"Bart Allen." The introduction was quick and clipped, like everything else he said. He didn't offer his hand, and bowing would never occur to him. It was a rote response, a name for a name, and a rushed one at that. Being polite wasn't nearly as important as correcting how egregiously wrong Wreath was.
"Witnessing it isn't owning it," Bart spat at him. He still didn't agree that death was public. Maybe it was, if you stayed dead, but neither he or Hayley had. It reverted to private when the person was around to be hurt or offended by it. "It's not making your creepy little puppet version of my girlfriend in an alley. And come up with a better story. I'm sure you're gonna tell me how you're cleansing the 'infection.'"
To him, it was worse for her being alive again. Hayley is here in the city, and she lives in this sector, too. It could have easily been her that wandered into the ritual-in-progress. "Are the will o' the wisps your deal, or is the latest one of Dumbass' stunts? Like the goo monsters."
Ignore the mask. Comic book problems.
"Witnessing it isn't owning it," Bart spat at him. He still didn't agree that death was public. Maybe it was, if you stayed dead, but neither he or Hayley had. It reverted to private when the person was around to be hurt or offended by it. "It's not making your creepy little puppet version of my girlfriend in an alley. And come up with a better story. I'm sure you're gonna tell me how you're cleansing the 'infection.'"
To him, it was worse for her being alive again. Hayley is here in the city, and she lives in this sector, too. It could have easily been her that wandered into the ritual-in-progress. "Are the will o' the wisps your deal, or is the latest one of Dumbass' stunts? Like the goo monsters."