Wayne Manor Party, Sunday 18th March

The big day was here.

There was an excitement and tension in Wayne Manor that Bruce couldn’t remember being there in ages. Bruce had spent the majority of his life trying to escape the stone walls of his ancestral home. Prep school, college, and then his… journey--during all those years, the house was a skeleton of its former glory. The furniture had been covered with sheets, rooms closed up, shut off, only entered when Alfred saw fit to clear away the dust and cobwebs. Wayne Manor had become a time capsule, a fossil of a lost memory. In Bruce’s own words, his home had become a mausoleum.

A rebirth had occurred. Just as Bruce had been reborn with a purpose—a mission—so too, Wayne Manor had been through the fire and rose from the ashes. Bruce had gone to great lengths and expense to rebuild his father’s home to its former glory. The house shone with the sheen of newness and the splendor of extreme lavishness and luxury. No expense had been spared, no shortcuts or hidden money-savers. The marble block surrounding the upstairs pool was genuine marble. The gold accents on the bathroom faucet in the master bedroom were fourteen karat.

No expense was spared.

The same was true for the gala that was gearing up at a fever’s pitch on the floors below Bruce. As he pulled the knot tight on the black bow tie that he wore, the master of Wayne manor had to smirk, imagining Alfred commanding an army of attendants, caterers, and valets to do the work that the elderly gentleman probably would have preferred to do himself. Selina had done a stupendous job of planning the event. From what Bruce had seen of the decorations, Wayne Manor had never before looked so decadent. Not even on that fateful birthday almost a year past.

The lights had been carefully dimmed to offer a soothing tone. The quartet hired to play while the guests arrived were world-renowned. There were grab bags of expensive party gifts. The grand reopening of Wayne Manor had become the event of the year in Gotham. Anybody who was anybody was on the guest list. It was all made tolerable with the knowledge that the event was also a fund raiser for a new charity—a project that was also the brainchild of the multi-talented Selina Kyle. Bruce was actually looking forward to announcing the recipient of the excesses of the rich and famous of Gotham City. Despite Selina’s nighttime escapades of a questionable nature, she’d managed to manufacture a product of which Bruce was genuinely proud.

The announcement would come later. There was much posing and posturing that had to precede the ‘main event.’ The first act would, of course, be Bruce’s grand entrance. Bruce opened a small drawer and his finger trailed through the choices of cufflinks that lay inside. He was in no hurry. Though he could hear party guests streaming through the double doors of Wayne Manor’s foyer and the rising roar of their jovial conversation, it was his duty as the irrepressible playboy to be fashionably late for his own party.

When Rachel had first received the invitation to the gala at Wayne Manor, she had been unsure about whether or not she would attend. On the one hand, she knew that she would have felt terrible if she had missed it because of some little bump in the road in her friendship with Bruce. On the other, she hadn't wanted him to think that it was okay that he'd treated her the way he had. But then, he had shown up at her door not long ago, extending a personal invitation along with an apology for the unfortunate afternoon.

And she hadn't been able to tell him no. She'd tried to tell him no about the pearls he'd brought her, but he had asked her to wear them to the event. Rachel's mother had taught her never to refuse a gift - it was rude - and so, the attorney had found herself accepting the lavish gift with a gracious smile, and they'd settled into a little while of just drinking hot cocoa and spending time in each other's company. As the night of the gala approached, Rachel had found herself unsure about if she really should go: it was bound to be a beautiful evening...she didn't want things to be awkward. She had been slated to go with Harvey.

But then the district attorney had gotten sick, although he had urged her still to make an appearance. And so she had.

Dressed in a simple, emerald-green dress that fell to just below her knees in a flare, the gifted pearls nestled delicately around her neck, her hair swept back into a simple knot at the base of her neck, Rachel had set off for the Wayne Manor, a place which held both good and bad memories for her. Hopefully, tonight wouldn't be counted among the latter sort. The valet approached her car as she pulled into the driveway, and opened her door for her. Rachel exited the car, leaving it in the valet's care, and she made her way into the spacious mansion. To her surprise, there was a healthy crowd gathering already, and she slipped past all of them, up the grand staircase, and towards Bruce's suite.

