"It might go away." He looks a little anxious at the idea that it won't, however. "The saloon delivers. Food. They have food delivery." Does the saloon have food delivery, Ed? Is that what you're trying to say there?
"Oh good." Oswald laughed, nerves on clear display as he tucked the pillows under his arms and shuffled off to put them away. "That's good. I've spoken to someone who says they can see ghosts all the time. And whenever this is over, they can check to see if it's still there or not."
"That must be...disturbing." He has enough issues with his hallucinations and projections, seeing actual ghosts. Hell no. Thank you, no. "I can call someone and ask if they'll deliver clothes. The general store may." They won't be tailored, but at least they'll fit.
"That would be a good idea if I knew what sizing to go by. Most stores go with generic S,M, and L. And it just never seems to work out right," he answered with a shrug. Not discounting it, per se, but definitely not convinced it was worth the money to try. Sure, Ed's shirts swallowed him whole, but that was only because he was so much taller.
"Oh! Since you're back, do you want dinner? I made a small pot of pΓΆrkΓΆlt that should be finished by now. I didn't have any nokedli, but some bread and wine will do the trick."
He made his way to the stove and lifted a pot lid, releasing the smell of a slow-cooked simple shepard's stew of meat, tomatoes, and... onions. HE TRIED, ED A somewhat traditional Hungarian meal that was easy to make and matched his own level of cooking.
"It's nothing like my mother makes, but I didn't get her talent for cooking."
Yes, truly Ed is a giant of Slenderman proportions. "Fair enough." At least there's a laundry room in the basement, so Ed probably won't run out of clothes before they can get Oswald his own. Probably.
Ed has been really, really poor with his money-skills in New Dodge, okay?
"I'm sure it's fine." He won't even pick the onions out, even though he desperately wants to. He doubts it would go over well, and in any case he doesn't have a microscope or tweezers. "I can cook tomorrow. Breakfast. I mean."
If there's one skill Ed does have it's cooking. Hopefully the ice hasn't frozen that over as well.
"You can? Wonderful!" Oswald scooped out the stew into two bowls and gestured at the table with his elbows. "Sit! Sit! We can talk about the investors and what I plan on doing with the old brothel!"
Even if he hasn't fully accepted this as reality in truth, he does seem to be settling in very comfortably. Probably more comfortably than he would if he realized this was all real and not something he made up in his head. He's being a little too open about certain things right now. But hey, easier to keep track of!
Sit-sit he will do, pillows set aside to do just that. Without even thinking about it, he picks up one of the puzzle boxes on the table and immediately starts playing with it. "One of the town investors owns this building. One of them owns the casino. Jemma Simmons and Leonard Snart." Big emphasis on that t sound there. "Who are the others on the list?"
Puzzle box solved rather quickly, he sets it aside, waiting for the response to his question. And the food.
He's certainly not going to mention the idea that Oswald may or may not believe in the reality of this place yet. Yet.
"It was just three. Those were the first two names. A Harry Fenymen? I'm not sure I'm pronouncing that name right," he frowned, eyes glancing toward the puzzle box. He'd messed around with a couple of them out of curiosity and had no luck solving them in his idle attempts. And yet, there Ed was, solving one as if it were nothing.
"Have you had those for a while?" he asked, curious. "You have a lot of them."
"Doctor Feynman is married to someone on the town council, which could be advantageous for you assuming she's re-elected come April 1." Which is, apparently, when the election is. "I've heard Doctor Simmons used to be on the town council. And Leonard Snart owns the casino, which could make for an interesting partnership with the brothel." Well no one can say Ed hasn't been paying attention to what happens in this town.
He looks at the puzzle boxes, shrugging. "A week, maybe a little more. Occupational therapy. Among other things." And, he is annoyed to say, the only one that's currently working well in his estimation.
A week. Maybe if Oswald had a week to work on it, off and on, he'd be decent with them as well. Maybe. It might give him something to do while he figured out how to get past the thing in the lobby if the ghost-whisperer wasn't able to pull it away.
"Then Lenard Snart will be the first on my list," Oswald slapped his hand on the table, grinning brightly before he started to dig into the meal. It was pretty passable all things considered. Maybe a tad strong on the paprika, but not terribly so.
