((ahh, heeeeere's Bart-y! finally; I'll get my reply for Klarion up soon! hopefully ^^))
вαят αℓℓєη || ιмρυℓѕє || αgє 13 || ℓσ¢αтιση: тнє нσтєℓ || тαgѕ: Barry Allen, Cywren, Wally West, Jaime Reyes, Vienna
Amidst his hyperactivity, Bart was vaguely aware of Cywren's annoyance buzzing in the back of his head like a gnat; nevertheless, he appeared to be too caught up in his own blur of a world, a world that was spinning at virtually zero miles an hour, a world that moved too slowly for him, to still himself long enough for a proper apology. Besides, secretly, he was starting to enjoy getting a rise out of her almost as much as he enjoyed getting a rise out of the bad guys. She was certainly far easier to provoke. "Great Shelter?" He gave an inquisitive head tilt. "What's that? Sounds like the ultimate homeless shelter or something. Do they have food there?" He perked up at his own mention of food, hopeful for a few moments, before he turned to the newcomer, Vienna. "Vi, huh? Bart Allen, nice to meet ya! I—" He stopped midsentence when she unfurled her wings. "Wow! Those are kinda like Hawkwoman's!" He zipped to one side of her. "Can I—?" Without waiting for permission or a response, he gently grabbed hold of one of her wings and stretched it out in front of his face. "These are crash! And you say you worked with Di—Nightwing? Huh..." He brought a hand to his chin. "That's funny. Don't remember reading about you in the history books." The Allen brought his shoulders up in a small shrug. "Oh well."
He started to dash back towards Cywren, only to feel something strong yank him back by the fabric of his suit. At first, Bart panicked a little, before he realized it must have been Jaime; only a scarab would be able to pinpoint a speedster's exact location and grab him mid-dash. In the process, Bart's arms flailed and then hit his own chest; there was a tech-y beep-y noise and his suit finally changed out of stealth mode, back to the oh-so-lovable color scheme of cherry-red-on-creamy-white. "Blue—whoa, hey, thanks!" he chuckled, even though the color switch had been completely unintentional on both sides. "That's, ah, quite a grip you've got there, amigo," he added, patting his blue-clad friend's arm with somewhat of a weak smile, yet still happily unaware of the fact that in that moment the scarab was telling Jaime to literally break the young speedster's bones. Regardless, Jaime's warning tone was not lost on Bart. When Blue Beetle grabbed Impulse's arm, it was with a firmness that Impulse was unaccustomed to, and his green eyes widened. Inwardly his heart seized in instinctual fear, fear that his best friend might have reverted to his mind-controlled ways, back to the way things were when the Reach commanded him. Of course, once Bart was able to reason his way through this, to think about it logically, he realized that this could not be the case. The Reach had been banished from Earth along with their tyranny. He was being irrationally fearful. Jaime was just being stern. That was it.
It took a few solid minutes for the young speedster to realize that during his near-panic attack, he had been staring wide-eyed into the middle space for a long time, uncharacteristically wordless, his small, lean arm completely frozen in Jaime's grip, muscles tense. And then suddenly, he broke free of his own paralysis like someone breaking free of a giant ice cube, shaking his head so that his auburn hair was tossed. "Trying to-Trying to bribe me with food, eh?" the speedster queried, stumbling back into his fast-talking facade. He had almost allowed the jaded, somber Bart Allen underneath the surface to emerge, but hyperactive Impulse managed to wrestle his way to the top in the end. He felt guilty for fearing his friend, even if only for a minute, but he pushed that down, too, instead deciding to flash one of his trademark grins. "Do you even have Chicken Whizzies?" In any case, what Jaime said made Bart realize that an apology was in order. He glanced at Cywren, rubbing the back of his neck with his free arm as his grin turned sheepish. "I'm sorry for calling you Sparky. And for your arm. And, uh, also if I was rude to your giant centipede candy thing, I'm sorry for that, too. And also for not taking you guys seriously about...dialing down...the speed." A speedster's metabolism moved fast enough when he was standing stock still. To say that moving around at breakneck speeds would burn off more energy than was sustainable with no food on-hand was a grotesque understatement. Bart only wished had come to grips with this sooner, before he had run all over the city like Looney Toon's Roadrunner on steroids. He kicked the ground as his hair fell in his face and his nervous grin widened, like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "...Sorry..."