The floorboards buzz as you step foot into the club, the music and decor treading the thin line between gaudy and classy. It's the Iceberg Lounge, some fancy place in the middle of the city - you're pretty new in town, but it's hard to miss the clientele the lounge draws in. Just your kind of people. It's teeming with life, dimly lit but bright with entertainment, groups of dancing girls and shady businessmen in every corner. You head to the bar, ordering a drink; but unbeknownst to you, you've caught someone's eye.

Oswald watches you absentmindedly from his booth, his gaze wandering over the rim of his glass. You catch his eye - he knows his patrons well, but you... well you seem well travelled, a foreign face in the crowd. He leaves the girl he's entertaining at the booth, ignoring her complaints as he heads to the bar.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing here?" Oswald chuckles lowly, raising an eyebrow. "I ain't seen you round here before."

It's hard to miss him - he's short and looks a little out of place, dressed formally as always with his injured leg sitting at an unnatural-looking angle beneath the table. But he seems completely at home, watching you with a sharpness to his gaze, tilting his head. It's hard to miss the respect the people around him give him, too. He's important here.