[ his gotham is gonna seem pretty wacky to her if she ever gets the chance to hear about it, but she's already starting to think that talking is a bit overrated. not when her fingers are starting to feel that itch to get while the getting's good. and standing around here chit-chatting — even though it's all a part of their exercise or whatever they've been forced into — is starting to make her antsy. ]

Nice? [ her voice drops, infused with a tone that's got as much steel as her favorite swinging bat — and for the briefest of moments, he wouldn't be paranoid if he thought she was going to react poorly to that word choice —

but then just like that, she brightens, like an invisible switch has been flipped on her mood, and finally relinquishes her crushing grip on his hand as she turns one leg at the knee, indicating the carefully crossed out name on one thigh and the spot where a PUDDIN has been inelegantly turned into PUDDINg cups on the other. ]

Yeah, well. He's old news. [ and she won't be launching into any details on how that ended, with her being tossed out the front door like a sack of pure garbage; if anyone asks, she's the one who ended things, emancipated herself from that manipulative piece of shit.

ultimately she waves one hand in a dismissive, vague curling of her wrist. ] I'm ready to move on from all that. Enjoy bein' my own woman. Live life to the fullest. Do whatever the hell I want. Whoever I want. [ and then she waggles her eyebrows at him, touching her tongue to the edge of a growing smirk. ]