"Of all the things to not be up and running when it's legal, the brothel would not have been my first guess. And since we're-" he paused, refrained from adding 'apparently' though it was a struggle, "-on an alien world, I was thinking of looking into more exotic workers than the usual, human, fare. Though, I wonder, would the aliens consider us aliens and thus, the exotic fare?"
"I think he may also be from a world similar to ours. I've heard a few people mention 'Central City', so someone is. As I've been able to determine that 'Gotham' is not a city in every version of Earth, and neither are Central City or Metropolis." Isn't that strange? He thinks it's very strange.
He'll try some of this meal, and despite the onions he'll admit that it does taste very good. He'd still rather no onions. Ugh, onions. "Thank you for making this," he says before responding to the question. "It's possible. Probable, actually. Especially since most humans in this...colony do seem to be fairly...exotic?"
"Well, I meant in general," he said, though he did nod after a moment's thought, "You're right, however. Most of the human settlers I've seen are rather attractive. But to an alien, our measure of such things might not even matter. They may find what we consider a disgusting disfiguration to be the pinnacle of beauty. And vice-versa."
He's wondering if there are any non-human alien fuckers out there that would like to fuck humans cause to them, the humans are the aliens. He's just trying not to put it in such terms. Which is rather difficult, actually.
"Before I open, I'm going to have to decide how to market this. I've never done that before. Prostitution was never my focus when working for Ms. Mooney. I have always dreamed of stepping into her shoes and taking over the nightclub."
And then going higher, but the nightclub was a good start.
Talk about conversations he's never had with the Oswald he knows back home. Prostitution and brothels is probably pretty high that list. "Well, I meant more the fact that some of the settlers have metahuman abilities." He's found that they like that phrase more than 'they're monsters'. Probably because there are actual werewolves in town. "But yes, that's true as well. They are...rather magazine-ready."
He thinks about this. "Perhaps there's someone in town who used to work at the brothel, when it was last open? If so, they may be able to tell you what they did for marketing."
"That would at least tell me what to avoid," he agreed. Since they shut down, any marketing they had done was probably the wrong sort.
"I want to make it a little more like the Foxglove, but less sex-club and more sex-for-pay with shows as well. On the burlesque side, I was thinking. Maybe. Something of a mix of a nightclub and brothel. Live music, rooms and talent for higher. High quality clientele screenings. I don't want general riff-raff to be able to frequent it. That just drags standards down."
"It's certainly a large enough building for that." He thinks about it. "Maybe you can do something with the fact that it's shaped like some sort of egg?" He has no idea why it's like that, but there must be someone in town who might. "And you have a point. Invitation only, isn't that how the Foxglove works? That seems...amicable isn't the right word." Frowning, a bit at his brain's sudden catch on a bit of mental rust. "...agreeable? Accommodating? Something."
Oswald made a guess at what Ed was trying to say, then moved on as if the hiccup hadn't happened at all, "I'm going to renovate and remodel it. Maybe have it repainted or re-faced as some sort of rock formation. The building space is fine, but I want as little to do with how it looked when it failed as possible."
At the guess, Ed looks relieved. And honestly thankful. That was probably going to bother him until he got frustrated about it, and now it won't. So enjoy that brief look of thanks, Oswald.
"A rock formation?" Oh, Edward. Don't say iceberg. Do not say iceberg.
"Something to match the basic shape so that I don't have to do much work structurally," he shrugged. "I'm not trying to build it from the ground up. Just make it look different enough. A facade of some sort. Maybe I'll go the art nouveau renaissance route. I don't know yet. It all depends entirely on what kind of money I can get from an investor. Or investors. Multiple ones. Probably better to seek out more than one, so none of them try to play at being partners. I might have to be indebted to one or a few for a time, but I don't need them thinking they own part of it once it gets going."
He intended to be the sole proprietor. Once he had it up and running he'd be paying back any investors in no time. It wasn't that hard to run a club, right?
"You may want to talk to Dr Feynman, then. I've heard he's more agreeable about these sorts of things. Less in need of partnership." He hmms. What an odd role to slip back into, advising Oswald Cobblepot. Oh well? "Have you seen the inside yet?"
