“What?” His smirk was wiped away and replaced with a question stare. He was almost confused, almost at loss for words when his first meeting with Veronica sprang into memory to help him out. She’d flipped out on him like a crazy woman back then and Bart had half been expecting her to lunge and scratch out his eyes, a cat who didn’t appreciate a kid who looked like the psycho who had made her life a living hell. He hadn’t put on his nicest font when she’d gone off like she had and his cruel comebacks had egged her on. His reaction to her had only made her belief seem more plausible. He’d learned his lesson from that encounter and he was quiet now, no sneers or growling responses. Bart wasn’t stupid. He knew when to be good and act nice.
Putting out his hands, in a gesture that was always performed by people wanting to come off as unthreatening, Bart was glued to the closed elevator door, not dumb enough to move any closer to her. “Whoa, hey, it’s not like that, alright? I don’t know you, and I only know Veronica because we met on the street by accident.” He tried to sound calm and he pulled it off perfectly. His aura, his whole entire demeanor, went from playful teenager to somber kid who was starting to look younger than he was.