Owner	Pose
Lincoln March	It's late night in the iceberg. Folks are heading out for the night after a very profitable experience into the pitch black of night with a heavy duty rain echoing out against the roof of the building.      Thick ink black sheets of rain pour down like waterfalls echoing out a rhythmic sound against the roof. The bouncers carry out a rowdy customer who's not quite willing to leave and the music carries on as if everything were normal.      The rush of customers today has raked in a pretty tidy pay packet for Cobblepot with large crowds leaving behind their refuse for the janitorial service to sweep clean. They push their brooms slowly and steadily piling up the trash left behind with a happy tune in their heart.      Once the last of the guests leave through the front door. Something moves in the rafters a silent shadow darting across the darkness. There's something there but it's gone in an instant leaving behind a single Gotham Silver Owl feather floating down from the rafters slowly but surely drifting on the breeze.
Oswald Cobblepot	The day is done and the bar is emptying out, and Oswald Cobblepot, the gentleman of crime, is looking over his bar as the lights dim. Going "clean" has been the most profitable venture of his so far, but playing the socialite always rings a little false. Too well he knows how far the name Cobblepot has fallen, even if he's treated with more respect now than he ever was as a costumed villain. The barely-restrained snark of Janet van Dyne the other day only brought the bitter memories fresh to his mind.     "Still," he says to no one, "the meandering mindless masses migrate to and from this place like swallows to Capistrano, and leave their money in fat stacks." He sighs, leaning heavily on his umbrella when his eye catches a feather fluttering in the air. He snatches it between two fat fingers, monocled eye narrowing at it.     "Now here's a vexing mystery," he says, eyes craning up at the rafters. "I swear to God if Nygma is pulling some asinine bird riddle I'll wring his neck - this shouldn't be here." He flips it back and forth in his hand, making sure he's correct in his identification.
Lincoln March	A paid of bright orange lights shine from a darkened corner of the room. They belong to a massive figure. Out from the shadows steps a figure clad in bright silver armor from his head to his toe.      His cloak appears to be made from hundreds and hundreds of small silver feathers knit together into a brilliant silver affair. His armor itself is pitch black designed in such a way that it appears to be mimicking the muscular structure of the human body with silver pauldrons and kneepads.      His face is hidden by the iconic mask of the Court Of Owls with those two bright orange glowing eyes that appear first ahead of the rest of him. He looks right towards Oswald with a light tilt of the head.      His body is one of a linebacker mixed with a freight-train and he walks with a natural shade of pure control and intimidation that radiates off of his person in every direction.      "Oswald Cobblepot." His voice is neutral and deep with a monotone tinge to it. Yet there's a deep respect lacing those two simple words. He bows down revealing the suit and breaking apart his majestic cape. He cracks his neck as he glides closer. "You run a tight ship."
Oswald Cobblepot	Oswald is taken aback at the sudden appearance of a stranger. Not frightened, no, he's dealt with the Bat far too many times to not expect someone to appear from the rafters at some point. All the same the defensive instincts kick in, muscles tensing, ready for action even in his fancy suit. But this... this is someone new.     "You're not the Batman," Os says, narrowing his eyes as he takes a better look at the feathery stranger. "But you hold yourself enough like him. The owl motif feels a bit overstated, but who am I to judge?" Sensing that combat is not imminent, he relaxes a little, though he doesn't let his guard down, fingers resting comfortable on the various triggers on his umbrella. No sense in being unprepared.     "I do try to comport myself with class and keep this club above board. But I suspect we are not here to talk of nightclubs. Tell me, what brings you to my little slice of Gotham?"