"No. Not yet. I don't want to approach the, I think it's the town council?" he's not really sure about who to go to for properties just yet. He needed an investor first. "Whoever it is about a potential purchase without the necessary capital to make a credible offer. I don't know for certain how it works here, but I would rather look over-prepared than under. After I have an interested investor, then I'll see about taking a tour and doing an estimate on renovations."
He finished off his bowl and set it to the side, leaning forward to take one of the puzzles in hand and idly play at it. He set it back down a few moments later, interest lost.
"How is your job? Does it pay well? Is it interesting? I should have asked sooner."
"That sounds like the right move." He watches Oswald with the puzzle, curious as to whether he'll be able to solve it, and if so how long it'll take. If he's disappointed when he loses interest, it doesn't show. He picks up the discarded puzzle and plays with it himself.
"It's fine. Morgue attendant at a clinic where no one really seems to die all that often, it's not terribly interesting as of yet. Actually, it's a little boring. But I've had to learn new equipment, so that's been interesting. It pays...enough for this room or maybe an apartment or a yurt." The way he says 'yurt' is...probably very indicative of how well he's enjoy living in one: not at all. "And incidentals. Maybe more."
Oswald is completely with him on the idea of living in a tent. No matter how big or fancy. Just didn't want to if he had the option of not.
"What did you do before this? Supposedly that doesn't matter, but I think that's only in regards to ones crimes," he got a thoughtful look, considering that as he continued, "But really, what you did before dictates what you do now, what you're familiar with and good at, doesn't it?"
If he treated this as more than just something he made up, then it certainly mattered.
If he wanted to live in a tent, he'd join the circus. And Edward Nygma is no Jerome Valeska, thank God.
He considers Oswald's question, twisting the puzzle box right, up and then left. How honest should he be here? Obviously not very in regards to Oswald himself, but where was the harm in telling him a bit more of the truth? "I worked for the GCPD for a while. Forensics. Then for the mayor. My last job was...significantly less legal."
"That sounds promising," he grinned, leaning forward, chin on his hands. "How less legal are we talking? And what did you do for the Mayor that he'd require a forensics expert?"
He was picturing Aubrey James calling Edward in to try and cover his tracks for an 'accidental' murder. It seemed the sort of thing the corrupt fat cat would do.
"Bank robbery. Murder. A few other things. Framing James Gordon." He shrugs, twisting the puzzle box another way. This one seems to be giving him a bit more trouble.
He huffs a bit, unaware of what Oswald is picturing. "I saved his life when he was injured. I suppose he felt grateful. He saved me from Arkham, gave me a place to live and a job."
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Re: voice to ACTION
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"Oh! Since you're back, do you want dinner? I made a small pot of pΓΆrkΓΆlt that should be finished by now. I didn't have any nokedli, but some bread and wine will do the trick."
He made his way to the stove and lifted a pot lid, releasing the smell of a slow-cooked simple shepard's stew of meat, tomatoes, and... onions.
HE TRIED, EDA somewhat traditional Hungarian meal that was easy to make and matched his own level of cooking."It's nothing like my mother makes, but I didn't get her talent for cooking."
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Ed has been really, really poor with his money-skills in New Dodge, okay?
"I'm sure it's fine." He won't even pick the onions out, even though he desperately wants to. He doubts it would go over well, and in any case he doesn't have a microscope or tweezers. "I can cook tomorrow. Breakfast. I mean."
If there's one skill Ed does have it's cooking. Hopefully the ice hasn't frozen that over as well.
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Even if he hasn't fully accepted this as reality in truth, he does seem to be settling in very comfortably. Probably more comfortably than he would if he realized this was all real and not something he made up in his head. He's being a little too open about certain things right now. But hey, easier to keep track of!
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Puzzle box solved rather quickly, he sets it aside, waiting for the response to his question. And the food.
He's certainly not going to mention the idea that Oswald may or may not believe in the reality of this place yet. Yet.
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"Have you had those for a while?" he asked, curious. "You have a lot of them."
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He looks at the puzzle boxes, shrugging. "A week, maybe a little more. Occupational therapy. Among other things." And, he is annoyed to say, the only one that's currently working well in his estimation.