Although she knocked lightly on the closed door, she didn't wait to be granted entrance. She did, however, enter cautiously, just in case. Her blue eyes fell on his form, seemingly engrossed in the contents of a drawer. "Hi," she said quietly, closing the door behind her. "I just...wanted to come say hello before...you come downstairs," she added. Before you become the Prince of Gotham, was the part left unsaid. "Everything looks wonderful downstairs, Bruce." Alfred had outdone himself - despite the presence of scads of other servants, Rachel knew the butler. And nothing happened without his seal of approval. Heels clicking quietly on the floor, she crossed closer to him, peeking over his shoulder at the contents of the drawer.

"Ah, the make or break decision," she teased gently. "Which cufflinks to wear?" Scanning the variety, she pointed to a pair. "Those are nice, if you're having a hard time," she volunteered.

The only sound was the faint whisk of tires on pavement as the gleaming silver Karma swept up the long drive to Wayne Manor and glided to a silent stop before the valets. Jaded connoisseurs of fine automobiles that they were, the young men exchanged intrigued glances. At a mere $80,000, it wasn't the most expensive vehicle to pass through their hands, but the hybrid sports car was definitely the most unique.

Behind the wheel, Benedict spotted the look and hid a smile as he turned off the engine. This was his first real venture into high society. There was a lot riding on the impression he made and this was a good beginning. Even if they were 'just the help,' he suspected they were more astute judges than any of the partygoers. And, for all that practical purposes required him to win the respect of those same partygoers, he found that he valued that of the valets far more.

Unfolding his large frame from the low-slung vehicle, Benedict paused and spared a glance at the Manor looming above them. All of that for one man. Wayne had grown up here in this spacious opulence, while Benedict's childhood home had been a 6x10 foot cell. For a brief moment he felt like the impostor he was. The ultimate parvenu, he thought with a surge of emotion that was equal parts envy and ambition. Well I'll stack Doje, Father Gian, Trogg, and Zombie against all Wayne's expensive private tutors. Let the masquerade begin.

The valets were already moving in and he handed the keys to one. Another waited a pair of heartbeats for Benedict to circle the car before opening the passenger door. According the discreetly perfect timing a nod of acknowledgment, the big man stepped up to hand his lady out with a bow and a smile.

Bruce was surprised to hear a soft knocking at the door. He turned, thinking that perhaps he’d imagined the soft rapping. The door opened and Rachel Dawes stuck her head into Bruce’s bedroom. ”Hi,” she said simply. Bruce’s hands were still in the drawer, and Bruce was happy to have an occupation to turn back to as he returned Rachel’s greeting. His eyes had immediately fixated on the necklace that Rachel had draped across her neck. Seeing the pearls worn was a far more emotional experience than seeing them in the store had been.

He looked at the variety of cuff links without actually seeing them. None of them held any kind of real meaning for him or held any special appeal. He hadn’t personally purchased them. Either Alfred had picked them out to fill what the butler perceived as a need or they’d been given to him by some sycophant looking for a small dose of favor.

” "I just...wanted to come say hello before...you come downstairs," Rachel added as she crossed the spacious room to stand at his side. Her meaning wasn’t difficult to read. She’d wanted some face time with her friend before he had to become somebody else. ”Everything looks wonderful downstairs, Bruce." When she’d determined what it was that held Bruce’s attention, she said, ”Ah, the make or break decision. Which cufflinks to wear? Those are nice, if you're having a hard time," she volunteered.

Bruce offered a warm smile of thanks, daring to meet Rachel’s gaze as his fingers plucked up the pair of cufflinks she’d indicated. Rachel had dressed in a relatively simple dress in an emerald green. She was destined to stand out quite distinctly from the sea of evening gowns and designer dresses. “You look fabulous,” Bruce said quite genuinely. The dress was very ‘Rachel,’ and for that reason alone it surpassed all his expectations. His eyes fixed on the necklace yet again. He reached out and grazed the string of pearls with his fingertips, the smile frozen on his lips, his eyes haunted.

