SAMPLE POST
Ollie looks in the mirror, razor in hand. He turns his head right, then left, examining both halves of his face in detail, his eyes tracing the lines that have formed on his skin in his forty-plus years. Few could convincingly argue that he isn't getting on in years, but the lines have not yet mastered the rugged good looks that have served him well in life, from seducing attractive New York socialites as a swashbuckling rich kid to drawing the eye of a certain Bird of Prey. No, age hasn't laid claim to his looks just yet, though he is fully aware that his peculiar taste in facial hair isn't doing him any favors. Dinah told him once that he has one of those faces that needs a few extra years on it in order to reach its full potential, but he remembers thinking even then that the claim that some people are more attractive as they age was nothing more than a feeble attempt to pacify the baby boomers on their rapid march toward crow's feet, arthritis, and gout.
He tips his head back and applies the sharp edge of the razor to the underside of his chin. Waxing introspective about aging isn't much his thing, though he doubtless engages in it more often than he'll cop to, but such musings are all but unavoidable on a day like today, because today Ollie's finally going to get to set his eyes on Roy's new son. Roy Harper, Speedy, is a father. Now that's enough to make anyone feel old.
"Maybe I should just...shave it off, eh Ollie?" He murmurs, tapping the blunt of the razor against his goatee. "Not making you look any younger."
He imagines the looks on their faces if he showed up clean shaven. Pictures the looks of shock, hears the click of jaws falling open, the gasps. Ollie loves a good entrance; if he didn't have a taste for the theatrical, he would have thought twice about chasing down criminals with a quiver full of arrows and nothing to guard against stray bullets but green spandex.
"Then again, maybe you've got some weird growth going on under there that nobody needs to see. Who knows?" Oliver sets the razor down and leans in, twisting the tap on and splashing his face with cold water. He'd like to be able to say, honestly, that his only motivation for going is to see the baby, to see Roy. But Hal told him that Dinah might be there and, well, any excuse to see his pretty bird is an opportunity worth pursuing, right? There's still an ache when he sees her, a canary-sized hole in his heart that nothing else can fill. Maybe their relationship is over for good, but Ollie just can't quite give up on it. The lingering consequence of their yo-yo relationship is the ambiguity that endures; like one of Pavlov's dogs, Oliver drools at the sound of the bell even though he doesn't know when, or even if, a treat will be forthcoming.
But he hasn't forgotten his main reason for going. The baby. Roy. He grabs up a towel and pats his face dry, before examining himself again. Not so old, they won't be dragging him to a retirement home just yet. Oliver throws the towel over the rim of the sink and heads out with a bounce in his step, whistling a tuneless song. Nothing like the birth of a child to make a man feel both old and young again.
He tips his head back and applies the sharp edge of the razor to the underside of his chin. Waxing introspective about aging isn't much his thing, though he doubtless engages in it more often than he'll cop to, but such musings are all but unavoidable on a day like today, because today Ollie's finally going to get to set his eyes on Roy's new son. Roy Harper, Speedy, is a father. Now that's enough to make anyone feel old.
"Maybe I should just...shave it off, eh Ollie?" He murmurs, tapping the blunt of the razor against his goatee. "Not making you look any younger."
He imagines the looks on their faces if he showed up clean shaven. Pictures the looks of shock, hears the click of jaws falling open, the gasps. Ollie loves a good entrance; if he didn't have a taste for the theatrical, he would have thought twice about chasing down criminals with a quiver full of arrows and nothing to guard against stray bullets but green spandex.
"Then again, maybe you've got some weird growth going on under there that nobody needs to see. Who knows?" Oliver sets the razor down and leans in, twisting the tap on and splashing his face with cold water. He'd like to be able to say, honestly, that his only motivation for going is to see the baby, to see Roy. But Hal told him that Dinah might be there and, well, any excuse to see his pretty bird is an opportunity worth pursuing, right? There's still an ache when he sees her, a canary-sized hole in his heart that nothing else can fill. Maybe their relationship is over for good, but Ollie just can't quite give up on it. The lingering consequence of their yo-yo relationship is the ambiguity that endures; like one of Pavlov's dogs, Oliver drools at the sound of the bell even though he doesn't know when, or even if, a treat will be forthcoming.
But he hasn't forgotten his main reason for going. The baby. Roy. He grabs up a towel and pats his face dry, before examining himself again. Not so old, they won't be dragging him to a retirement home just yet. Oliver throws the towel over the rim of the sink and heads out with a bounce in his step, whistling a tuneless song. Nothing like the birth of a child to make a man feel both old and young again.