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"Then Lenard Snart will be the first on my list," Oswald slapped his hand on the table, grinning brightly before he started to dig into the meal. It was pretty passable all things considered. Maybe a tad strong on the paprika, but not terribly so.
"Of all the things to not be up and running when it's legal, the brothel would not have been my first guess. And since we're-" he paused, refrained from adding 'apparently' though it was a struggle, "-on an alien world, I was thinking of looking into more exotic workers than the usual, human, fare. Though, I wonder, would the aliens consider us aliens and thus, the exotic fare?"
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He'll try some of this meal, and despite the onions he'll admit that it does taste very good. He'd still rather no onions. Ugh, onions. "Thank you for making this," he says before responding to the question. "It's possible. Probable, actually. Especially since most humans in this...colony do seem to be fairly...exotic?"
Oh, he is so going to need to explain that.
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He's wondering if there are any non-human alien fuckers out there that would like to fuck humans cause to them, the humans are the aliens. He's just trying not to put it in such terms. Which is rather difficult, actually.
"Before I open, I'm going to have to decide how to market this. I've never done that before. Prostitution was never my focus when working for Ms. Mooney. I have always dreamed of stepping into her shoes and taking over the nightclub."
And then going higher, but the nightclub was a good start.
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He thinks about this. "Perhaps there's someone in town who used to work at the brothel, when it was last open? If so, they may be able to tell you what they did for marketing."
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"I want to make it a little more like the Foxglove, but less sex-club and more sex-for-pay with shows as well. On the burlesque side, I was thinking. Maybe. Something of a mix of a nightclub and brothel. Live music, rooms and talent for higher. High quality clientele screenings. I don't want general riff-raff to be able to frequent it. That just drags standards down."
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"It's certainly a large enough building for that." He thinks about it. "Maybe you can do something with the fact that it's shaped like some sort of egg?" He has no idea why it's like that, but there must be someone in town who might. "And you have a point. Invitation only, isn't that how the Foxglove works? That seems...amicable isn't the right word." Frowning, a bit at his brain's sudden catch on a bit of mental rust. "...agreeable? Accommodating? Something."
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Oswald made a guess at what Ed was trying to say, then moved on as if the hiccup hadn't happened at all, "I'm going to renovate and remodel it. Maybe have it repainted or re-faced as some sort of rock formation. The building space is fine, but I want as little to do with how it looked when it failed as possible."
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"A rock formation?" Oh, Edward. Don't say iceberg. Do not say iceberg.
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He intended to be the sole proprietor. Once he had it up and running he'd be paying back any investors in no time. It wasn't that hard to run a club, right?
... right?
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He hopes it's considerably less eggy.
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He finished off his bowl and set it to the side, leaning forward to take one of the puzzles in hand and idly play at it. He set it back down a few moments later, interest lost.
"How is your job? Does it pay well? Is it interesting? I should have asked sooner."
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"It's fine. Morgue attendant at a clinic where no one really seems to die all that often, it's not terribly interesting as of yet. Actually, it's a little boring. But I've had to learn new equipment, so that's been interesting. It pays...enough for this room or maybe an apartment or a yurt." The way he says 'yurt' is...probably very indicative of how well he's enjoy living in one: not at all. "And incidentals. Maybe more."
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"What did you do before this? Supposedly that doesn't matter, but I think that's only in regards to ones crimes," he got a thoughtful look, considering that as he continued, "But really, what you did before dictates what you do now, what you're familiar with and good at, doesn't it?"
If he treated this as more than just something he made up, then it certainly mattered.
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He considers Oswald's question, twisting the puzzle box right, up and then left. How honest should he be here? Obviously not very in regards to Oswald himself, but where was the harm in telling him a bit more of the truth? "I worked for the GCPD for a while. Forensics. Then for the mayor. My last job was...significantly less legal."
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He was picturing Aubrey James calling Edward in to try and cover his tracks for an 'accidental' murder. It seemed the sort of thing the corrupt fat cat would do.
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He huffs a bit, unaware of what Oswald is picturing. "I saved his life when he was injured. I suppose he felt grateful. He saved me from Arkham, gave me a place to live and a job."
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