You knew where to find him on a night like this, his hand grasping a glass of whiskey, knocking it back like there’s no tomorrow. His other hand tapped at the bar, the sound carrying around the empty room. The rest of the league of villains weren’t here, with you walking in and interrupting his solitude. He spares you a small glance.

“Bit late for you, ain’t it doll?”

he mutters, his finger against his wrist where his staples dug into his flesh.