[Oswald spends the next twenty four hours vacillating between utter elation and walking on could nine, and devolving into a nervous, anxious mess. The employees of his household tolerate his mood swings reasonably well, considering the source.
Barbara, of course, makes her way over so she can help him pick out his outfit. Whether this is fortunate or unfortunate is debatable, considering she swings between offering snide opinions or rolling her eyes at him and giving him actual good advice. She even gets him ushered out the door on time so he arrives about ten minutes early. Gabe, his driver, gives him one final thumbs up as Oswald moves to go into the restaurant, where he is then shown to their table.
Oswald sits down, practically vibrating with anticipation. He can't even bring himself to look at the menu at the moment, just...trying not to look like he's staring at the door, watching for Edward.... but that ends up being actually close to what he's doing. Seven o'clock arrives; the grandfather clock near the entrance to the restaurant announcing it with a chime. Oswald swallows, stomach twisting into knots as he continues to watch the door, eyes flicking back and forth between it and the table.
Seven-oh-five.
Seven-ten.
He can feel the anticipation start to turn into uncertainty. His stomach twists. Maybe Edward got a customer at the last minute and it's taking longer than usual to close up?
Seven-fifteen.
Seven-twenty.
There's a sinking feeling that's starting to pull at him. What if....no. No, he said he'd come. That he'd remember. That he'd be there. Oswald just...he has to trust him and not let his nerves get the best of him. It'll be fine. There has to be an explanation, and he's certain it's perfectly logical for Edward to be late. He's just on edge, that's all. He really has to get a hold of himself.
Seven-thirty.
Seven-thirty-five.
He feels about ready to vibrate out of his seat. The waiter comes by, looking a little concerned, asking if he can get Oswald something to drink. He orders a bottle of wine. Just one glass won't hurt? Just to steady his nerves.
Seven-forty.
The waiter returns with the wine, pouring him a glass and allowing him to taste it. At Oswald's approving nod, the waiter sets the bottle down at the table. Oswald hopes that Edward likes pinot noirs.
Seven-fourty-five.
Seven-fifty.
He's forcibly having to restrain himself from downing the entire glass. He's....fifty minutes. It's been fifty minutes. That's fine. Surely, there's an explanation and as soon as Edward arrives he's certain he'll tell him what's wrong and they can laugh about it and shrug it off and Oswald can put all these anxious nerves to rest.
Seven-fifty-three.
No Edward.
Seven-fifty-seven.
His glass of wine is empty. Still no Edward.
Eight.
The clock begins its second round of chimes since he's been here. The solemn, low chimes feel like they hit him in the chest, eight times in succession. Edward is very late. An entire hour. Oswald pours himself another glass of wine, fingers trembling slightly. Surely...surely Edward will come through that door at any minute. Surely.
Eight-ten.
Eight-twenty.
The wine bottle is halfway gone.
Eight-thirty.
It's been an hour and a half. Oswald is starting to think that, perhaps....
....well. Either Edward will have a very good explanation or
or
Eight-fourty.
Eight-fifty.
Oswald has visibly started to deflate in his chair. The nervous-excited energy he came in with has drained out from him, leaving behind something hollow. Edward doesn't come through the door.
Nine.
Those chimes again, and oh how Oswald now loathes them. He wants to rip the chimes right out of the clock and throw them. His knuckles are white around the stem of the wineglass. He stares openly at the door now, something both desperate and contemptuous in his gaze. Edward...isn't coming. He's two hours late. He's not walking through that door. But maybe....maybe he will. Maybe there's a good explanation for this. Maybe it's not...
Nine-thirty.
The wine bottle is empty. Oswald flags down the waiter, ordering another bottle as he slumps back in his chair.
Nine-forty-five.
He's taken to staring despondently at the door. The restaurant closes in another forty-five minutes. He's been here for almost three hours.
Edward isn't coming.
He told Oswald he would, that he wanted to, and Oswald believed him--
Ten.
Half of the second wine bottle is gone, and Oswald downs his seventh glass of the night. He made an error, it seems. He replays their conversation yesterday, staring down into his empty wine glass. He no longer looks at the door. Edward isn't coming.
Ten-fifteen.
Edward isn't coming. He probably didn't want to come in the first place. Oswald asked and Edward was too polite to say no. Oswald asked and Edward was put in an awkward position and couldn't say no. Oswald asked and Edward didn't want to lose one of the small consistent clientele he has and couldn't say no.
