Almost immediately after their conversation was over, Oliver found himself putting on a jacket and walking out of his loft apartment. He headed towards the nearest convince store, with his mind running a million miles per minute
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It doesn't take Dinah long to get things ready. Her gear is almost always packed these days, just in case they have to take off at a moment's notice. Of course, that's more of a when these days than a just in case.
Aside from that, the wig takes up the most time, and even that's negligible she's so used to it by now, annoying as it is sometimes. But that's part of the gig, as her mother would say; you deal. All in all, after changing into one of her numerous track suits, it takes about ten minutes before she's out the door.
The drive to Oliver's apartment building is uneventful, thankfully, and it's cool and windy nights like these that Dinah loves having her motorcycle. Granted it encourages things like speeding, but that's the way it goes, and she's arriving at her destination sooner than she expected.
One longish elevator ride later, she's knocking at his door, vaguely glancing around at the expensive, although very pretty, decor.
It's not long after he's shimmied into his clothes, that he hears the knock. He takes a deep breath and a second to finger comb through his casually styled blond hair, then prowls toward the door.
"You must drive awfully fast." He said as he let her in.
"No point in having a bike if you're not going to speed with it," she replies cheerfully, stepping inside and shouldering her bag onto the floor. "Nice place. the whole thing yours? The building, I mean."
"I believe you have me confused with Bruce Wayne." He replied, lips turning upward into a small smile. "I own just enough toys to keep up that eccentric playboy appearance. You already know where a good chunk of the rest goes."
He closed the door and found his right hand embedded in his hair again. It was a bit of a nervous habit for him, finger combing and scratching his head. He made a mental note to try not to do it too often.
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Aside from that, the wig takes up the most time, and even that's negligible she's so used to it by now, annoying as it is sometimes. But that's part of the gig, as her mother would say; you deal. All in all, after changing into one of her numerous track suits, it takes about ten minutes before she's out the door.
The drive to Oliver's apartment building is uneventful, thankfully, and it's cool and windy nights like these that Dinah loves having her motorcycle. Granted it encourages things like speeding, but that's the way it goes, and she's arriving at her destination sooner than she expected.
One longish elevator ride later, she's knocking at his door, vaguely glancing around at the expensive, although very pretty, decor.
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"You must drive awfully fast." He said as he let her in.
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He closed the door and found his right hand embedded in his hair again. It was a bit of a nervous habit for him, finger combing and scratching his head. He made a mental note to try not to do it too often.
"So. Patrolling, sparing or ice cream first?"
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