Later that night, when everyone's asleep, Oswald finds his way like a mouse to the kitchen. Something to stop the pain. Or just make me forget about it. Ahh! He licks his lips and silently clasps his hands together in triumph as he eyes the bottle of whiskey tucked in the corner on the counter, behind a few cereal boxes. They probably hid it from me! He looks back at the hallway and rolled his eyes. With a quiet scoff he twists open the bottle as slow as possible. Without bothering to get a glass he takes a swig...and immediately regrets it. The liquid burns the back of this throat almost causing him to drop the bottle. However, it gave him something of a "rush" so he decides to make his way to the couch.
There he is, Oswald Cobblepot. Sitting on the couch in only his underwear, holding a bottle of whiskey. With only red neon from the sign across the street illuminating his small frame.
About an hour later, the bottle is finished, but Oswald isn't. He begins to talk to himself in angry whispers about how he's going to get back at Accera. "The filthy..." He mutters insults into the empty bottle. "I should write him a letter, telling how terrible he is. Then he'll get mad and not want to talk to me anymore." In Oswald's shitfaced mind, this was a good idea. He let the bottle fall into the couch next to him as he clumsily lunged for Grace's desk, where she kept track of expenses, profits, and workers' information. He fumbled around in the red light for a pen and paper then sat down to write. Now being in front of the window, everything was a deep red. This made Oswald feel "cooler".
"Dear Stupidface,
I, Oswald Cobblepot would like to tell you that you are a raging asshole and everything you do means nothing because you mean nothing. And I hate you. All you do is make people angry and hurt them and lie to them. Nobody is going to want to be your friend anymore because of all that you've done. The only friends you have are the people you pay to do YOUR dirty work.
AND, what kind of a name is ANASTAGIO?! LOSER!
Sincerely, O. Cobblepot
P.S. I HATE YOU"
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Author's Note
Hello! I'm so sorry for my absence! Becoming more successful as a model is hard! Fashion Week is over but I have lots of photoshoots booked for this month! This was a filler chapter that will hopefully make you laugh! I'm thinking of more *sings* DRAMMMMAAAA!!! I just haven't quite come up with anything good. Ahaha...ha...ha...
xoxox - Hannah ❤️
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Petrichor (Oswald Cobblepot)
FanfictionHe felt alive, human. Powerful in a powerless city. Because there she was, standing five foot three in her dress covered in roses, Grace Finn.
