Re: Edge of town
Bruce was a motionless statue in the snow, the line of his shoulders and familiar posture giving absolutely nothing away. A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold when that laugh hit the air, because he knew that laugh, and he would anywhere, even in a picturesque town where such sounds should not have existed. Without his cowl he felt vulnerable, defenseless, the safety wrapped up in black and kevlar replaced by a suit that could barely protect him from the elements, never mind knives or bullets. The Bat was larger than life, inhuman, but Bruce Wayne was a man. He was mortal. To meet the owner of the laugh as such was not something he wanted, but he had limited options. Fleeing was not in his nature. Feigning ignorance would merely waste both their time, because he knew, didn’t he? Perhaps this had always been inevitable.
With deliberate slowness, he turned to face the clown. This may have been who he was beneath the mask, but everything about him was more caped crusader than billionaire, as though the former was who he really was, and he merely masqueraded as a man. If there was ever someone he never, ever wanted to discover his secret identity, it was the Joker, but it was too late for that now. Even if he was to run, the damage was done. He would not cower in fear, would not show weakness. Not in front of him, and not because of him.
“I was under the impression that you had no interest in seeing my face,” he said, humorless and grim, the tone of his voice caught in a sort of limbo between Bruce Wayne and the Bat.