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"Are you sure about this?" Terry asks once more. The woman shoots him a wry look, to which the teen merely raises both hands in defense. She goes back to applying her makeup so the boy takes this oppurtunity to look her over.
Silky black hair is pulled into an elegently messy braid as dark lashes frame familiar icy blue orbs. A few silvery blue rhinestones are weaved into those dark locks. A sleek black dress clings to her figure and leaves very little to the imagination.
She's an absolute vision—no wonder the papers had once raved about her. Hell, some probably still do.
(Maybe he can look into that...)
"Having second thoughts?" Her tone is cool and controlled, but he knows her well enough to see her tells; how her gaze is pointedly away from him and how she scrunches her brows ever so slightly.
Terry exhales slowly, shaking his head. "I mean, I didn't really picture this was how our first date was gonna go—well, first real one at least."
"It's not a date, it's—"
"A mission, I know," the boy sighs, glancing away.
Sure, he knew what he was getting into when he started this whole thing with Bryce.
But he can't lie and say he never dreamed of walking arm in arm with her in public, any resevations whatsoever and shamelessly flaunting that he, out of the hundreds who've tried, was the one to win Gotham's Ice Queen.
And now the opportunity was practically staring at him in the face. But of course, Bryce somehow caught wind of some thugs planning a big heist in some too-fancy-to-name place. So, obviously, that was the priority tonight.
The soft click of a purse brings the teen back to earth. He looks up and see the transformed woman slowly glide her way to his side.
She stops before him, tilting her head slightly as her gaze rakes her over.
"What? This is like the fanciest thing I have!" He waves at his outfit. "I even ditched a clip-on y'know," he huffs, pouting like a child.
Bryce just raises a brow, dryly remarking, "Thank you for the utmost sacrifice." She adjust his perfect tie and takes a step back, nodding.
"You look presentable, at least. Now, c'mon, we can't be late."
"Sure, old lad—er, slightly old lady?"
The woman rolls her eyes, yet there's a flash of amusement in the pull of her lips. Not quite a smirk but he'll take it as a win.
Quickly, Terry jogs after her, easily keeping pace.
And he swears, on his life, on Gotham, on the name of freakin' Batman; he heard her whisper, a tender secret:
"If all goes well, this'll be a nice date afterall."