The building itself had lost it’s rebellious intimidation in the afternoon daylight. It looked like every other abandoned brick block in Gotham; dirty, broken, and cold despite the muggy twinge that hung in the air. She hung outside the door, finishing the last of her cigarette she’d lit for the walk with a lingering drag before flicking the butt away– not bothering to snuff it with the toe of her boot. She wiped her hands on the loose tank and shorts that she wore underneath her permanently present leather jacked with a sigh before letting them hover over the handle of the door.
She was trying now to remember why she’d even agree to meet him in the first place. Sparring. Like she needed the help in the first place. Especially from someone who wasn’t even willing to hit her. She wanted to be apathetic– a part of her even wanted to turn around and go home, but she stayed rooted, because there was something more about him she wanted to know– even if she wasn’t sure exactly what that was just yet. Mysterious strangers weren’t exactly commonplace in this city, so something new among the same droll faces that she passed every day was admittedly welcome.
She pulled the creaking heavy door open, the unsettling high-pitched sound followed by the thud of it shutting behind her was more than enough to announce her arrival so she kept her mouth shut. She kept on her stone-faced mask, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she made her way slowly across the room where he was waiting, anything to emphasize the notion that she was there because she had nothing better to do, not that she wanted to be.
“You know most guys who want to see me again ask to go get coffee or something, not ask me to come kick their ass.” She quirked an eyebrow with a half shrug, fighting the urge to crack a smile– even a sarcastic one. "Again.“ She came to a stop a few feet from him, shifting her weight onto one leg, hip sticking out. "Or is that just what you’re into?”
THE SECOND WEEK IN GOTHAM had been no better than the first. still muggy. still decrepit. still lingering with an overall sense of something sour, like maybe there’s something a little bit better around the corner or maybe he’s just gonna turn that corner and get stabbed. either way, figured he might as well make the most of it while he could ---- which, in his own fucked-up, uncultured, orphan-boy-raised-by-carnies mindset, means chasing tail ‘til the tents come down.
up to this point, the only thing that’d been accompanying him besides the overwhelming scent of dried sweat and must was the occasional sound of his boot heel tapping against the pillar, sending vibrations up his back in his long lean. fists all balled up in pockets fumbled ‘round some with the edges of his keys and loose change and whatever the hell else he was feelin’. lint, mostly.
it’s not until his daze breaks with a second echo that he bothers to flick bright eyes up, delayed and annoyingly lackadaisical. doesn’t even bother masking the drop from her head to her boots and the hook of a smirk that follows. it is what it is, and god damn, what it is is just fine by him.
‘ ooooo, sorry, ’ he muses through a wince, kicking himself off the pillar. ‘ i don’t talk kinks ‘til the second date. speakin’ a’ which ---- ’ the tip of his chin jerks upward in motion to her, worn boots sweeping closer ‘til their gaze becomes a little less eye level and a little more thirty degrees downward. ‘ coffee after? ’
