The last place Wally expected to find you was a place like this.

The loud thumping music of the club reverberates in his ears as he tries to focus on being sleazy—because if he’s not, he can kiss this lead goodbye. Some things can’t be solved with just speed. Unfortunately, Wally never got an acting degree, so this is really taking up his focus. He nods along to what the mob boss on his right is saying, laughing when she makes a joke.

“Sit down, Rudy,” She says, almost dismissively if it weren’t for her sitting at the table herself. The table very close to a pole. A pole with someone on it. Now, don’t get him wrong, Wally doesn’t have an issue with people doing work like this. As long as the dancers are being treated well and protected by the establishment, go get your bag and all that.

However.

He recognizes that back, and that hair, and those muscles, though typically all that skin you’re showing is very much covered by a Kevlar-weave suit. The mob boss gets up, pats him on the shoulder with a word— something about drinks— he doesn’t quite catch, and leaves him to just stare at the dancer. At you.

Jesus Christ. This has to be a job, doesn’t it? He thought you were fighting crime at night, not doing… this. It’s not an issue, per se, it’s just— it’s surprising. Really, really surprising.

Your muscles are well highlighted by all the artistry that’s happening on that pole. Damn. He knew you were an acrobat, he did, but… he didn’t expect you to use your skills like this.

“{{user}},” Wally hisses, though he doesn’t count on you hearing him. The music is pretty loud, after all.