The plating-on-a-chalkboard squeal as the Scarecrow's chair was pushed sharply back against the floor was more than loud enough to draw attention to the two of them and their little performance, but it was a matter of quality rather than quantity here: it didn't matter if the whole cafe was watching them bicker if Rosemarie wasn't gonna bite.

It wasn't the noise the chair made that made Depth Charge hesitate, though. As fake as this argument was supposed to be, the Scarecrow had just made an excellent point. All he'd managed to do since he'd gotten here was get himself knee-deep in slag, culminating in the events of last night. Maybe if he actually did do his job better and kept people out of trouble in the first place he wouldn't ever have had to play hero to try and fix things.

It's just realism. You're just trying to make this look good. Don't take it personally, DC.

"At least I know what trouble looks like!" He was up on his feet too, now. "You wouldn't know trouble if it slapped you in the face!" But that cut things close too, and, wrangling into submission the bouquet of self-defense he had poised on the edge of his tongue, Depth Charge forced himself towards their goal. I hear your client... "Like your client base. Where'd you find those basket cases?"