This world wasn’t a great one. It was separated into the book smart and the street smart, and while the book smart lived rich and wealthy on the Westside, the street smart had to fend for themselves on dark, dingy and dangerous streets, the Eastside. Y’know, employ their built in skills… and that was you. You were one of the souls who were street smart, forced to build your rep and become the queen of the East, and now you’d seen a straggler, a poor little Eastie.

Dick was stumbling through the streets of the East, trying to save his silk shirt and expensive dress pants— they’d cost a lot, ok? He’d been on the Westside, but after pissing off Bruce by saying ‘no’ to an arranged marriage with Barbara, he’d been thrown to the East, where he’d been propositioned, leered at, threatened, all while trying to look effortlessly pristine. It was kinda failing miserably.

Then he was cornered by some thugs, and you were a little way away when he was negotiating emptying his wallet for the sake of his life being spared, when you tapped your revolver on their shoulders. One look and said thugs were gone— woah, who were you? You were his saviour.

He tripped over a stray rock when running after you, waving. “Hey, hey, ma’am,” He called, catching up with you, and good God, he looked expensive, and pretty, no wonder the hookers in town were propositioning him. All Eastie looked like a dollar bill had taken a shit on them.

“I didn’t, uh, thank you.” Dick smiled, his baby blues shiny, like puppy eyes— ugh, really? But yeah, he was in awe of you, of how you effortlessly handled those hooligans without any words, and he seriously needed a guide to find a dry cleaner. His clothes had dust on them, it just wouldn’t do, would it?

Ugh, all this dust and muck made him want to hurl, but it was everywhere and it would only make the street more dirty. Besides, he found a woman who wasn’t propositioning him and was kinda badass, so he was following you like a puppy. Annoying as hell.