Drabble Update

What – however; he'd yet to determine.

Patience was a virtue and he had tones to spare. His surveillance point had comfort issues but when you're perched precariously on wooden rafters in a supposedly abandoned warehouse to keep a watchful eye on two very disturbed men – comfort is of little concern.

Cowled covered eyes narrowed down to toward the corner of the building where the two men stood conversing with each other. The Mad Hatter's brightly checkered pants and emerald coat stuck out like an eyesore when compared to the Ventriloquist's straight black and white ensemble. Two distinctly different individuals disturbed on keenly different levels, but the same in one stone cold fact:

Both criminally insane.

Scarface's jaws clattering together echoed throughout the warehouse along with his crass heavy mafioso laced voice. Hatter's limerick limey tone interrupted just as loud; but when the Ventriloquist spoke – mouth all but pressed into his bow tie – even the keen pointy ears eavesdropping could not pick up on what had been muttered.

None-the-less, neither heard vocals were saying anything of use. Arguing. Insulting. Nothing that would tie them to a crime or give insight on one yet to be.

The puppet tired of the useless chatter before the Bat did. Scarface finally bumped square shoulders; called Tetch a 'gumgling nincompoop' and ordered the Ventriloquist to take him to bed. Which the little man did – immediately.

Batman scowled. Without the puppet present, there was little chance anything at all would be said that would be incriminated. But on a ting of hope. He waited.

The Ventriloquist returned after a bit – puppetless; rubbing the back of his head and muttering into his shirt again. To his return; Hatter unexpectedly danced in a comical Victorian-like circle around the little man. Coat tails swishing and spatted shoes clicking heels against the floor. Batman was sure the man had a method to his madness – but madness it still was.

Wesker did not seem to find the dance as baffling as the voyeur for he stood quite still. It wasn't until Hatter snatched his hands and began to bodily insist the little man 'come and join the dance' did the other criminal do anything that could be heard.

Nothing spoken – he loudly squeaked and went fumbling along with two left feet in tow; more so dragged by the Hatter then any sort of elegant follow. It was pointless really – but part of the Bat wished that all that would go on between madmen could have been nothing but silly insane dancing. Completely off the wall – but harmless; innocent madness.

Innocence; however could turn rather quickly.

Tetch proceeded to dance the other man right into a nearby wall. Wesker's back thunked lightly against the surface as Hatter leaned down all but obscuring the smaller man from the Bat's view.

For a moment, the Dark Knight worried they might have been keen on his presence; resorting to whispering among each other. He quickly moved across the rafters; silently – black cape appearing for the briefest second. The Bat settled to the slight right of the pair and glanced down at them once more.

Their mouths were indeed working with each other – but not in the manner he'd previously deduced. Kissing. Lips locked heatedly together, red faced and tight. Hatter had pinned the hands he'd caught in dance against the wall low next to Wesker's hips.

This was not expected. Batman's eyes widened beneath his cowl. When the kiss broke he could see the thin shimmer of spit break from their lips.

“Would you... could you..?” Tetch whispered harshly enough to be heard.

Wesker's reply – once more, could not, but the sound of his knees hitting the ground echoed and so did the grind of Hatter's zipper.

Batman continued to watch even though he couldn't see anything but the top of the Ventriloquist's head.

Comfort, it turned out; might have scaled up in importance. He was going to be stuck up there for a while.

“Oh? So what became of these unbuttoned appendages dare I ask?”

“Youse gotta? HA! I 'ad em ripped off 'n' stapled t'my ass where day should'ah been in dah foist place!”

Arnold softly groaned and pushed his plate of Linguine away from him – never one to be very hungry; especially when lip-ripping was the subject of choice.

“How utterly barbaric.” Jervis said between mouthfuls of bread and butter. While the Hatter voiced disgust he apparently did not suffer a loss of appetite.

“Huh? Shad up! Wasn't like I offed dah sorry jerk! E jus' anit gonna ge doin' any whistlin' dat's fer sure!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the their very nervous waiter. The man bore a sheer sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had every right to be so worried. It wasn't every evening that two notorious criminals hold up a four star restaurant, tied up ninety-nine percent of the crew, lock the rest of the customers in the store room, took out the phones, place goons at every door ---

--- and order dinner!

“W-would either of you g-gentlemen be interested in d-dessert or wine this e-evening?”

“No thank you,” the Mad Hatter waved his butter knife about sending the yellow gook splattering across the poor man's apron, “but I shall have more tea.”

“Yeah! Gut none of dah dat damn tea fer me. Gring me some cheesecake 'n' it getter not suck!”

The Ventriloquist just shook his head.

With a loud wet swallow the waiter bowed and went to fetch the ordered items.

“So,” the Mad Hatter twirled the butter knife again, “.. no lips what-so-ever? How does the man eat?”

“Ogviously not wit us. Yah should see dah guy tryin' tah drink too – sloggerin' all ovah dah place!”

Arnold nudged his plate again – sighing.