Of all the things that Eve had encountered that day, that was the most alien, the most uncertain and it took a little to place it and know it for what it was. It was absurd, it was the wrong way round -- this little woman-child worried over her when in her dress and heels she still looked about sixteen under stark bathroom lights in a way that made Eve want to shake her, wipe the make-up off and send her home to her mother with something biting said until it stung too hard to creep out and play vamp. And that feeling, surging beyond the range of what she normally felt, far beyond what Eve even acknowledged she felt, was alien too. She quite ignored how it felt, for the first time in her memory, to be worried over and it waited obediently and silent, content to be ignored, for now.
'Wren' was odd and light and it fitted the girl in front of her as street-names often didn't - the Ambers and Tiffanys and Gemmas were badly-worn or girls who were Kates and Emmas underneath. 'Robin' too was not bold and strong and conjuring of nightmares and fear but something else -- but then, when Eve thought of the Bat, she thought of a dark-clad person on a crumbling building-top who stitched his own flesh without making a sound. A person certainly, but a damn strange one at that and almost more worthy of respect than a too-early Halloween costume.
It was another moment before Eve realized the silence had been a touch too long, too uncomfortably so, had hinted at something other than flippancy. She tried for it now, but it rang false. "I don't walk around looking for danger like you, babycakes," and she stretched, just within the realms of human ability to do so, and let her eyes slide away from Wren's in the glass. "I do what I do. Besides, I've never liked someone else taking the credit -- even if they're me." A flash-grin, all verve and careless pride.