CONTINUITY:snorts and throws hands in the air:
NOTES: This is Sage's fault. It also happens to fit the fanfic100 challenge #37, Sound.
Gladys O'Reilly, resident of Gotham for 42 years this past November, looked up from making dinner. "What was that?" she asked her husband Ralph, giving the tomato sauce another stir.
"A gunshot," Ralph said, turning to the next page of the Gotham Post.
Gladys moved the spaghetti pot off the burner with a little more force than necessary. "Will you go look? That nice young man could be hurt, you know."
Ralph grumbled as he folded the newspaper and stood up, but he was worried too. Not that he would admit it. But they saw their neighbor come and go at all hours and sometimes they saw blood or heard on the news about bad things happening to him.
Sticking his head carefully out the window, Ralph saw a welcome sight: Robin tying four unconscious thugs to a lamppost. "It's okay," he said, shutting the window. "Robin's fine. Just gift-wrapping them for the police now."
Gladys smiled. "Oh good. I wish I knew which building he lived in so I could bake him some cookies."
Ralph buried his head in the newspaper again so Gladys couldn't see him laugh. "You could leave them on the fire escape with a note and maybe he'd see them."
"Oh! What a lovely idea!" Gladys said. "But..."
Ralph resigned himself to never finishing the article on the new water and sewer system. "Yes, dear?"
"That solves the cookie problem. But I really want him to ask our Fiona on a date and I can't very well leave her on the fire escape, can I?"
Ralph peered over the top of the newspaper to see Gladys looking thoughtful. "No!" he said. "You can't!"
"Oh well." Gladys shrugged.
Ralph started to feel even sorrier for Robin.
--end--