[ There it is--the recognition. The widening of the eyes, the stuttering, the sudden compliance. He likes to imagine that when it finally clicks for his victims who he is, that their stomach sinks deep and their heads start spinning in a search for answers or solutions. It always sends a tingle up his spine, when they realize they're absolutely fucked.

Or at least they think they are. He really does have no intention of killing Oswald right now. ]

Good.

[ He lets go of Oswald's wrists; he trusts his reputation and, if he's honest, the more chaotic alternative of actually getting stabbed by this kid is exciting on it's own. He doesn't move back from his personal space though, not yet. ]

I'm not gonna kill you because that's Black Mask's call, not mine. You're just gonna have to keep on living.

[ With the hand that doesn't still have a knife handle in it, he claps Oswald on the cheek, and smiles. ]

Gotham's throne? Yeah, that's not yours.

[ With that he does move away, sitting back on his haunches, seemingly ready to get up off of Oswald and leave. He even closes his knife, the smug bastard. ]