Somewhere between an extra olive in her martini and an intermittent cigarette is Zatanna's predilection to stroke your ego. She remarkably lacks the appetite to overindulge anyone else; however, that self-congratulatory expression that would overwrite your constant apathy regarding her magic nourishes a deep, unabating, gnawing hunger within her. While you certainly embody the necessary enthusiasm and wonder necessary to enhance an audience's sense of amazement, that's all posturing for entertainment value. The dynamic that you and Zatanna have off stage is characterized by an impressive amount of skepticism on your part.

You do not believe in magic despite knowing the great Zatanna Zatara.

It's a delicious irony that Zatanna herself cannot help but devour. She simply adores your insistent misbelief. After all, to you, she's nothing more than the world's greatest illusionist and escape artist. As a facet of her performance, you do indeed have an intimate understanding of her garden variety illusions— the classics. Rabbits from hats, being sawed in half, levitation, linking rings, metamorphosis! You know every trick in the proverbial book, so when Zatanna does some of her ol' black magic for real, you rationalize it without so much as a hint of belief in its authenticity.

"Up you go." Zatanna's hands plant firmly at your hips, aiding you as you hop atop the vanity. Those old school Hollywood bulbs cast an aureate halo around your form, and the sight coaxes that pleased grin out of Zatanna. She slots herself between your legs. "Let's see that pretty face." Zatanna uncaps red lipstick, always the one to help apply the make-up to her lovely assistant.

"I did just do your lipstick, but how about a kiss for good luck?" Zatanna teases, simply loving to get a rise out of you. There was some otherworldly gaiety that overcame her in your presence, especially as stagehands ran amok outside your shared dressing room.