What was he thinking? Why would Edward want to have dinner with him? It's not like he's any kind of catch. He probably already has a suitor. Perhaps more than one. Why would he have any interest in someone like Oswald?
Ten-twenty. The second bottle of wine is almost empty.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. He's completely ruined everything. He thought those sparks went both ways but he was completely blinded by his own infatuation and failed to see Edward's clear discomfort. Oswald is a frequent and paying customer. Of course Edward would always be polite and friendly to him, if he's provided consistent business.
Ten-thirty.]
"...Mr. Cobblepot?"
[Oswald's head jerks up from where he was staring despondently into his glass to fix his eyes on the person next to the table--which happens to be none other than the chef and owner himself. The Professor looks down at him with something like concern]
Ah. [Oswald glances at the clock.] You'll be wanting to close up, then. My apologies. [it's weak, at best, and nothing with his usual fervor. The Professor's frown deepens, and he sets a box on the table]
"I've prepared you something to take home. I hope it is to your liking."
[he can't help but frown at that, looking confused, glancing between the box and the Professor] I...didn't order anything?
[the Professor simply looks mildly amused] "No...but I would hate to send a guest home on an empty stomach. Please, take it."
[there's a pause...before Oswald is nodding, slowly pushing to his feet] Thank you, Professor. That is very kind of you.
"Of course, Mr. Cobblepot. Do get home safe." [with that, the Professor retreats back to the kitchen. Oswald leaves more than enough payment for both the two bottles of wine and then some. It wouldn't do to undertip the staff, after all. Oswald methodically puts his coat back on, button by button, takes up his cane and that box, and limps out]
[The next morning, Oswald sleeps in. He has the worst hangover. Getting out of bed is a trial and a half, and the only reason he does so is because Barbara visits, demanding to know how it went.
Upon finding him in bed, blanket pulled up around his head, she makes a very quick assumption that the night didn't go as well as hoped.
With some coaxing (aka demanding shoving and kvetching) she manages to get him out of bed and get some food in him, which gives him enough so that the hangover starts to abate and the loathing settles in instead, which she is so not here for. After frog-marching him back to his bedroom to get dressed and get outside and go ask him what happened, she manages to get him out the door.
Gabe drives him into town, and to the bookshop. Oswald spends the entire ride staring out the window, fiddling with the head of his cane, rehearsing apologies. He overstepped. He should have made it clear that Edward could refuse and would not lose Oswald's business. He hopes that they can still be cordial but understands if that is not the case. If Edward wishes, he will send Gabe or one of the other members of his staff to pick up his books from now on. He's sorry. He's so very, very sorry. He didn't mean to. He was foolish. Overzealous. Ridiculous. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid--]
"We're here, boss." [Gabe pulls the door open, startling Oswald temporarily out of the black mental hole he's in.]
Ah. Thank you, Gabe.
[and Oswald climbs out, standing on the cobblestone and just...staring at the door to the bookshop. After a long moment, he swallows, hard, and reaches out to push the door open and step inside]
Edward isn't exactly the most organized person, exactly. Well. He is, but only to himself. Everything in his store has a place, but really only Edward knows where that is. To anyone else, it just looks messy. But it's a controlled sort of chaos.
That isn't the scene that greats Oswald.
Rather, it looks like a tornado went through the store. Books have been tossed haphazardly onto the floor, decorations are smashed into pieces... A lone puzzle globe in ruined pieces on the floor.
There's no one in the shop. Not now. But clearly, there has been someone here since yesterday, to leave the place in such a state.
[Oswald is...frozen. Shocked. He stands there, staring at the scene before him for a solid second or two, before it seems to hit him all at once.]
Edward?! [His voice is already frantic, cracking, and he's moving further into the shop, stepping around books and pieces of broken glass and otherwise] Edward!
[what on Earth--Oswald's stumbling out the front door, far more harried than when he came in] Gabe!
[this startles his driver pretty badly, and Oswald isn't giving him time to speak before grabbing a hold of his arm] Something's wrong--the entire place is a complete mess! We--we need to find Edward!
[Clearly this is not what Gabe was expecting to hear, but he's adapting fairly quickly] "Uh, right, Boss. You got it. We'll start drivin' around."
