Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina
She noticed the staring - of course she did. She always noticed how he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes then was a kind of unfocused lack of recognition. It made her smooth the yellow lounge dress' fabric along her hip. No, it wasn't her, and she had a sudden desire to change into something more appropriate. The emotional equivalent of kevlar. But she had to work up to that, or he'd know she'd noticed.
Or, maybe not. That slur was foreign on his tongue, and that sway was even more so. In all her years knowing any version of this man, she'd never known him to drink. She'd seen him through three deaths, Jaybird, and Damian twice, and she'd never seen him drunk. She leaned against the door for a moment after he passed, and she watched his back as he went. If anything drove home the fact that being back here was hell for him? It was that. It made her heart ache, though she knew better than to say anything about it.
She closed the door, and that familiar and lush smile was back on her lips by the time she responded to his question. "I generally associate you with a suit, Mr. Wayne."
She motioned to the chairs in the sitting room, beside the open balcony window she'd been standing at when he'd knocked. The room wasn't personal; nothing in the apartment was personal. There wasn't even a cat anywhere to be found. She hadn't spent any time making the place a home. "I'm glad you like it. Sit. Let me change into something less yellow," she suggested, setting her tumbler on the bar and walking toward the open door to the bedroom. "How are Eddie and Stephanie? I take it you had a fun night?"