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“Are you…are you fucking laughing?” J.T. curiously asks directly into the camera. “Are you actually…fucking…laughing?!”
“It was…” swallowing the last of the chuckle is difficult, “kind of funny.”
“That you find funny?”
“Even Batman occasionally laughed with Alfred.”
“With Alfred,” my best friend impishly reiterates. “And when the fuck did I go from Nightwing to Alfred?!”
“Yeah, hate to interrupt your lover’s spat, Puppet Boy,” she effortlessly interjects at the same time she pushes her sunglasses into her thick hair. “But are you gonna actually introduce me to the creepy, dark overlord formally known as Khan or what?”
Unfamiliar rage rushes through me sending me to the edge of my seat where I snap, “Who the fuck is Khan?!”
“He’s-”
“And why’s she calling me a dark overlord?!”
“Be-”
“And creepy?!”
“May-”
“Am I creepy?!”
“Well-”
“How the hell can she call me creepy when she doesn’t even know me?!”
“Perhaps-”
“What did you say to her?!” Snatching the phone up is done before a much louder bellow. “What exactly did you tell her about me, J.T.?!”
“Why are you yelling?”
“Oh, I’m making him yell?” Excitement I find both intriguing and infuriating pops onto her practically makeup free complexion. “The man who can’t even be bothered to look me in the fucking face and tell me he’s holding my mother hostage is a little upset by something I’ve said?” She sends her glare savagely to the camera, theoretically forcing us to lock eyes for the first time, leaving me no choice but to defenselessly stare into the pair of eyes belonging to a woman who’s life I’ve now changed more than once without her consent. “I’m Brynley by the way.”
“Wes,” I timidly state back regardless of the fact she can’t hear me.
“Daughter of your captive.” She folds her arms defiantly across her chest. “But you already knew that.”
“She’s not a fucking captive. Or a hostage.”
J.T. repeats those words to which she chokes out a sardonic laugh, “Is that a fucking joke?”
There’s no opportunity for a rebuttal.
“What kind of franchise villain keeps someone who is deathly fucking ill chained up in their little makeshift hospital simply because he can?”
“No one is chained.”
“Not yet,” Bryn bites back prompting me to twitch a harsh glare at the monitor.
When the moment of waiting for my response stretches on for far too long, my best friend politely begins, “Brynley-”
“Bryn,” she turns to present him with a kinder grin than I’ve received. “You can call me Bryn.”
“You will call her Brynley.”