[he opens the door for Oswald, who is pulling himself up into the carriage, and off they go.
As it is...they seem to be having trouble getting anything out of anyone. Either people haven't seen him, or they're evasive--the latter of which Oswald has absolutely zero patience for. In fact, it finally runs out around the third person who tells him, while very much not looking him in the eye, that he didn't see anything.
Oswald's eyes narrow, both hands going to his cane--and after glancing around to make sure there are no king's guard around, jerks his head at Gabe. Immediately, Gabe takes the signal, picking the man up by the scruff and dragging him into the alley. Oswald follows at a slower pace as Gabe shoves the guy into the wall, before landing a solid fist into his abdomen. He doubles over, just as Gabe steps back to allow him room and to guard the entrance to the alley. Oswald reaches out with the tip of his cane, placing it under the man's chin and tilting his head up.]
Now. Allow me to inform you how this is going to go. [he pulls his cane back, pulling up the knife a bit out of the sheath just enough so he can cut his finger. The blood drips down, hitting the cobblestones and the shadows cast upon it. He smears the blood between thumb and forefinger murmuring quietly under his breath. Suddenly a tendril of shadow lashes out, wrapping around the man's neck and dragging him up the wall until his toes are just barely touching the ground]
You're going to tell me exactly where Edward Nygma is and what you saw. Clear?
[The man is... sweating. A lot. He's clearly terrified, shaking, breath quick, staring at Oswald with wide eyes.]
"I-I--" [He swallows, hard, realizing he can't just say he doesn't know again.] "You don't understand, I can't just-- I don't even know the guy, man! I'm not gonna be next just for hanging around here!"
Clearly, you are failing to comprehend your position. [the tendril drags him just a touch higher, tightening around the man's throat] If you decide not to tell me, then I will personally ensure that you are, as you say, "next." And I can guarantee that it will be far more torturous and painful than anything they could do.
"L-Listen, I dunno a lot, okay? There's- There's just been these rumors, y'know? P-People goin' missing. I didn't think they were real, b-but I saw someone get dragged outta the city a few days back...
An' then I saw that bookshop guy get dragged outta his store yesterday."
"I-I dunno, they had armor sorta like you see the guards wear, but kind of different? I didn't stick around to get a good look, I'm not crazy!" [The man tilts his head one way.] "T-T-They went kind of that way, I guess? Eastwards, y'know. So they might've dragged him outta town too, I dunno!"
[Oswald considers this for a moment, before he's stepping close, reaching out to take the man's wrist, thumb pressing to the inside.] Don't scream now. [He murmurs under his breath again, and there's a low hiss and the light scent of burning skin and, for Oswald's captive anyway, a significant amount of pain as a small mark, almost umbrella-shaped, is branded there on the inside of his wrist.]
There, that wasn't so bad. Now, if you lied to me, or if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll know exactly where to find you. [Oswald steps back, releasing him, the tendril holding the man up disappearing in a wisp of smoke, before turning and striding towards the exit to the alley]
Gabe! We're going eastward. [his expression finally twists into a grimace as he feels that fear settle in. People going missing. Edward was dragged away yesterday. Why didn't he think to stop by earlier and just check? Why did he wait this long?!
He pulls himself up next to Gabe at the front of the carriage so he can keep a better eye out as his driver climbs up as well, flicking the reigns to get the carriage moving]
[Heading further east means heading into the... not the bad part of town, exactly, because even the criminals don't like to hang out here. It's more the dilapidated part of town. Or, well, filthy to describe it another way.
Quite literally so. It's where a lot of garbage gets dumped.
It's also at the edge of town. Going much further than this means heading out entirely. What now, Oswald? Look around here or keep going.]
[No sign of Edward. Nothing. Not even a glimpse of him nor those men dressed like guards. Oswald presses his lips together, having Gabe slow to a walk as they near the edge of town. He's pushing to stand up at the front of the carriage, looking around for any sign of...anyone, really.]
Edward! [it's called out, dread a living, coiling thing in his stomach] Edward Nygma!
[Oswald blinks at that, startled, glancing over] I--yes. Someone might've been brought this way yesterday. By some of the guards. Did you see anything?
"Uh-huh!" [She nods quickly.] "My daddy told me I wasn't supposed ta' talk to anyone about it, but... but I saw a man get taken that way." [She points. That's out of town.]