“Thank you for coming,” he said as he dropped his hand and began fishing with the French cuff on his sleeve, folding it and trying to slip the cufflink through the layers of fine cloth.

As they pulled up to the large drive of Wayne Manor, the estate belonging to Gotham’s boy billionaire all grown up Bruce Wayne, Ivy couldn’t help but get a distaste in her mouth for the guy. Wayne was long suspected, by her of course, of hiding a deep dark secret…a secret that if found out, would shatter his world and make the citizens of Gotham see him in a whole new light. Rapist!! She had always suspected his company of harming the ecosystem and hiding acts of global raping of the lands for it’s natural resources for some time now, all hidden from public knowledge by the convenient multitudes of cash.

Bruce Wayne seemed to enjoy flaunting how much money he had by throwing these large events and generally making a fool out of himself by showing up drunk places, acting like a complete ass and typically draped with several plastic bimbos who only saw dollar signs when they looked into his eyes. One couldn’t read a newspaper in Gotham without seeing his smug grin looking back at you. It was…creepy. Most ladies would say that it was charming, that he was easy on the eyes and not difficult to look at…but, Ivy really couldn’t stomach the guy and pitied the man for having all the money in the world, yet acted like a complete buffoon.

Ivy glanced over at the man beside her as they made their way up the drive. Benedict was nothing like the drunken playboy Wayne in the least bit, he was class and he oozed the power that he commanded without disgracing himself with silly antics. His company was nowhere near the company that Thomas Wayne built, but it was on the rise…and thanks to several recent acquisitions along the way, lovingly supplied by a certain redheaded eco-terrorist, Prometheon’s reputation was steadily growing. Benedict deserved Wayne’s money, he was the kind of man who would know what to do with the large bankroll and would command the respect that came with it. She smiled as she turned her head to look out the window as they pulled up to the front.

As they pulled, the valets were already swarming and Benedict handed over the keys to one of them once he got out from the car. Ivy was about to open her door, when she noticed Benedict circling around to her side and smiled, allowing him to be chivalrous. The passenger door opened and Ivy placed her smaller hand into his as he helped her from her seat with a bow and a smile. “Why thank you kind sir.” Decked out in a beautiful emerald green gown, complete with a stunning diamond necklace, Ivy emerged from the vehicle. “You are too good to be true, darling.” She slipped her arm through his and smiled up at him. “But, I’m certainly not going to complain.” She reached up to boop him on the nose, before returning to being his proper 'eye-candy'. “Shall we?”


This post has been edited by Poison Ivy on Apr 9 2009, 08:12 PM

The big day was here. Selina had spent hours on her feet already alongside Alfred, supervising the decorators, the waiters, the caterers, the band, security... After all that and a rotten night of sleep, Selina felt more like returning home to spend the evening in bed than getting dressed up and socialise the night away. She knew many of the people she and Bruce had invited, and she didn't care for most of them. The thought of having to play nice for so long grated.

This was why she preferred to show her face and abandon the crowd at the earliest opportunity. Parties like these were not her style. She told herself that it would be no different from any other time she'd had to raise funds. She would just need to make it worth it.

When she was sure everything was in order, she handed the reins to Alfred and drove home to freshen up and change into her formalwear. She'd opted for sleek and classy; a strapless black dress with purple and silver accents and a long slit on the right, leaving enough skin bare to impress, yet none to offend. This crowd was so easily shocked. Sometimes it was fun to play with - but now, she couldn't afford to.

Fun as it would be to see the look on Bruce's face if she did. She had no doubt he'd be just as entertained as she was.

She put her hair up, sprayed some perfume, fixed her make-up - had to make her eyes and lips pop - and took a few moments to select her jewelry. Selina settled on amethysts and silver for her earrings and necklace, and one silver bracelet curling around her arm. It lacked the green accents she usually enjoyed, but purple looked good on her. To be fair: most colours did.

After giving her cats a last quick stroke on the head, she returned to Bruce's mansion just outside town.

