Even on the quietest of nights, the Iceberg Lounge never falls short of ostentatious. The Penguin lives for his bling, and in stark contrast to the other throbbing, rhythmic nightclubs of Gotham City, his Iceberg Lounge has a rather more subtle, subdued atmosphere. Pandering to the upper class as always, the Iceberg Lounge is a glittering monument
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"It's these damn upstarts who are ruining it for all of us. Roman is the most visible but he is hardly the only one. They run the streets, a new generation of upstarts with no respect for the cops or us. If only my compatriots would show such initiative in dispensing of them, but then, Gotham has never been a unified front. I love this city dearly, but sometimes it is hard to recognize."
The maître d', a tall, thin man in sharp black, approaches the table, setting down a tray with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. The tophat he wears and the dim lighting cast his face entirely into shadow, but Penguin doesn't seem too bothered.
"Thank you, Milbury." he remarks carelessly. The maître d' lifts his head, and for just a moment, his eyes can be seen, piggish and red, sunken into his gaunt face.
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"Maybe you're working 'em too hard. Don't you give 'em paid leave or something?" He swishes the brandy around his glass. Looking up, the maitr'd is still stood there. "You can go away now."
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Then spins around and lunges for the Penguin, pushing the heavy table aside at Cold like it weighs nothing.
The tophat falls from his head, revealing an inhuman face and jagged teeth.
Teeth on a collision course with Oswald Cobblepot's throat.
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He brings up the umbrella blade, forced to use it as a shield to hold back the snarling serviceman.
Cobblepot has a reputation for being a miser, but he never thought he'd treated one of his employees this badly.
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Still... "Get down, Oswald. I've got a clear shot but if you keep flappin'..." He holds the gun steady, but waits for the Penguin to dive to the ground before firing.
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Taking cover behind the overturned table, Penguin looks below and sees a terrible sight.
The Iceberg Lounge is in chaos. He counts six, seven, no, eight of the monsters, attacking his patrons almost simultaneously. Screams erupt throughout the Lounge, as patrons begin running for their lives.
And then, the skylight shatters, and a dark form Penguin has seen too many times land nimbly amidst the carnage.
He's never been so happy to see Batman.
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And then he turns and sees Batman. Batman. "Ah, crap." The first thought that goes through his head is that he should take this opportunity to escape, but the Penguin's been a good employer and one shouldn't cut oneself off from a source of reliable income without a failsafe. Right now, he doesn't have one.
"Get to the exit, Penguin. I'll see off this Dusk Till Dawn crapola until you're outta the door, then I'm right behind you." He pulls his second blaster free.
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And Robin. "Ah, crap." The second time he's said that tonight. But then he notices Batman and Robin fighting, and the weird contortions to this Bat's body and face.
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