"I figured someone might get worried about him... I haven't seen him head back."
[Oswald's heart sinks. That dread grows. He swallows hard.] ...I see. [his voice is quiet--and he's fumbling in his pocket, pulling out a coin or two and handing it to her] Thank you, young lady.
[As Oswald keeps walking, he'll eventually... smell something. It's an awful scent. But, considering his area of magic, probably one he's familiar with.
[Turns out he's not smelling the rot of one body. It's multiple.
There's a ditch, running along the road. And there's clear remains in there. Several. Some older, some more recent. And as he keeps walking, the smell is gonna lessen a little. After all...
The smell doesn't get quite so bad right after death, yet.
[What on Earth---Oswald can feel his heartbeat, loud in his ears, as he starts walking faster along the bank of the ditch, at as much of a jog as he can muster with his leg. They're just...lining them up and throwing them in?! There's just so many--]
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But Nobody Came
[Oswald spends the next twenty four hours vacillating between utter elation and walking on could nine, and devolving into a nervous, anxious mess. The employees of his household tolerate his mood swings reasonably well, considering the source.
Barbara, of course, makes her way over so she can help him pick out his outfit. Whether this is fortunate or unfortunate is debatable, considering she swings between offering snide opinions or rolling her eyes at him and giving him actual good advice. She even gets him ushered out the door on time so he arrives about ten minutes early. Gabe, his driver, gives him one final thumbs up as Oswald moves to go into the restaurant, where he is then shown to their table.
Oswald sits down, practically vibrating with anticipation. He can't even bring himself to look at the menu at the moment, just...trying not to look like he's staring at the door, watching for Edward.... but that ends up being actually close to what he's doing. Seven o'clock arrives; the grandfather clock near the entrance to the restaurant announcing it with a chime. Oswald swallows, stomach twisting into knots as he continues to watch the door, eyes flicking back and forth between it and the table.
Seven-oh-five.
Seven-ten.
He can feel the anticipation start to turn into uncertainty. His stomach twists. Maybe Edward got a customer at the last minute and it's taking longer than usual to close up?
Seven-fifteen.
Seven-twenty.
There's a sinking feeling that's starting to pull at him. What if....no. No, he said he'd come. That he'd remember. That he'd be there. Oswald just...he has to trust him and not let his nerves get the best of him. It'll be fine. There has to be an explanation, and he's certain it's perfectly logical for Edward to be late. He's just on edge, that's all. He really has to get a hold of himself.
Seven-thirty.
Seven-thirty-five.
He feels about ready to vibrate out of his seat. The waiter comes by, looking a little concerned, asking if he can get Oswald something to drink. He orders a bottle of wine. Just one glass won't hurt? Just to steady his nerves.
Seven-forty.
The waiter returns with the wine, pouring him a glass and allowing him to taste it. At Oswald's approving nod, the waiter sets the bottle down at the table. Oswald hopes that Edward likes pinot noirs.
Seven-fourty-five.
Seven-fifty.
He's forcibly having to restrain himself from downing the entire glass. He's....fifty minutes. It's been fifty minutes. That's fine. Surely, there's an explanation and as soon as Edward arrives he's certain he'll tell him what's wrong and they can laugh about it and shrug it off and Oswald can put all these anxious nerves to rest.
Seven-fifty-three.
No Edward.
Seven-fifty-seven.
His glass of wine is empty. Still no Edward.
Eight.
The clock begins its second round of chimes since he's been here. The solemn, low chimes feel like they hit him in the chest, eight times in succession. Edward is very late. An entire hour. Oswald pours himself another glass of wine, fingers trembling slightly. Surely...surely Edward will come through that door at any minute. Surely.
Eight-ten.
Eight-twenty.
The wine bottle is halfway gone.
Eight-thirty.
It's been an hour and a half. Oswald is starting to think that, perhaps....
....well. Either Edward will have a very good explanation or
or
Eight-fourty.
Eight-fifty.
Oswald has visibly started to deflate in his chair. The nervous-excited energy he came in with has drained out from him, leaving behind something hollow. Edward doesn't come through the door.
Nine.
