The Iceberg Lounge - Secret Lower Level - Wednesday Night - 11:47 PM
The Iceberg Lounge's public face was elegant decay, a nightclub trying desperately to maintain its former glory through aggressive theming around its owner's Penguin motif, attracting Gotham's desperate socialites and criminals who wanted to pretend at sophistication.
That level was loud, crowded, and famous.
But only known to a few there exists a lower level, accessed through a hidden passage behind the kitchen's walk-in freezer. This was where Oswald Cobblepot conducted actual business, where Gotham's villain community gathered for negotiations that required neutral ground and guaranteed safety, where the worst people in the city could meet without worrying about ambush or betrayal.
The main room was styled to Penguins luxurious tastes, dark wood paneling, vintage furniture,, a bar stocked with expensive liquor. Armed security Penguin's personal guards maintained careful watch, ensuring the rules were followed.
Rule one: All negotiations conducted here were considered binding by Gotham's criminal community. Breaking agreements made in this space invited consequences and retaliation.
Rule two: Penguin got a percentage of all deals made here, ten percent, non-negotiable.
It was expensive, but it worked. The lower level of the Iceberg Lounge was one of the few places in Gotham where villains could conduct business.
Suguro Crane sat in one of the private booths, dressed in civilian clothes in a simple black suit, dark shirt, no distinctive features that would make him memorable to anyone who didn't already know who he was. Basil sat beside him using his normal appearance at least for now with the Joker you always had to be ready for a fight from nothing.
Across from them, separated by a polished wooden table, sat the Joker.
He was impossible to miss, and impossible to feel comfortable around despite being on neutral ground. His appearance was bleached white skin, his green hair was wild and unkempt, and his permanent rictus grin stretched his face into an expression that was somewhere between amusement and agony whether from his quirk or he chose to look like this was a mystery to everyone. He wore a purple suit that was expensive but disheveled, and his eyes held the kind of chaotic intelligence that made rational people deeply uncomfortable.
Next to him, so close she was practically in his lap sat Harley Quinn, her white hair dyed red and blue at the tips, her face painted in exaggerated makeup, wearing her signature red and black outfit. She was feeding him appetizers from the complimentary plates Penguin provided, giggling at his comments, completely devoted in ways that were disturbing to witness.
Two booths over, visible through a gap in the curtains, Ivy sat alone, nursing a drink and radiating irritation at Harley's presence. Since her liberation and freedom the two women had run into each other over the last few months a few times and now had a complicated history, Harley kept trying to befriend Ivy, and Ivy kept trying to make clear she had no interest in friendship with someone so aggressively annoying, at least for now.
"Crane!" The Joker's voice was theatrical, loud enough to carry despite the privacy of the booth. "My favorite new blood! Tell me you brought the good stuff tonight. I've got a joke planned that's gonna need some serious laugh-inducing support."
Suguro kept his expression neutral, his voice flat. "I brought samples of Strain Risus, as requested or as you call it the laughing gas, which induces uncontrollable laughter while subjects experience their worst fears until death."
"See, that's what I love about you," Joker said, leaning forward with unsettling intensity. "You get it."
The Joker was dangerous in unpredictable ways, and Suguro had learned that precise language helped minimize the chaos. "My appreciation is intellectual rather than sadistic. You enjoy the suffering itself. I enjoy understanding how to cause it."
"Tomato, tomato." Joker waved dismissively, then turned to Harley. "Puddin' needs to focus on business now. Why don't you go bother Ivy? She looks so lonely over there."
"But Mr. J—"
"Now, Harley." His voice shifted, losing its playful quality and becoming something flat and dangerous that made even Suguro tense slightly.
Harley's expression crumpled, but she obeyed immediately, sliding out of the booth and heading toward Ivy with forced cheerfulness. Suguro could hear Ivy's groan of frustration even from two booths away.
"Better," Joker said, his grin returning. "Love the girl, but she gets distracted during business. Now, let's talk quantity and price. I need enough of your laughing gas to fill a skyscraper and I mean really fill it, every floor, every room."
Suguro's mind immediately calculated volumes and concentrations. "A full skyscraper would require approximately two hundred gallons. That's not a small order. Production time alone would be several weeks. My quirk isn't unlimited."
"I can only wait for so long Crane" the clowns voice now in a unsettling a tone
Suguro paused, considering. The Joker was unpredictable but he paid well, and having him as a satisfied customer meant he wouldn't interfere with Crane's Wings operations.
"Half a million"
"I've got a counter-offer. Half that and some gifts. How's that sound?"
"Depends on the gifts." Suguro's caution increased. He knew accepting anything from the Joker was dangerous.