She brought the car to a halt, surveying the grounds. The party had just started: the first visitors were already insire, and more and more were pulling up. Knowing Bruce, though, there was no guarantee he was busy welcoming his guests. That's what Alfred was for.

With that in mind, she took a cellphone from her purse and rang Bruce - by now, she had his cell on speed-dial. It took a few rings before he picked up.

"Bonjour," she greeted him. "Please tell me you're downstairs already. You wouldn't let me face the masses all by my lonesome, would you?"

//Michael, slip this in wherever convenient. Totally fine if you want to go another few rounds with Rachel first! Also, just call out for edits if you need them.

It was quiet in the room, but not in an entirely uncomfortable sort of way. She watched as he scooped up the cufflinks she’d suggested, and gave him a tiny little smile as a faint flush came to her cheeks at both the fact that he’d decided to go along with her suggestion, and the compliment that followed. “Thank you,” she replied, truly pleased and flattered by the compliment, before any other words that might have come out were stopped at his next action. Briefly, she caught his expression, and she couldn’t help the concern that she was sure flitted across her own face. Unfortunately for her, she was unable to form any words, unable to really ask him if he was okay, because the look in his eyes…it froze her in her spot. She couldn’t necessarily explain why, but as his hand reached out and brushed the pearls, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she’d made some kind of terrible mistake in wearing them, even though he’d asked her to.

“…you’re welcome,” she finally replied as the trance-like state that seemed to capture the two of them dissipated, and she nodded. “I told you I would come, Bruce,” she added, watching as he set about trying to corral his cuffs. For a second, she stood there, before she stepped forward again. “Here, let me help,” she offered, gently taking the cufflink from his hand. “I have a better angle, and both hands to use,” the attorney quickly clarified, remembering the last time she’d offered him help, and how adamantly – how nastily, even – he’d refused it. At least this was something a little less rooted in pride. At least this was something that probably every single man on the face of the earth who had ever had to wear cufflinks had needed help with at one time or another. At least this didn’t display any kind of weakness. Quickly, she secured the cufflinks, and then gave him another small smile. “You look…” she paused, not because she didn’t know what to say, but because she wasn’t sure how she wanted to say it.

“You look so handsome, Bruce.” Oh, what the hell. She might as well just go with the straightforward, flat-out honesty route. If it made things awkward, she would always be able to just excuse herself and get lost in the crowd downstairs, even though she doubted she would have any desire to really mingle with any of the other guests. This was certainly not going to be her crowd; the last party she had attended that had had Bruce on the guest list as well hadn’t exactly had the greatest result. If nothing else, she’d kind of been mortified; when she had run into Bruce, with Selina Kyle on his arm, his public persona had seemed to dictate that he make some of his infamous comments in her direction – and, if she remembered correctly, a smack on the ass. Needless to say, that had been more than a little bit awkward for her, and it had hurt. Not the smack. Bruce never would have physically hurt her. Ever.

But the fact that he had treated her, for just a moment, like so many of the other women he cavorted around town with, like some kind of…she didn’t know what, even if it was to preserve his public reputation, had hurt her deeply. She had done such a good job of not thinking about that for awhile, but being put into the same sort of situation brought the memory to the forefront. Part of her trusted that with Alfred around, Bruce wouldn’t do something like that again – she somehow got the feeling that the butler wouldn’t go for it, even if it was done to keep up appearances – but the other part was kind of just thinking that she would simply keep to herself, spend enough time at the party that it wouldn’t reflect badly on the office whenever she did leave, and thereby avoid any such encounters. “The people who are here already seem to be enjoying themselves so far,” Rachel said somewhat randomly, hoping to divert from her compliment just in case it did make things awkward.

Except then she reached up and gently tugged on the bow tie he wore, setting it just a bit straighter, and when she realized what she’d done, she dropped her hands and clasped them in front of her. “Oh…I’m sorry…” she apologized quickly. It wasn’t her place to do a last-minute adjustment of his wardrobe. She should have just stayed downstairs. Another rueful little smile crossed her features, and the flush in her cheeks deepened as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

/ took some liberties. seemed like a Rachel-thing to do. let me know if you don't approve! I won't hesitate to edit! :]

Benedict's laugh was a low purr as he tucked her arm more securely through his. "Good? Me? I think I've just been insulted."

