Museum Studies

Chapter 3: Plotting Mischief

"Hold on now," Oswald Cobblepot looked sharply at Adele, "Just what do you see yourself doing? You may think you're prepared, but for all that you've been about the place these ten years, you've only been hanging about the edges of what really goes on."

"The way I see it, Dad," she replied, her voice low and level. "this is my home as much as yours, more than anywhere else has been my whole life, and I don't want to give it up anymore than you do. If I'm not prepared to fight for it, then I should just whimper off and apply for a job at the Smithsonian or something. Besides, I figure this for being at least a two pronged attack, and my part will be the public one."

He chuckled and reached for a gin bottle full of what should have been Bombay Sapphire and was probably not. "Talk. Do your best to sell me on it, but be warned, I'm not going to go easy on you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way…First thing I'd do is get on the phone with the Historical Society, start raising a stink. Next, Gothamite Magazine. You've been buying advertising space from them for years—full color full page ads, too. I'm sure I could interest them in a heartwarming true story of how the museum brought a ruptured family together and what it means to them, how they found common ground in a shared interest and that it has only grown stronger and deeper."

"What family is that?" he furrowed his brow.

"You and me, of course. An exclusive interview, with pictures of us strolling wistfully through the halls, sharing amusing anecdotes and talking about our vision for the future of the place, a vision that will never be realized—."

The Penguin tossed back the tot of gin he had just poured. "Bloody hell. Adele—."

"I'll do most of the talking," she promised, raising her hands in a deflecting gesture.

"I have a reputation to uphold in this town. Paint me as some lovable soft old gent, and that reputation will crumble. You might as well slit my throat and be done with it. No."

"You're a vicious bastard who'll have a man crippled for looking at you funny, and no mistake." she said, her face serious and her voice a little sad. "Believe me, Dad, I never forget that. But you're more than that. You're a complicated man. You're a bon vivant who likes to see people enjoying themselves, you're a collector with discernment and taste, and you're also quite a decent father. This is like the penguin and sea lion shows and the 'Families Welcome' atmosphere in the main restaurant, both of which were going long before I got here."

"You haven't sold me yet."

"But you're still listening and you haven't thrown anything against the wall either," she held up a finger. "In that interview, you'll also point out that the museum and lounge employ hundreds of people who'll lose their jobs, and the displays include living creatures, some of which are endangered species and very delicate. How do you move a full-grown Great White Shark like Tiny without killing him, and where do you move him to? I wonder if I can get an orphaned baby walrus somewhere, Tiny isn't cute enough to tug at the heartstrings… But of course you support the idea of Arkham City and the work Mayor Sharp and Professor Strange are doing to make the city safer, it's just that you don't see how to relocate the museum and its contents in the time they're giving you to do it. Or where you'd relocate to. Not just any big building will do."

"If you pile the shite up too high, it topples over on you," the Penguin commented. "Still, if you do the heartwarming and I talk about the numbers—what else've you got?"

"Amnesty International. Get them looking into whether the proposed plans entail any human rights violations. And then…Um. Pour yourself another, Dad, and remember this is the public face of things. There is no more public, more handsome or more appealing face than Bruce Wayne, and he does so love to get involved with this sort of thing. He'll smile, he'll make a statement, write a check, get his picture in the paper, and go home."