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“I’d like to buy Victor Zsasz’s contract from you, so that he-,” Black Mask stated, but was rudely interrupted by the very man he’s just mentioned.
“They,” Mr. – Mx.? – Zsasz said.
Roman looked up at Victor, narrowing his eyes, although it probably wasn’t very visible – or intimidating – through the mask’s eye holes.
“Excuse me?”
“My pronouns. I go by They/Them.”
His- Their eyes were so piercing, yet vacant, Roman loved the shiver it caused to run down his spine, especially in combination with that smooth, yet kind of gravelly, deep voice.
“Right,” Black Mask muttered and then continued as though he hasn’t been interrupted at all, “so that they will work for me exclusively, ‘kay?”
Galante nodded, “Fine by me. You do have the money ready to go, I presume? You don’t expect me to just hand them over to you without seeing the money first, do you?”
Under his mask, Roman sneered, “Of course.”
Then he pulled out the suitcase filled with all the $750,000 they cost. This Zsasz person was truly quite expensive, but he didn’t mind. He could easily afford it, and he’s made sure to know exactly what he was paying for. Victor’s done a couple of jobs for him already, so Roman had a good understanding of what they were capable of, and he wouldn’t want to go another day without them as his newest asset.
Over a decade later, Roman has in fact never slipped up on Victor’s pronouns since that moment. He surprised himself a little with that, since he usually couldn’t give less of a fuck about people’s comfort, let alone their fucking pronouns. But Zsasz was special in so many ways, so important, and worth all respect the world - and Roman himself - had to offer, apparently.
Hell, he’s even defended them in front of others and made sure everyone knew to respect their pronouns, or else those fucks wouldn’t see the light of day ever again.
Sionis had to admit that perhaps he’s actually become quite infatuated with them from day one, but that was only for them both to know.