“Yeah, plenty guys will run from her buuuuut I’m sure there’s plenty that’ll run TO her... yanno, the ones with a domme kink who just wanna be whipped or whatever?” he laughed, bringing a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. He was nearly positive such a thing had already happened to Sam, but he didn’t even want to think about how she may have responded. EW. Taking his hand away, he moved on quickly. “She’s in a relationship, last I heard anyway, with this guy and some girl. Three-way relationship, how very MODERN of her, right? Whatever makes her happy, I guess. I just don’t get how anybody’d manage it. One person’s enough to handle.” Indeed, one person was often too much for him to handle, depending: sometimes they got boring for him so they had to go, but oh... relationships were a part of his needs regardless. He needed that fuzzy feeling, that companionship, and someone to cuddle all day long.
And aside from sympathy and consideration, that was also why he had hugged her. TB was a very touchy-feeley person whom craved touch. He adored hugs and cuddles, and he’d give them out to just about anybody. That was a basic human trait he fully embraced, the need to touch in order to establish a connection or to illustrate a sentiment. Why ignore it? He didn’t know Harley, only the bare minimum, but hell, she looked like she had needed a hug. Her smile just proved that for him, that she was holding so much in, a lot of tough shit, and she could do with a little physical support. He hoped the hug was enough to give her even the tiniest amount of positivity.
“Somethin’ tells me that the law ‘round here is more useless than any place else; ‘lotta people gettin’ money under the table I’d say, if these criminals always get set loose.” The more he heard about Gotham City and it’s Batman figure, the more TB understood that he had definitely come to a weird place, but that could turn out to be fun for him. A man in a tight bat costume was always appreciated, and as for the obviously rampant crime problem? Well, all that meant was anything he might get up to would look like pretty small potatoes. He might even get over-looked, be able to have some fun and get away with it.
Glancing to Harley, he also understood now that she was one of these criminals - had to be - and that her easygoing comments about it all, even how she didn’t so much as flinch at his angry explosion, all seemed to point towards her being a veteran: she’d seen God-knows-what, mixed with God-knows-who, and it was normal for her. While he admired her resolve, he privately worried that a woman who doesn’t get scared by anger is a woman who’s seen too much of it. Remembering what she had said about her murderous ex, he supposed that was true of her, and therefore that relationship wasn’t healthy. He wanted to hug her once more, but chased that thought away. She had to make her own mistakes and learn from them.
Hearing her sudden comment about his disposition, he blinked and felt... awkward. Sure, he cared for people who had troubles, and he would help them out where possible. He also cared about people on a societal scale, about how they were being taken advantage of by authority and that they needed to revolt. But all that care didn’t make him an angel when he put a price on his help and would gladly sacrifice hundreds just so millions could live and live freely. That was the soldier in him, the part that never died, who knew sacrifice and could do it so easily for the greater good. “Naw, I ain’t no sweetheart...” he smiled coyly. “If I was, I wouldn’t do half the shit I do. I ain’t no hero or... saint. Don’t go mixin’ me up with that stuff!” he humbly advised.
Going inside the cafe, he held the door for her - it was only decent after all - and let her pick where they sat. “Order whatever you want,” he told her once seated, really not minding what she ordered nor how much it would come to. He was planning on grabbing her hand and running out on the tab anyway.
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