The first time I took notice of The Bat, he was lurking by the wall. His gaze was black, as was his mane which fell around his mouse-like features like a hood. We were walking in opposite directions, you see, in a tight, busy hall. My gaze was directed to the ground, paying close attention to my steps, when I came across a peculiar sound. My ears perked up to bizarre jingling, slow in rhythm as if miniature drums were beating together. I looked up a bit, just enough to catch heavy combat boots approaching. With tight laces up the front and rows upon rows of buckles holding up looped chains, the wearer marched with bulky step. My attention was then directed to onyx strands, dancing in the slight breeze created by The Bat’s stride, now and then nipping at his heels. I took in the jet shade of his leather jacket, which seemed to be his color as it sharply contrasted with his fair skin. The jacket I found strangely intriguing. The fur collar stood upright guarding his neck, morphing into a sleek garment dropping to his knees. It was decked out in spikes and chains, swooping and hanging like little bats from his shoulders.
We made eye contact briefly. The Bat seemed to glare as we passed by each other.
I had seen The Bat often after what I would call our first encounter. Always lurking by the wall, perched upon railings and such. For a reason I could not place, I would always act busy whenever we passed each other or otherwise take great interest in the floor suddenly. But that did not mean that I was not observing, as I did everyone else.
What struck me with great amusement was The Bat’s summer attire. The Bat’s clothing choices were not very different from what he usually wore, not that I was expecting anything less. His attire was still in the same fashion, yet instead, it consisted of (what I definitely would not call simple) zip up biker jackets. Chains and spikes swooped all the same, most likely bouncing off his sleeveless arms every step or so. What I had never noticed was his abundance of tattoos, gorgeous artwork depicting roses,skulls, and the like.
On a hot summer day, I now realize that I was staring at those tattoos as a pasty young woman hung off of his arm. The Bat had taken to leaning against the wall when we made eye contact. I scurried off.