I had already noticed Cheryl's tendency and eagerness to talk about herself, but I am aghast at how lucky I am. Our conversation has revolved mostly around her colleagues and acquaintances ever since we left the stretch limousine in the amusement park's parking lot. Undoubtedly, she has not revealed any of their crimes directly or shared sensitive information that would hold in any court of law, however my prior knowledge and developed acuteness to judge criminals allows me to effectively fill in the blanks. After all, whatever she shares with me is equivalent to the gossip and conversations I am used to overhearing... If not even better. The performer knows an impossible proportion of the scum and down-on-their-luck who populate this fantastic city.

We have tried five rides so far, and I have collected the type of information that would have otherwise taken a full week of relentless sneaking around and spying to garner, without even considering the volume of what I possess. This alliance could be life-changing. Both for me and Gotham's especially persistent cons, thieves and ordinary bums.

"Oh, but look at me..!," Cheryl exclaims, quickly tucking a strand of her silky hair behind her ear, "I'm running my mouth off again. Tell me, what are your coworkers like?"

She turns to me swiftly, biting at her lower lip with an embarrassed countenance.

I somewhat freeze for an instant; I barely ever speak about my fellow EMTs to anyone.

"They're awesome people. We don't see much of each other outside of work or have huge disagreements... They're all very talented and invested in what we do, so there's nothing to dislike. At least, about the people I am used to working with. There are a few of us who are usually sent together on assignements..."

"Like a team?" she chimes in, urging me to keep going solely with her physical language.

"Yeah." I glance to my left at the line of strangers that flank us from the front and from behind.

I need to relax a little, if I refuse to give her any details about my entourage, I cannot expect that she will keep surrendering information to me without a second thought.

I pursue: "Um, the ones I get along best with are Leah, Colin and Scott. Then, there's a new guy, also. He's sweet, but still kind of nervous about the whole... You know, about the dangers of our job. They all wished me a happy birthday, so there's that, we have pretty good camaraderie. Whether or not I go out with them, as a matter of fact." I throw her a sneaky look.

"Point taken. What do they look like?"

"Oh, well, um... Colin has blond hair, almost shoulder-length, I guess. Uh, he has a scar on the side of his nose. But, I wouldn't say any of that is special or defines him, I mean, he's a great guy. He knows his stuff really well and he's brave, crazy strong, clever, funny and so uncommonly kind. There's no one like him. Not anyone I've ever met, at least."

"Hmmm," she hums, strangely playful, "Sounds like a catch. And the others?"

Taken off guard, I spin my body fully to face her.

I realize that I was hesitant at first, then confident as soon as I switched to describing his qualities, but that is how I am. I am rarely focused on a human's organic shell, that is everything my job entails. Being receptive  to my patients' psychology is also crucial, but their physical health is often more at risk. In general, someone's perceived beauty does not affect me heavily, I prefer to consider their personality and actions, especially when I am out in the wild. So, not working. In other words, I watch the tangible properties of an individual, but I am more prone to discarding them.

"I've got a picture of them if that makes it easier. But if you..."

I let my sentence float, and she giggles.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you're better looking than all of them."

I do not know how to answer and pull my cellphone out of my pocket to find the aforementioned photography. I show Cheryl the selfie, and she exhibits a coy smile.

"My God, those two are mighty fine. The dark blonde and... Who's the redhead, the older guy?"

"Scott."

"Well... You should've told me your coworkers were almost as gorgeous as you!" She gently angles my phone closer to her and zooms in on him, her dark purple nails grazing my screen protector.

Huffing with a pleased glint inside her eyes, the young woman runs her tongue deftly across her left canine, before commenting lustfully, "My, I would let that man..."

I forcefully block out her salacious statement, gaining control of my device again to turn it off. I do not need sickening images of my colleagues imprinted in my brain.

"He has a girlfriend."

I tried to make that appear casual and teasing, but my stomach is in coils, as though my only two options are emptying my guts onto the pavement or never thinking about sex featuring Scott ever again. The latter is undeniably the more enjoyable scenario.

"A real shame. And what about the other one, the tall blond one? Colin, right?"

"Yeah," I distractedly answer, still in slight shock.

"'Yeah' that's Colin or 'yeah' he's taken?"

Her inviting smirk helps me anchor my attention back to our exchange.

"That's Colin, sorry. He is not in a relationship that I know of."

"What's wrong with him? If he's that handsome and well-rounded or whatever, he should have a partner. The fact he's single is real suspicious."

