The Park, By the Duck Pond, Late Friday Night

[apocalipped]

It could be said that Jonothon was a creature of impulse. He did, after all, have a temper on him. And a sense of get-up-and-go that had put him into some of the worst situations he'd been in, some of the worst he was ever likely to be in

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[onlysmokesnics]

Hayley Fitzpatrick had been a bit of a night owl ever since she'd started prowling the streets and rooftops of Gotham City wearing a red silk hood. And since she'd been a little more restless of late...

She'd been out walking, and had felt the same sort of compulsion to visit the duck pond. She stopped in her tracks when she saw realized that a certain someone was standing there, too.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she walked forward.

"No ducks?" she said.

[apocalipped]

Jonothon was suddenly not entirely certain if the chill in the air was because it was a night in early March. His muscles tensed. His back stiffened. And for a moment he contemplated just getting up and walking away.

Eventually, the best that he managed was a terse, "No ducks." No eye contact required for that, really.

[onlysmokesnics]

Hayley wasn't out for eye contact. She stood awkwardly near Jonothon, looking acutely at the toes of her boots.

She stood there in silence for a moment, her one hand gripping her red hood tightly in her pocket.

"...don't suppose it'd make anything up if I offered to do your laundry, would it?"

She was a little off in her thinking, yes.

[apocalipped]

A touch, yes, and a sharp look directed towards her said volumes to that effect, too.

"No, Hayley. You don't get to touch my laundry." Jonothon's gaze turned back toward the water. "I'm more than capable of handling that on my own."

He'd ended up throwing most of those clothes out. Greasepaint didn't wash out easily. And really, it felt a bit like he'd never get them clean, even if it did.