Well, the easiest way to tell you what I think about your third part of Clara Ellen Lane is to copy and paste Classicalla's feedback and add a heartfelt 'ditto'. Okay, I'll put osme more effort into it.
To emphasize my point, I ball my fist and pound at the ceiling. My hand promptly goes right through it.
”Really? I got to try that!” And before I know what’s happening, Blue Eyes is sitting next to me in the front seat and aiming a really fat punch at the ceiling. ”OOOUUCH!!!!!”
This bit was piceless!
”Batman? Did I say Batman? No, uh, I mean…uh, Bateman. Yeah, right, Bateman. Yeah, old Bateman was my… my… my martial arts teacher. He taught me… he taught me... how to, eh, pull my punches.”
The Graysons and the Lanes don't happen to be related, do they? They certainly share the famous babble gene.
”I’m Dick Grayson,” he says, and suddenly he’s blushing like a tomato. ”I mean, Rick Grayson. That’s not funny,” he says when I can’t stop laughing.
Nasty humour. But I very much like it.
Friends. Yeah. Friends. Friends is good. I smile at him and grab his hand. At least I can shake his hand harder than he can shake mine!
”Ooouuch!!”
”Oh, sorry.”
Like father , like daughter.
”You’re Clara Ellen Lane, aren't you?” she says. ”Okay, kid. I’m Sheriff Rachel Harris. You are under arrest.”
Veto! What for? (The warehouse, the trees, the car, the holes in the ground?)
I love it! Come back soon!
