[With the knife sharp enough to split skin that easily, Oswald doesn't really feel any pain from the small nick, but is vaguely aware of the slow trickle down the slope of his neck, along the line of his collarbone and a small pooling in the hollow of his throat.

The way that the stranger sort of bypasses Oswald's fury-driven words and skips right on over to topics of light conversation is almost stranger than the threat itself.

His brows furrow, his mouth looking like it's in the early stages of forming the word 'what' but it doesn't arrive. Instead, Oswald's expression settles a little, still displeased and far from relaxed, but not looking so deeply enraged and battle-ready.]

That would depend. If this were back home in Gotham, a lot of people knew me. I was mayor, after all. For a time. [The mildest of many things that he was, arguably.] And even here, it seems as though my reputation precedes me, but for rather different reasons.

[He offers a nasty, petty smile.]

So. You're going to have to be a little more specific.