[ Oswald & Silco ]

[paxpenguina]

"We--"

The first word arrives like a fanfare announcing his arrival, emphasis poised and held in place as he hobbles (shuffle-thunk, shuffle-thunk; dragged footsteps and cane), straight-backed through the room to stand before Silco's desk before concluding his overture.

"--have a problem."

The city has many problems, and different ones depending on who one is asking. Big and small, circling in the air and steel and bones of the underground metropolis, thrown down from the overground or grown up from the cracked concrete below. There are, always, many problems.

Oswald knows that and he knows Silco knows that. And if someone had come strolling into Oswald's office with that kind of opener, then Oswald would be spitting a demand for specifics because time wasting is a faux pas among men like them.

But for men like them, indulging in dramatics is also a bit par the course, and were their positions reversed, were it Silco stepping up to Oswald's desk with an obvious but ambiguous opener, then there would be an opening of the reserves of patience and pleasantries; an offering of a seat, a drink, scope for small talk.

After all, of all of them Chem-Barons, Oswald favours working with Silco the most, even when their respective enterprises put them at odds. They're men of a kind and no matter what happens on the streets and in the shadows, Oswald holds a deep respect for the old ways of doing business that many who come to the table have shown impatience toward. But it reminds Oswald of his roots, his mentors, and so, if the tables were turned, he always has more patience for Silco.

That doesn't mean it will necessary be the same in kind.

So Oswald waits, head tipped back slightly to peer over his cheekbones in expectant silence, fingers softly drumming over the penguin-hooked silver head of his cane.

Comments

[zauneyete]

"Do we?" he askes, and it is simple and calm. Faux-calm, of course, and the signs were there in bits and pieces. The tightening of skin around a single eye, the deeper indent in the paper he had been holding, the tightening of his lips into an even thinner line on a scarred face covered with enough makeup that it looked like an old and faded thing, instead of fetid and rotting.

He forced his lips into that smile that was so common amongst equals. A gesture toward the seat. "Please, you don't have to stand, unless it's that dire." Well, he was never going to be quite accommodating, but for Oswald, he would at least welcome him and offer him the usual niceties, because a happy competitor often would turn their sites elsewhere if greed and hunger turned eyes toward expansion.

Maybe he'd make sure Flynn was in his sights next time: two birds, one stone. (hah)

"Oh, help yourself, of course."

A vague second gesture at the carafe, but he doesn't lift a finger. Though he does tap a finger on the desk as he lowers the paper, and levels a look at him, mismatched and unsettling as always. Though he doubted Oswald would drum up the dramatics over nothing, the fact that he was starting to scramble through his mind for a reason there was a problem meant that it could have been something that he had missed.

He does not like the experience of being caught unaware. It had better be something unforeseen, or he was going to have to have words with some of his informants.

[paxpenguina]

Everything moves by degrees right up until it tips. This sort of work is a game of balance that, for Oswald, is reflected in much of what he does even in the minute moments and is already at play.

Oswald's eyes move from Silco to the chair as the offer to sit is made, assessing where things are at in terms of severity, but the fact he's showing up to chat at all sets this more in the amber than the red. So, after a beat of consideration and a slight shake of his head, Oswald does sit. It's a display that's aiming to accept the hospitality rather than belabour the reality that Oswald will always stand and endure the pain of his leg, but if there is an opportunity to sit he is internally grateful.

The cane settles in the space between his legs and both hands come to lay across the curved silver head as the one on top lifts his fingers slightly in a polite decline of the offer to wet his whistle.

"Another time, but I thank you."

The specifics feel like high stakes enough that Oswald wants all his wits about him for this conversation as he reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, always a gesture with risk of pulling out a concealed weapon, but as far as Oswald is concerned shooting someone once you're seated is for very specific conditions.

So, it's not a gun that he withdraws, at least not a literal one, but in some regards it is an item that may well be smoking as he lays it down on the desk and, with two fingers, slides it forward under Silco's nose.

It's a crude greeting card, the stationary probably torn from packing materials found in the trash, the base colour a sprawl of black ink or paint as a canvas for an array of brightly coloured scribbles in pinks, blues, and turquoise with Thanks Ozzy! xx plastered across the fold.

Settling both his hands back on the cane, Oswald once again waits, head slightly cocked to the side as he watches for Silco's reaction.

[zauneyete]

He sits, which means it is not that dire, but declines a drink, which means it's still... somewhat dire. Somewhere in the middle, but enough that he does not fill his own glass, which is slowly filling with water while the ice in it melts, watering down the dregs. He thought about lighting a cigar instead, something to do with his hands while they spoke, but Ozzie is quick to pull out the offending item, and he wants to give this his full attention.

Better to find out what it is first, and light up after, right?

When he reached into his jacket, he slowly let his fingers lower to the underside of his desk, ready to meet in kind if this is just a ploy — because it always could be — he knows better than to trust, and though there's muscle on the other side of the door, they generally know better than to interfere when Oswald swings by. These sorts of conversations aren't for the grunts, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want them close — and it's vice versa, of course. He can't imagine that Oswald lets the help stray far in his own territory.

After all, there's trust, and then there's trust.

Which is tested as soon as his eyes skim the card. Black, which would be nondescript if it weren't for.

Well.

His lips thin further, and it is half out of displeasure, and half to prevent him from giving anything away. Because while Silco very immediately knows who wrote this.. he does not know why. He flattened his hands onto the desk, very carefully, before he tipped his chair back and forth.

"Curious," he says, tone even. "Where was it left? Or rather... what was missing, exactly?"

And more importantly: how dangerous was it? Was that a headache coming on?

[paxpenguina]

This is one of the reasons Oswald likes dealing with Silco: he's not a moron.

