ICE COLD HUES cast their vision ‘pon metal plates, fingers flexing, determined to pull out weapon, the 22. pistol resting in the back of his waistband. There was something GOOD about the man, being, whatever this iron wrought creature was, and it put him on edge, caused heart rate to elevate. Out of FEAR ? No, not fear, perhaps it was excitement or maybe it was confusion, but features still pulled back, baring teeth, yellow and white clashing, and eyes turned to slits, red rimmed and angry.
❛ An intervention ? Don’t make me LAUGH. Never seen your face before — 'nother one playing masked HERO ? ❜ The entire city was his, Gotham belonged within the hollow confines of his hands wrapping over themselves, only for his viewing pleasure ( So very selfish of him ). Strobe lights from a nearby nightclub, the familiarity of the alley, FLICKERED over marred features, highlighting each and every individual bump and ridge and shone off of yellow teeth and bulging eye.
There was only so much to go from, a hunch, if you would, the passing RUMORS going from the lips of every rogue. The streaks of green across city skyline had been told of in vivid detail from ruby red lips and from behind closed doors. ‘ An accomplice of Batman ? ’ they questioned but wrote it off — ‘ A member of the League of Assassins ? ’ another no, for they would not be that obvious. It then fell to PETTY talk.
He felt slightly UNLUCKY and dismayed about the fact it wasn’t just talk and that the green streak belonged to an actual person, steam puffing from shoulder vents and a glare as green as the Riddler’s question marks. He reached farther behind, as subtedly as he could for the pistol — talk, keep the man distracted, deliver a sharp witted quip and smile charmingly ; do what you did as DISTRICT ATTORNEY and win with your words. ❛ Haven’t you heard about the moral laws of the streets ? Everything’s FAIR - PLAY here. ❜