"Nothing crazy! Well, crazy for normal people, but not for us." Joker leaned back, his grin widening impossibly. "I've got about 20 guests at one of my laughhouses. But these people are special. They are foreign hero students from Europe I bought on the black market after they wandered into the wrong neighborhood in Rome, but they annoy me, they don't laugh at anything in my repertoire, not even the puppet show with their friends corpses but everyone loves that. They're alive and healthy at least who's left hahahaha and they have some powerful quirks and can be yours. I figure you and your doctor friend could use some fresh meat, right?"
Suguro's expression didn't change, but internally he was calculating. William was always requesting more subjects for his surgical experiments. The modified humans he was creating required constant testing and refinement, and having a steady supply of expendable subjects made the work progress faster towards their final secret goal.
"That is acceptable, in exchange for reduced payment," Suguro said.
"Do we have an agreement?"
Joker shook it, his grip stronger than expected, his permanent grin somehow becoming even more unsettling up close. "We do!"
"A woman named Jaina will handle logistics," Suguro said. "She'll provide delivery locations for both the subjects and the toxin once it's ready."
"Perfect!" Joker stood suddenly, his energy manic. "This is gonna be great. The building, the gas, people laughing themselves to death while their minds break a great show is now in motion! You sure you don't want to come watch?"
"Unfortunately I am busy for the foreseeable future but I appreciate the offer."
"Your loss!" Joker turned toward where Harley was attempting to engage Ivy in conversation, receiving mostly limited responses. "Harley! Time to go! Stop bothering the plant lady!"
Harley bounced away from Ivy immediately, actually bounced, her movements cartoonish in their enthusiasm, and rushed to Joker's side.
Joker swept out of the lower level with Harley in tow, leaving a wake of tension that slowly dissipated after his departure. Several other villains who'd been conducting their own business in adjacent booths visibly relaxed, the absence of the Joker's chaotic presence making the entire space feel safer.
Oswald Cobblepot emerged from behind the bar where he'd been maintaining careful distance during the negotiation. The Penguin was short, thin, walked with a pronounced limp from childhood illness, and wore expensive suits that couldn't quite disguise his physical limitations. But his eyes were sharp with intelligence, and his presence commanded respect despite his lack of physical power.
(going for the gotham tv series version since its my favourite version)
"That went smoother than expected," Oswald said, settling into the booth across from Suguro with a grunt of relief. "Usually when the Joker shows up for negotiations, someone ends up dead. You handled him well."
Oswald gestured to one of the bar staff, a young woman who'd been carefully staying away from the Joker's booth. She approached with professional efficiency, and Oswald ordered bourbon, then looked at Suguro questioningly.
"Nothing, thank you." Suguro rarely drank alcohol saying it affected his cognitive functions, and he preferred maintaining complete control over his mental state with a quirk like his.
"You will receive your cut once the Joker has paid" Suguro stood, Basil rising with him. "Unless you need something else, we should depart." Ivy appeared from her booth, falling into step beside them. "That took forever. Did you at least get a good deal?"
"Acceptable terms," Suguro confirmed. "Joker's paying well for a large quantity of Strain Resus, plus providing test subjects for William's research. Efficient exchange."
"And I had to endure thirty minutes of Harley Quinn trying to convince me we should be friends because we're both 'fierce independent ladies.'" Ivy's tone was acidic. "I swear, if the Joker didn't pay so well for your products, I'd vote for refusing to do business with him just to avoid her."
"Noted, but rejected," Suguro said. "The Joker's business is too valuable to refuse over personal annoyance;"
Basil then joked "perhaps you two could get along someday."
They emerged from the lower level through the concealed passage, moving through the Iceberg Lounge's public space, still crowded despite the late hour and out into Gotham's night streets.
Oswald Cobblepot settled deeper into his chair, accepting his second bourbon from the attentive server. With the Joker and Scarecrow both gone, the tension in his shoulders finally released.
"Two of the most dangerous people in Gotham, conducting business in my establishment, and nobody died," he muttered to himself. "I deserve a fucking medal."
The server smiled sympathetically but said nothing. She'd been working for Penguin long enough to know that sometimes the most valuable skill was knowing when to keep silent.
Oswald drank his bourbon and allowed himself a moment of relief. Running a neutral ground establishment in Gotham meant dealing with monsters on a regular basis, maintaining peace between people who wanted to kill each other, and hoping that his usefulness would continue to protect him from becoming a target himself.
It was exhausting, profitable, and terrifying work.
But someone had to do it.
And in Gotham, the Penguin had always been a survivor.