In quieter spaces, or agitated ones, Oswald makes no particular secret that idiocy is something he needs to tolerate by virtue of its abundance and unfortunate often accidental proximity to those in power, but that doesn't mean he likes being subjected to it.

It's always refreshing, even in fraught circumstances, to deal with someone who can swiftly pick up what Oswald is putting down, quite literally in this case. It makes the whole thing go a lot more smoothly.

Straightening his back into the chair, Oswald sucks a breath through his teeth and casts his eyes briefly skyward, a faux display like he's trying to recall specifics.

"A generous number of components parts, all of which I'm sure have already been squirreled away and put to good use," he extends one arm outward in exaggerated half-shrug, "After all, we are all well aware about her proclivities, aren't we? Oh, and then there's the three ransacked casements of ammunition, the manpower I'm going to need to replace, the repairs to the wall, and--"

Pause for dramatic effect as he leans in, brows raised and lips sucked in like he's reluctant to share the final inventory note. He isn't.

"--a rocket-propelled grenade that was already spoken for."

With his hands cupping the top of his cane now so the tips of his fingertips can lightly bounce off the other, a wide, tight-lipped smile breaks across Oswald's face as a soft chuckle vibrates in his throat along with a few bobbing nods of his head.

"Quite the scamp, isn't she?"

[zauneyete]

There are just some things that leave a man like Silco exhausted. Sometimes, it's too many ODs on shimmer over the course of a night, because the damages and cleanup for the staff costs a lot. Sometimes, it is Sevika complaining about (well) the subject of their conversation. And normally, normally it's this. Ammunition and components are negligible, of course. Oswald would huff about them, but there would be an exchange of funds, or staff, or something worked out. Maybe a favor.

Those are easy.

The item spoken for though... that's the difficult one. "Not inclined to tell me what it's spoken for, are you?"

Not that he thinks that he would, but there is always the possibility to rectify things by just pointing the local terrorist toward whatever direction he'd been planning to aim it toward. Joker and Harley Quinn, eat your hearts out, the local crimelords knew who was really dangerous. Good thing she has a machine keeping her insulated from too much danger.

But he's right, she is a scamp. As much as Silco feels the weight of a headache, he's also just a little bit proud, because of course he is. Ripping off Oswald is no small feat. Of most of the criminal underbelly, he has no doubts that Oswald is one of the most intelligent, and the most dangerous. It is why he deals with him with respect and a level hand, because respect is far easier than an all-out rivalry. They all knew what happened to rivals. Hell, look at Falcone.

"I am sure I could find a reason for something...comparable to find its way to you, regardless. Maybe it will even be upgraded, as a... gift. For the trouble."

[paxpenguina]

"Who," Oswald corrects evenly along with a light shake of his head, "Who it was spoken for, not what."

A client, implicitly, which always makes things more complicated when additional hands are involved.

Regardless, Oswald lifts a hand to seemingly wave that point aside.

"As troublesome as that is, you're right we can work out compensation for that inconvenience some other time. After all--" He pauses, smiles widely, then spreads both his palms forward in Silco's direction, "--I consider us... friends."

A word that carries much weight and multiple meanings, enough that as Oswald trusts this will feel like approaching the true crux of the matter.

After a moment, he sighs. Long, deep, enough that it makes his shoulders sag as his eyes move to the far upper corner of his gaze while worrying a back molar with his tongue. This is bothering him in a way that it really is a problem that he'd prefer not to have to deal with and, in point of fact, would likewise prefer not to have to Silco entangled with. And yet--

"No, my real issue now is the problem this has caused me with Finn. Because your little hooligan certainly isn't rummaging around in his business. And, I'll admit, it shows I really do have the superior stock on the market, however..."

He pauses, narrowing his eyes because this is where the ice does start to get thin.

"You understand this sends what I'm sure a particular kind of message to our mutual associates. Unintended, I am sure, but one that is being communicated regardless."

And if there's one thing Oswald does not abide by, it's the implication that he is a weak player in the game.

[zauneyete]

Ah.

Ah yes, it certainly does, doesn't it? Thin ice indeed, Silco feels a bit like he is on a precipice, because to outsiders, who are not always privy to the intricate network of deals and organizations, this may look like Oswald's organization was weaker. Those who didn't know that Finn was a part of Silco's own network, or that the local terrorist was also Silco's. Those who didn't know would see it, the way he was being targeted explicitly.

Silco wondered if more of his hairs were going white from the stress of it all. There were talks he could have, but both parties involved, Finn and Oswald were well aware that there was only so much control Silco could... would enact over her.

Which made this complicated, didn't it? Because what could she steal, if it wasn't what they already had? It wasn't like they needed more, and convincing her was going to be that much more difficult. "Hm, yes, I don't think it's unreasonable to make that connection."

Which just meant, they needed to have something to get that message sent elsewhere. "The issue is, of course, that there's not much that Finn has that we do not, of course, you can see the logic, I'm sure."

That was the problem, wasn't it? They needed to change the logic. "It would be far easier to do something about it, were he to have a..." his hands spread, as if he were offering Oswald a gift here. "New line of industry. I am quite certain he wouldn't say no."

He doesn't like this any more than Oswald does, really. Giving him an in on a Chembaron? That's not ideal, but... would he allow their two organizations to go to war over Jinx's fancies? No, not that either. Would he tell her to stop?

Also absolutely not. No, this was the easiest pathway to ensure the hierarchy remained in place, and people knew who the big players were. After all, if Finn is untouched, it also puts him on the same level as Silco, and he doesn't want that either. "If he is a... middle man, it could perhaps ensure that any... particularly sensitive tools would disappear under his watch, instead of yours. I could see a friend of mine using that to great advantage, don't you?"