#Now Kirk just feels bad like maybe he was mistaken about the Penguin?

[chiropterx]

[Leave object on muse's desk meme.]

A bulging plastic bag was left at Kirk's office's door. Inside wasn't anything gruesome like a severed head. In fact once opened a delicious smell of the Iceberg Lounge's food billowed outward. There was an appetizer, entrée, and dessert inside their wrapped containers that were neatly stacked on top of one another. Beside the personalized take-out bag was a bottle of good wine wrapped in a paper bag. All of this, and tucked away was a small note.

"No charge. Let's talk some time. I hear you're onto great things.

Yours Truly, Oswald C. Cobblepot".

Leave an object in my ask and my muse will react to it being given to them.

This wasn't what he'd ordered. In fact, the usual deliveryman hadn't come by at all that day, security camera having alerted him to an unknown visitor passing by only to drop off this bag at his office door. Kirk notices the logo proudly emblazoned across the stark white plastic wrapping and pales visibly. The Iceberg Lounge, only the fanciest nightclub in all of Gotham. He'd never been to the Iceberg Lounge before. Couldn't afford it, especially not now he was living on his own (not that he had reason to go out partying anyway.) The logo on the bag seems to glare at him and it's all Kirk can do not to close the door and hope the bag was no longer there when he next opened it. It finally occurs to him to at least check if there's a letter attached just in case it was actually meant for one of his neighbours. No doubt they wouldn't be best pleased to find that dinner had been delivered to the wrong address and he hadn't even bothered to let them know about the mix-up so Kirk rummages through the contents, his stomach trying not to grumble at the exquisite smells emanating from within. Hell, there was even a bottle of wine included, no doubt just as expensive as the food included but finally he located a small note and is shocked to find it's addressed to him. What could Mr. Cobblepot possibly want with somebody like him? No charge? And onto great things? Kirk Langstrom was no partygoer. He barely registered on anybody's radar, his line of work too small, too niche to be of interest to anybody who wasn't deaf or similarly impaired and yet Oswald Cobblepot, owner of the Iceberg Lounge and upper-class businessman had heard of him, even taking the time to deliver a meal on the house. Part of Kirk was worried. Oswald Cobblepot, while a legitimate businessman, was also rumored to have had shady connections within the city... but then who didn't in Gotham? It was filthy and crime-ridden, had been since before he was born and would likely remain that way long after he was gone. Kirk was content to hide away from it all within the comforts of his little home, with just his vampire bats for company as he doggedly worked to find a cure for his and many other's chronic deafness. His stomach grumbled again as his nose again picked up the scents from within the boxes inside the carrier bag. Appetizers, dinner and dessert with a bottle of wine sure sounded a hell of a lot better than the scant inventory of his pantry (when had he last gone shopping anyway?) and so Kirk reached out hesitantly, picking up the bag by it's handles and crrying it inside. He would have cried at how good everything tasted had it not felt like ashes in his stomach as he wondered when Mr. Cobblepot might come calling, to discuss who knew what.