectangular. The keys are untouched, and that would be so beautiful if Ed's nails weren't digging into her palms because of how badly she wants to play the damn thing. She knows Oswald bought it, but deep down, she feels an entitlement to it—its her talent to claim. The itching grows unbearable, and a frog leaps out of her throat:

"Can I—May I test it out?"

Oswald looks at her, and she panics briefly. Was she not supposed to ask that? Did she just mess everything up? She feels like an idiot—

"Of course." She smiles, warm and sweet, with a golden glint in her eye, like sunlight. "I'd love to hear you play again, Ed. Besides, out of everyone I know, you seem best equipped to play this beauty first!"

Ed smiles back, anxiety subsiding, feeling those sun rays in Oswald's eyes shine on her, too. "Okay."

She laughs a little, nervous with the novelty of it, approaching the piano seat with a hesitant step. Edward sits, noting the particular bend of her knees and the feel of the chair, both of which just feel right. It feels like destiny. Fate. And it's preposterous nonsense to think you're fated to play a grand piano of this caliber, but Nygma just knows she is because she's sitting in the goddamned seat and she's stretching out her fingers as they hover above the keys. In the back of her mind, she can feel Oswald's eyes on her. She takes a deep breath.