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“... Care to explain why you're sprawled across my bed?”

Oɴᴇ Pʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ Aғᴛᴇʀ Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

Time is fickle when it comes to his job; between thwarting the punks and vermin of Gotham, to defending Earth from other-worldly threats. Suffice to say, he abhorred wasting time. But he couldn't escape the somewhat grim latter this evening, especially after overhearing a dilemma regarding a certain, leather wearing feline and a more than irked penguin. At this point, make it an irked bat as well. However...

he wasn't one bit credulous.

His infiltration of the Iceberg Lounge via the ducts was as success, which isn't a feat of grand design, considering an underwhelming lack Cobblepot has put into fortifying his cool abode ‒ but this lacking had sweltered in the detectives mind. When it comes to the Rogue Gallery, nothing is ever too easy; something Bruce grafted to his memory. However, these spooling thoughts had temporarily subside when his ivory lens dawn upon his target, or to be exact, one of them. At this point, he descends from the ducts with a firm landing, softened by his cape, and further examined this rather off sighting.

Restrained by rope and bound to a chair, what would look like a less than mediocre attempt of abating the femme fatale, surprisingly had managed to do the impossible... unless Selina chose to remain idle until otherwise; an otherwise being a masculine vigilante who shares brawn and brain and dresses like a bat. Regardless of former or latter, he stood there for a good collection of seconds; a temporary pause to see if she'd come to, or continue to play unconscious.

#［ ▪ ᴄᴀsᴇ ‒ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ］#whipisms