Gotham's Gerent

Gotham's Gerent.

"I'm getting fat."
The first words to leave his mouth after an hour of trying on dress shirts, waist coats and crisp new pants. He doesn't huff, he doesn't complain, he simply notices. He smoothes over the part of his shirt covering his stomach. He stares side on in the mirror with curious eyes stuck to his growing gut. He's not round per se, but he doesn't fit his favourite waist coat anymore.

"You're not getting fat, sir. You're just growing into a King." A faint voice says behind him. In the mirror, he looks to the short tailor who is neatly packing excess clothing into his suitcase. He's sporting a dark navy suit he made himself, and a measuring tape around his neck, laying over his shoulders like a lazy scarf. Oswald doesn't reply, he just simply looks back to his reflection.

He notes new love handles on either side of his body. He counts only two, which sit just over the waist on his pants. He holds one in each hand and wonders when they grew. He had noticed some extra weight over the past few months but he hadn't realised he'd gotten to the point of handles. He holds one in each hand and wonders what the weight means. 10 years ago, Oswald was thin and active and made sure that his appearance was perfect. Does he not care about first impressions anymore? Is he getting slack? Should he work the extra weight off?

He looks back to the tailor through the reflection of the mirror. He looks around 60-70 years of age and his body is in good shape. Wrinkles cascade down his face and hands like the pattern running water leaves on sand. In the 10 years they've worked together, his body and his suit have never changed. Does he have a better diet? Does he work out? Does he even care about his weight? Does anyone care about their weight?

The tailor looks up from the packed suitcase on the table and smiles at Oswald who still has each hand gripping his love handles and eyes fixated on the navy suit he's wearing. He gives a soft smile.
"The reflection in the mirror is only what is on the outside, sir." He dips his hat, picks up his case and walks out of the room. Oswald looks at himself for a long time after that.

4 hours later, and Oswald is in his Iceberg Lounge. The new and improved club that now resides within the Museum has more space, provides better entertainment and pays enough of the GCPD to stay open even with the amount of illegal activity surging throughout the lobby. Oswald sits in his throne at the back of his Lounge and watches his patrons drink too much alcohol and throw themselves at each other. He lets people approach him and beg him for work, beg him for money, beg him for sex. He ignores them all and focuses on the people dancing through his club.

News about The Penguin being gay spread through Gotham like the plague, and that's exactly what it came back to him as. Rumours of both support and disgust filled the chambers of his mansion and sent him mad. Two years after his unrequited affair with Edward "The Riddler" Nygma, and secrets had only just come out about it. At first it was infuriating- Oswald killed anyone who even brought up the situation. Not for any reason other than the fact it was old news and he was so sick of thinking about those times. After a couple of months, things settled down and Gotham learnt to keep their mouth shut. But after a year or so, he started to get strangers coming up to him at the lounge and asking to dance. And not just strangers- beautiful, handsome men who has mischievous smiles and dark eyes. One after the other, men would proposition Oswald with sweet nothings and the promise of a good time. As much as he was flattered, Oswald decided he wouldn't give in to such desires. And during a 10 year period, Oswald kept his abstinence and married himself to his job.

A decade later, Oswald has men practically falling to his feet, begging for a night to show their worth to The King of Gotham. A decade later, Oswald has started putting on weight. He takes a long sip of the whiskey in his hand. He looks out into the crowd, smiling at the achievements he's made by staying wholeheartedly committed to work. Someone catches his eye- a tall, lanky man wearing sweatpants and a singlet. A frown makes its way across his face. How did that man get in here?