Those chimes again, and oh how Oswald now loathes them. He wants to rip the chimes right out of the clock and throw them. His knuckles are white around the stem of the wineglass. He stares openly at the door now, something both desperate and contemptuous in his gaze. Edward...isn't coming. He's two hours late. He's not walking through that door. But maybe....maybe he will. Maybe there's a good explanation for this. Maybe it's not...
Nine-thirty.
The wine bottle is empty. Oswald flags down the waiter, ordering another bottle as he slumps back in his chair.
Nine-forty-five.
He's taken to staring despondently at the door. The restaurant closes in another forty-five minutes. He's been here for almost three hours.
Edward isn't coming.
He told Oswald he would, that he wanted to, and Oswald believed him--
Ten.
Half of the second wine bottle is gone, and Oswald downs his seventh glass of the night. He made an error, it seems. He replays their conversation yesterday, staring down into his empty wine glass. He no longer looks at the door. Edward isn't coming.
Ten-fifteen.
Edward isn't coming. He probably didn't want to come in the first place. Oswald asked and Edward was too polite to say no. Oswald asked and Edward was put in an awkward position and couldn't say no. Oswald asked and Edward didn't want to lose one of the small consistent clientele he has and couldn't say no.
What was he thinking? Why would Edward want to have dinner with him? It's not like he's any kind of catch. He probably already has a suitor. Perhaps more than one. Why would he have any interest in someone like Oswald?
Ten-twenty. The second bottle of wine is almost empty.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. He's completely ruined everything. He thought those sparks went both ways but he was completely blinded by his own infatuation and failed to see Edward's clear discomfort. Oswald is a frequent and paying customer. Of course Edward would always be polite and friendly to him, if he's provided consistent business.
Ten-thirty.]
"...Mr. Cobblepot?"
[Oswald's head jerks up from where he was staring despondently into his glass to fix his eyes on the person next to the table--which happens to be none other than the chef and owner himself. The Professor looks down at him with something like concern]
Ah. [Oswald glances at the clock.] You'll be wanting to close up, then. My apologies. [it's weak, at best, and nothing with his usual fervor. The Professor's frown deepens, and he sets a box on the table]
"I've prepared you something to take home. I hope it is to your liking."
[he can't help but frown at that, looking confused, glancing between the box and the Professor] I...didn't order anything?
[the Professor simply looks mildly amused] "No...but I would hate to send a guest home on an empty stomach. Please, take it."
[there's a pause...before Oswald is nodding, slowly pushing to his feet] Thank you, Professor. That is very kind of you.
"Of course, Mr. Cobblepot. Do get home safe." [with that, the Professor retreats back to the kitchen. Oswald leaves more than enough payment for both the two bottles of wine and then some. It wouldn't do to undertip the staff, after all. Oswald methodically puts his coat back on, button by button, takes up his cane and that box, and limps out]
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Upon finding him in bed, blanket pulled up around his head, she makes a very quick assumption that the night didn't go as well as hoped.
With some coaxing (aka demanding shoving and kvetching) she manages to get him out of bed and get some food in him, which gives him enough so that the hangover starts to abate and the loathing settles in instead, which she is so not here for. After frog-marching him back to his bedroom to get dressed and get outside and go ask him what happened, she manages to get him out the door.
Gabe drives him into town, and to the bookshop. Oswald spends the entire ride staring out the window, fiddling with the head of his cane, rehearsing apologies. He overstepped. He should have made it clear that Edward could refuse and would not lose Oswald's business. He hopes that they can still be cordial but understands if that is not the case. If Edward wishes, he will send Gabe or one of the other members of his staff to pick up his books from now on. He's sorry. He's so very, very sorry. He didn't mean to. He was foolish. Overzealous. Ridiculous. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid--]
"We're here, boss." [Gabe pulls the door open, startling Oswald temporarily out of the black mental hole he's in.]
Ah. Thank you, Gabe.
[and Oswald climbs out, standing on the cobblestone and just...staring at the door to the bookshop. After a long moment, he swallows, hard, and reaches out to push the door open and step inside]
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Startling.
Edward isn't exactly the most organized person, exactly. Well. He is, but only to himself. Everything in his store has a place, but really only Edward knows where that is. To anyone else, it just looks messy. But it's a controlled sort of chaos.
That isn't the scene that greats Oswald.
Rather, it looks like a tornado went through the store. Books have been tossed haphazardly onto the floor, decorations are smashed into pieces... A lone puzzle globe in ruined pieces on the floor.