"Not really." My reaction is abrupt, so I soften the following words, "I mean, not everyone is interested in partnership of the romantic or sexual kind... I am sure that Colin has his reasons. He's truly great, but that opinion is based on little evidence, I guess..."

"No, don't mind me..! You seem a sharp judge of character. I wonder what it's like to work with good people, actually. Not that everyone I work with are bad people. Hm, maybe the men. But not the women, though. And there isn't much gender fluidity... But the men, at least some of them, are simply so attractive, you can't help but forgive them, you know?" The gangster's girlfriend laughs sultrily, her arms crossed over her half-zipped jacket.

I exhale and smile, tempted to shake my head disapprovingly. "I'll take your word for it. How are the women?"

"Oh, look at you..!" She gleefully cries out, with a sly smirk. She proceeds to affirm, "They're stupid hot, like me."

She winks, then inquires: "Do you want me to set you up with one of 'em? I know some girls at my club that would rather be grindin' on something else than a huge palpitating dick once in a while."

Dumfounded, I stare at her. The only retorts I can muster are exclusively critical or maybe consist of a disturbed yelp.

"That's kind of heteronormative," I blurt out, as we reach the counter.

The employee takes our tickets for the ride - a phoenix themed rollercoaster - and we are directed towards the platform.

Why did I opt for advocating against restrictive gender norms?! It is sort of my default topic, but... It can be confrontational and, therefore, risky to whip out with basically a stranger.

Cheryl pinches the arm of my coat and pulls on it to get my attention.

"My girls will grind on anyone who can pay, including women or non-binary folks, ok? And I know some of them would love to be with someone who respects them. I could've phrased it better, I know..." Her eyes flick up and down my body. Her hand tenses as she clutches the tweed material tighter, whispering, "I'm sorry, Tanza."

I gulp, quickly offering her a good-natured grin.

"I didn't know your... Club was inclusive. Do you advertise it like that?"

Within seconds, all focus is back on her work life.

~

My heart is still pounding from the 'Swings of Death' - I feel like rides should not be named like that in Gotham City - while Cheryl and I are strolling about, searching for a popcorn stand.

I tell her, "You know, we can buy something else..."

"No freaking way. It's your special day, and I'm getting you popcorn if you want some!"

"Wanted," I jokingly correct her, "Five hours ago at this rate."

Luckily, we find the promised popcorn seller just as my heartbeat is back to normal. The clerk is a male that appears to be no older than 25 years old, currently turned away from us and wiping one of the glass panels of his stall with a rag.

"Let me order," drawls my acquaintance, with a mischievous air that admittedly makes me wary of her ways.

She leans on the edge of the booth, seductively announcing her arrival. "Hey, there."

The guy pivots and not only do his eyes widen, his jaw drops down a few centimeters.

"H-hi..! Wel... Come? Uh, um, I... W-what can I do for you, today..? Ma'am. Miss!"

He chuckles desperately, anxiously smoothing down his apron and fidgeting repeatedly with his cheesy red and white cardboard hat. "Freakland" is printed in garish yellow letters on the front of it. He is not undesirable, yet I can discern that he is not usually the target of flirtatious remarks. Clearly, his behavior is not an act, and the blush that steadily conceals his lightly freckled face indicates it.

"Aw, I dunno. What can you do for me?"

Her innuendos and playfulness are seemingly too exquisite for him to handle, because he spurts out another string of incoherent gibberish that ends with "take a look at the menu". This type of interaction would usually trigger my hatred of the patriarchy while simultaneously boring me. Surprisingly, though, when it comes to her social artistry, I am fascinated.

"What do you want to order?" she asks me lightly, ever so slightly dropping her honeyed voice.

"I'd like to get the Peanut Butter Blast Off, if they have it." I cannot believe I spoke that horrendous name out loud.

Cheryl keeps toying with the helpless vendor as she places our order, including a box of Sweet N' Sour Cherry Pop popcorn for her. At last, we get our snacks. My host reaches for her handbag, but the employee - seeming to have discovered some new confidence in the shallow depths of his uncomplicated mind - stops her.

"That's okay. You can have it on me. No charge."

He concurrently deletes the transaction from his cash register.

"Gosh, thank you. Aren't you the cutest... I'm Cheryl, by the way."

"I'm Peter... Hey, this might seem crazy, but can I get your number?"

I have heard and seen crazier things, Peter, and I'm sure Cheryl has, too. Regardless, she enthusiastically enters her contact information into his cellphone.

As we leave the stand to hunt for a picnic table, an inevitable yet dreadful thought invades my brain. No matter what a profoundly terrible and controlling boyfriend The Bull certainly is, it's no wonder he gets so jealous.