He smiles- and then the smile fades, and he speaks more seriously. "The guy's obviously hurting. Hurting pretty damn bad. I really do think someone who's a professional could help him come to terms with what's tormenting him, but I'll be damned if I can pick what kind of theory's going to work best for the, uhm, Bat-Analyst."
"...okay, yeah. Rephrase: I'm not a shrink, so if we describe Batman's neurosis as a can of baked beans, I'm pretty sure I know where the pot, the stove, and the bowls and spoons are- but I have no idea what a can opener is and I'm hoping somebody else will have a suggestion.
"Well, the Bat-Boyfr-- AAGH. Okay, it's stuck in my head. My boyfriend and me had friends over for a Bat-Barbe GAH!! Barbequeue last weekend. And we didn't realize until everybody was there that the can opener was broken." A little grin. "I... kinda wound up having to open the can with a hammer and chisel. Messy."
"...well, it wasn't a waste, the dog was pretty insistent that he got some of whatever the hell was in the can when I was so clearly working my butt off to get at it." He grins. "So Harley got what was on the patio."
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He's trying So Hard to sound earnest, there!
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"The guy's obviously hurting. Hurting pretty damn bad. I really do think someone who's a professional could help him come to terms with what's tormenting him, but I'll be damned if I can pick what kind of theory's going to work best for the, uhm, Bat-Analyst."
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"I... kinda wound up having to open the can with a hammer and chisel. Messy."
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