KINDA, SORTA
DISCLAIMER: Nothing is mine (;_;)
Batman, in full crimefighting regalia, stood waiting in line in a coffee shop. He was fatigued from fighting a head cold from hell and, oh joy, his villains decided to be unusually active for this time of year. Which meant, he hadn't slept in days.
He ignored the looks he garnered, content to act like it was a normal day. His phone rang, belting out the chorus to Cyndi Lauper's party anthem Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. He silently cursed Jason before dismissing the call without even looking at the screen. He steadfastly ignored the accompanying whispers and amused glances he no doubt received from such an unlikely choice of ringtone. He frowned. He'd make sure to sneeze on Jason later.
His phone dinged, signaling a text message. He withdrew the phone from his utility belt and regarded the message. It was from Clark. His eyes automatically narrowed.
'Are you in charge of updating the JL website?'
He already knew where this conversation was probably headed. 'Yes.' He sent the message, taking two steps forward when the line full of nightshift workers moved. The phone dinged not a minute later.
He looked down at the screen. 'Why is my profile picture of the time Doomsday "killed" me?'
Batman grinned at the question, remembering the satisfaction he'd felt uploading the picture. 'You've been kind of a prick lately, so think of it as a reminder not to get too full of yourself.' He pressed send before stepping up to the counter and giving his order, black coffee no cream with two shots of espresso. He walked to the waiting area.
'That's ridiculous. I haven't been a prick lately. You're just still sore about the Batsignal and Batmobile.'
Batman's eyes narrowed into slits beneath his cowl. Sonofacow. He had a right to his grudge, but Clark had been an a-hole lately. 'Are you telling me you knew that picture from memory and not because you found it by Googling yourself?' He pressed send.
The barista called out his name. He strode to the counter and took the glorious liquid encased in the standard lidded cup, pulling out a couple of wadded up bills and dropping them in the tip jar. He hoped $200 was enough for tips. He thanked him and strode towards the door. His phone dinged. He looked down at the message on the screen.
'No. I used Bing.'
Batman contemplated spontaneously donating his phone to charity but instead tucked it away without replying. He strode past the customers sitting at the booths, hearing the subtle click of cellphone cameras. Sighing he braced himself to exit the warm establishment to the frigid Gotham night.
END