There's no one in the shop. Not now. But clearly, there has been someone here since yesterday, to leave the place in such a state.
It looks...
ransacked.]
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Edward?! [His voice is already frantic, cracking, and he's moving further into the shop, stepping around books and pieces of broken glass and otherwise] Edward!
[his heart is in his throat. What happened here?]
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There's no Edward in sight.]
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[this startles his driver pretty badly, and Oswald isn't giving him time to speak before grabbing a hold of his arm] Something's wrong--the entire place is a complete mess! We--we need to find Edward!
[Clearly this is not what Gabe was expecting to hear, but he's adapting fairly quickly] "Uh, right, Boss. You got it. We'll start drivin' around."
[he opens the door for Oswald, who is pulling himself up into the carriage, and off they go.
As it is...they seem to be having trouble getting anything out of anyone. Either people haven't seen him, or they're evasive--the latter of which Oswald has absolutely zero patience for. In fact, it finally runs out around the third person who tells him, while very much not looking him in the eye, that he didn't see anything.
Oswald's eyes narrow, both hands going to his cane--and after glancing around to make sure there are no king's guard around, jerks his head at Gabe. Immediately, Gabe takes the signal, picking the man up by the scruff and dragging him into the alley. Oswald follows at a slower pace as Gabe shoves the guy into the wall, before landing a solid fist into his abdomen. He doubles over, just as Gabe steps back to allow him room and to guard the entrance to the alley. Oswald reaches out with the tip of his cane, placing it under the man's chin and tilting his head up.]
Now. Allow me to inform you how this is going to go. [he pulls his cane back, pulling up the knife a bit out of the sheath just enough so he can cut his finger. The blood drips down, hitting the cobblestones and the shadows cast upon it. He smears the blood between thumb and forefinger murmuring quietly under his breath. Suddenly a tendril of shadow lashes out, wrapping around the man's neck and dragging him up the wall until his toes are just barely touching the ground]
You're going to tell me exactly where Edward Nygma is and what you saw. Clear?
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"I-I--" [He swallows, hard, realizing he can't just say he doesn't know again.] "You don't understand, I can't just-- I don't even know the guy, man! I'm not gonna be next just for hanging around here!"
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Clearly, you are failing to comprehend your position. [the tendril drags him just a touch higher, tightening around the man's throat] If you decide not to tell me, then I will personally ensure that you are, as you say, "next." And I can guarantee that it will be far more torturous and painful than anything they could do.
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[Yeah, that changed his tune real quick.]
"L-Listen, I dunno a lot, okay? There's- There's just been these rumors, y'know? P-People goin' missing. I didn't think they were real, b-but I saw someone get dragged outta the city a few days back...
An' then I saw that bookshop guy get dragged outta his store yesterday."
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hyperventilate and definitely cry out in pain, just not to screaming levels
it's fine he doesn't even have a name, we don't care]
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Gabe! We're going eastward. [his expression finally twists into a grimace as he feels that fear settle in. People going missing. Edward was dragged away yesterday. Why didn't he think to stop by earlier and just check? Why did he wait this long?!
He pulls himself up next to Gabe at the front of the carriage so he can keep a better eye out as his driver climbs up as well, flicking the reigns to get the carriage moving]
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Quite literally so. It's where a lot of garbage gets dumped.
It's also at the edge of town. Going much further than this means heading out entirely. What now, Oswald? Look around here or keep going.]
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Edward! [it's called out, dread a living, coiling thing in his stomach] Edward Nygma!
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It's a young girl, not quite a teen yet, that walks up to Oswald and taps him on the arm.]
"Excuse me, sir? You're looking for someone?"
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"I figured someone might get worried about him... I haven't seen him head back."
[it was scary :(]
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[and he just starts...walking, that way]
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That's the smell of death.
Something's rotting.]
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It's the first time in a long time that it's brought with it a creeping sense of horror. But he'll follow his nose, looking to follow the scent. ]
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There's a ditch, running along the road. And there's clear remains in there. Several. Some older, some more recent. And as he keeps walking, the smell is gonna lessen a little. After all...
The smell doesn't get quite so bad right after death, yet.
Still walking, Oswald?]
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someone there
a body still mostly intact.
He'll know that familiar hair color. The fondness of green.
Almost there, Oswald.
Investigate?]
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