Joey Alexander knows he is good (fornothing) wrote in rooms,
Re: Gotham: Iris and Joey
[He smiled like a sinister kid who didn't even know that a blackout might be on the way. Fuck, he'd never been good around blood. In a fight, yeah, there was adrenaline pumping and the urge for victory to carry him through to prove a point... but here? Here there was just marble and his blood palmed all over Iris' nice clothes, dripped and puddled on Blake's floor. Joey groaned, head falling back briefly while he let Iris run water over his hand even if it stung and made him cringe with shoulders tight and jaw tight and teeth bared like a bad dog.]
Fly boy is going to be fuckin' pissed again, man. [He looked at the floor, which swirled red against the expensive flooring like candy cane stripes and Joey just reached with his good hand to grab the entire roll of paper towels down onto the bloody mess. There. Halfway cleaned. Blake should be a little less pissed after that half-assed effort.]
Well, you are one, okay? You're an Alexander, I don't give a fuck who raised you. [And Joey kicked at the roll of paper towels across the blood splatter like that was the best kind of cleaning this place was getting tonight, paper towel soccer.] So butch the fuck up and tell Shane to go fuck himself the next time he gets all Shane with you. [She was saying something about getting sewn up, and Joey knew it was a good idea because he couldn't even feel part of his hand anymore. Nerve damage or something. He gestured for her to grab the bottle of gin on the way, the blunt had been lost somewhere down the sink, so it was nothing to worry about.]
If he's a nice guy, you don't owe nobody nothin' about him. [And he knew that he was going to be pissed at her about the whole Sam and that crazy fucking thing later, but right now, he didn't have enough blood in his head to even keep standing. He mighta choked her out, just for a second, otherwise. But he didn't look at it like him bein' friendly to her, just him accepting her help when he obviously needed some help.]
Leave my wallet here. [Gesture to his back pocket.] Drop me at the hospital and tell 'em you found me at the corner of [Bar-crowded street] and [Bar-crowded street]. I'll play unconscious and after they stitch me up, I'll fuckin' dip. [It wasn't his first time getting out of an ER bill. If only it was a potential profession, he'd be set.]