Here is Bella, catching up on her email, trying to come up with a reasonable mathematical approximation of the known abilities of evils versus arrows to guess how many dead people she can bring back with one of the latter, trying to come up with a prioritization scheme for putting her waiting list in order.
[It's cute,] says Queenie. [You should let me play matchmaker, I'll fix you up good.]
[I have a sneaking suspicion that if I do I will wind up blushing beet red wondering why I ever invited you to move to my universe.]
[It means I think you guys would be cute together so I'm not gonna get too awful about it because I might make you really uncomfortable and that would be sad?]
[Yes, heaven forfend I dither for a while like a nineteen-year-old girl who's never been on a date before instead of sending a staff member to tell the guy I like that I like him like a third-grader. I mean, like a dignified magical space empress.]
[So you should ask him out,] Queenie concludes. [Or conspicuously not tell me not to ask him out for you.]
A week later, Ripper brainphones her.
[So, a little bird told me it might not be a bad idea to ask if you wanted to get dinner sometime.]
[Of all the ways you could have reported this to me, this one is not a way that tells me whether to regret talking to the little bird.]
[I'm just going to take that as a 'yes Ripper I will get dinner with you' and not a 'yes I was expecting to regret letting Queenie be the messenger here'. Mostly because, on second thought, the second one goes without saying. She also said she would make us both, and I quote, 'nice clothes you won't mind being on a date in', which is sweet of her. And apparently the Jokers are getting together and making both the dinner and the place we'll be eating it.]
[That's very nice of them. Queenie actually makes most of my clothes even though that's not her job, but I guess this calls for a per-occasion outfit.]