Lincoln March	Owlman lets out a deep belly laugh, its just as disconcerting as if batman himself began to laugh. It doesn't sound right coming out of those lips, it's a naturally friendly laughter that echoes from behind the mask as he walks forward before slowly stopping his laughter.      "You'd be surprised how often people make that mistake," He pauses for a moment looking around his surroundings before adding quite plainly. "Once."      He runs his hand across a nearby table slowly walking about it as he looks about the room taking in his surroundings. He turns his attention towards the ceiling before adding. "You have a set of skills I wish to avail myself of." He pauses for a brief moment turning his attention back towards Oswald. "I am The Owlman"
Oswald Cobblepot	The Penguin watches Owlman with a shrewd eye, observing his ease of motion, how comfortable he is in his costume. Not a fight, he calculates quietly, that he'd have a chance of winning alone. Some ego, yes. Deranged? Possibly, but that's hardly a stumbling block for a man who's worked with the Joker in the past. And, well, he supposes... if other superheroes have their 'same but evil' counterparts, why not the Batman? Of course he doesn't know if this will lead to the Bat's involvement or not, but it's Gotham. Batman is almost always involved somehow.     He keeps a thin smile on his face as Owlman laughs and talks, keeping his thoughts closely guarded. "A pleasure, Owlman," he says courteously. "And how might a humble man of business like myself aid you?"
Lincoln March	Owlman reaches into his cloak and pulls out a rolled up parchment. He sets it down onto the table beside Cobblepot. "I require you to be yourself." He nods his head down to the document as a small stack of papers is present within the pile. "You will find times of arrival and departure, security measures, names of personnel, their familial relations, blackmail material." He folds the pages over to one side going through the paperwork. It's a treasure trove of information to a level that most criminals would kill for and yet here it is simply setting out into the open.      "You can keep anything you want, but I expect nothing to be left behind and I expect you not to tell a soul."      Inside the paperwork are several pictures of solid jade penguin statues, and one made from diamond.
Oswald Cobblepot	Oswald starts looking through the papers, a gleam in his eyes. He may not trust this Owlman, but this information is too good to pass up on. Far, far too good. The gains seem obvious, though the penguin statues may be a bit on the nose for him - especially with the Batman. He could pass them along to the right people, he thinks. Some work can be done directly, but a level of deniability might be in order for certain... attractive baubles.     "It seems almost too good. Of course I can't say what may or may not happen to anyone mentioned in these documents, but I expect there may be stormy seas ahead for them, weh heh." He taps on a few choice bits of information, already thinking about who needs to be assigned to what.     "Of course silence is of the utmost importance. This conversation didn't happen, after all."
Lincoln March	"I only provide the best intelligence." Owlman pauses for a moment. "You can consider me a fixer, I help people get in contact with the information that they need and the people they need to know so long as it helps me." He pauses for a long moment before adding. "If it eases your mind I want this to go missing to assist in the downfall of a certain business here in town which has overstepped a boundary." He's businesslike and calm again basking in total control of the situation.      "WHEN you succeed at this operation The Court of Owls will have further opportunities for you down the line" There's an audible smile to his voice as he says the phrase Court of Owls. "And I know for a fact you will not fail us."
Oswald Cobblepot	The Penguin's eyebrow shoots up. Did he hear that correctly? How... very, very, very intriguing. Ghost stories come to life...     "No, no indeed, I am certain that I will not," he says, disappearing the documents into his coat. "I look forward to a prosperous relationship, Owlman." He chuckles darkly - he's still not sure he trusts this man at all, but the temptation is too good to pass up. Far, far, far too good.
Lincoln March	Owlman chuckles himself a dark chuckle that again just doesn't quite fit anything about him. There's a definitive predatory nature about him as he looms in the room from behind that white featureless mask of his.      "And you have much, to look forward to Mr.Cobblepot I assure you." He pauses for a moment before walking a bit closer. "We are the driving force behind this city, Gotham, able to make or break fortunes, and so long as you side with the //correct// side." He draws his sentence out holding outstretched a single gloved gauntlet. "We can make your wildest dreams come true." He adds. "Cobblepot will be a name on the lips of every man woman and child in Gotham, its most powerful name, if you play your cards right."
Oswald Cobblepot	Oswald takes Owlman's hand in his own gloved one. "As it once was," he says. "As it should be. I think great things are afoot here. Very great things." Does he trust Owlman? Not a bit. Is he willing to ride this train to potential riches or disaster? Oh hell yes.
Lincoln March	Owlman tightens his grip for a moment in a gentleman's handshake. It's a firm grip but not an uncomfortable grip. He looks dead into those eyes and there's a sort of malice behind that glow a sort of evil that emanates off the man.      "We've been watching you your whole life." Owlman offers towards Cobblepot. "And this will get those gears turning." Is it true? Who knows honestly it's the Court Of Owls, most people don't even believe the group exists to be ABLE to spy on people.