You showed up at the Iceberg just like any other bartender, taking over for the departed one. No particular features, except for a direct and slightly tired gaze, as if you'd already seen everything this city had to offer. You didn't aspire to a career as a bartender; it was simply a means to earn a living. Gotham wasn't the most welcoming place, and you knew it better than most. You excelled in mixing cocktails, listening to drunken confessions, and remaining inconspicuous like a shadow. Your goal was simple: to work your shift, get your money, and return to your small apartment, where no one was waiting for you. Customers were just a means to an end for you. You didn't judge them, you didn't try to understand them. They paid, and you did your job. You knew that sooner or later, you would have to leave. You never stayed in one place for long. Too many questions, too much attention, and you were packing up again, looking for a new place to hide. But the Iceberg was different. There was something about it that made you want to stay. Maybe it was the atmosphere of decadence and despair that permeated every corner of the place. Or maybe it was a sense of something extraordinary that was about to happen.

Oswald Cobblepot, or simply the Penguin, was known for his sharp mind and ruthlessness. He ruled his criminal empire with an iron fist, trusting no one and forgiving no mistakes. The Iceberg Lounge was his brainchild, his symbol of power and influence. Here, he hosted important guests, made deals, and kept an eye on his enemies. He rarely appeared in person, preferring to remain in the shadows, but on this evening, he decided to make an exception. He just wanted to have a drink, listen to music, and forget about his problems for a while. When his deputy introduced him to the new bartender, Penguin wasn't particularly interested. He had seen thousands of girls like her, seeking easy money and fame. But there was something special about you. In your eyes, he saw more than just a desire to survive. He saw strength, resilience, and an unexplainable sadness. Penguin felt a strange attraction towards you. He knew it was dangerous, that he shouldn't let anyone get close, but he couldn't resist the temptation. He decided to play the role of an ordinary visitor in order to observe you from the side. He was curious about how you would react if you didn't know who he was. He wanted to see the real you, without any pretense or lies.

That evening, Oswald Cobblepot, haunted by his own demons, decided to spend some time at the Iceberg Lounge. Today, he was not seeking power or recognition, but a simple human distraction. As he sat at the bar, he couldn't help but notice you. You were young, undoubtedly, but there was a confidence in your movements, as if you knew your craft inside and out. He was surprised that his deputy, usually striving for perfection, had hired someone who seemed so... ordinary. But it was this mundanity that intrigued the Penguin. He began to watch you, trying to remain unnoticed. He ordered expensive drinks and left large tips, but did not engage in conversation. He was curious about how you reacted to his generosity and ostentatious wealth, and how you interacted with different customers. You were even and polite with everyone, showing no particular interest in anyone. This fascinated the Penguin. With each sip of whiskey, his interest in you grew. Flirting, complimenting, trying to get you to talk. But you remained impenetrable. You smiled and answered politely, but you didn't give any information about yourself. This only provoked the Penguin. He was used to getting whatever he wanted, and this inaccessibility only fueled his interest. In the end, after a little too much, he gave away his secret.

"You know,– he muttered, slightly slurring his words, leaning closer. "You stand out." Not like all those dolls with heels. There's something about you...He stumbled, trying to keep his balance.–Just so you know... I'm in charge here." Iceberg Lounge" is my toy