“Shall we?”

"Time to storm the castle," he murmured, too low for anyone but her to hear. He looked up at Wayne Manor again as they mounted the front steps. It even looked like a castle. And it had its own prince -- the prince of Gotham. With a silent snort at the fanciful turn his thoughts had taken, Benedict brought his mind back to bear on the task at hand. The power and speed of his body wouldn't help him here, this was a challenge of the mind and he needed to keep his wits about him.

At the door, the manner of an older man welcoming guests caught Benedict's eye, intriguing him. A servant without being subservient, the man deferred to others half his age -- and half his intelligence, if Benedict was any judge of men -- without sacrificing an ounce of dignity. It was a dichotomy that bemused the gang lord and he was startled to realize that the man reminded him sharply of Zombie, though the two had little apparent in common.

Things to consider, Benedict thought, filing the perceptions away for later as he escorted his lady through the doors and into the glittering throng beyond.

***

He was here. Ashley Fontaine looked again at the video Kirsten Gardiner had emailed to her phone, but it was more for the vicarious thrill of the violence than any need to confirm identification. There was no mistaking Dante's huge body, even with all those muscles tucked away inside what had to be custom-tailored formal wear. She didn't need to look at the video to visualize those muscled flexing and she licked her lips at the image. Her husband Gerald wasn't fat, exactly, but he was soft. And he wouldn't even contemplate hitting someone, even to defend her. Not the way Dante had been a man for his girlfriend. And that girlfriend was with him tonight, the socialite noted with irritation. Well, the lush redhead practically glued to his side might be sexy as hell, but Ashley accounted her a minor obstacle and began moving in.

***

He was here. Gerald Fontaine noted Dante's arrival with a frisson of fear quite unlike his wife's of anticipation. He'd heard the man was big, but words couldn't convey just how big, or the impact of that sheer size. Even without having been warned off, Gerald would have been hesitant to approach him. Word that the man was one of those body-as-a-temple fitness freaks who would object strongly to being offered drugs just provided a convenient excuse. Having no intention of winding up like Clint Phillips, Gerald began fading into the background.

***

Unaware of the divergent reactions he had inspired in the Fontaine's, Benedict paused just inside the door. His gaze swept over the room and its occupants, identifying, assessing, and cataloging everything and everyone with the thoroughness he brought to bear on any battlefield.

"Here," Rachel said, "let me help."

Bruce relinquished the task to Rachel's care. It occurred to him that things felt different between them. There was a normalcy about the act that threatened to overwhelm Bruce's guard. Some weeks ago, Rachel had offered to help Bruce. She'd extended a helping hand, but Bruce was in no position mentally to accept it. His failures were all he could see, then, and he wouldn't allow Rachel, even in her good intentions, to force him to fall victim to another failure.

He couldn't be weak. He had to be something more than human.

Human is what he felt, though, as Rachel's dainty hands guided each cufflink into place and secured them. There was a contented expression on her face that Bruce made a point to commit to memory. He couldn't remember her ever making that face before. Not with him, anyway.

He exhaled through his nostrils, diverting his eyes when Rachel raised her attention to his bowtie. Suddenly self-conscious, Bruce cleared his throat and shifted his weight. He didn't often allow himself to be so closely scrutinized.

Rachel seemed to sense his discomfort. She removed her hands quickly. Her countenance fell, her gaze dropped to the floor. She apologized.

"Rach," Bruce said softly. He touched her chin to bring her eyes to his.

His cell phone rang.

He touched Rachel's shoulder. The moment was shattered. He smiled at his friend. "I should get that," he said. "Probably party business."

He found his phone on the third ring. The name on the display surprised him slightly. Selina wasn't one to make unnecessary contact. His eyes flitted to Rachel quickly before he flipped the phone to his ear. Concern tinted his voice when he answered with a quick, "Hello?"

"Bonjour," Selina replied.

Bruce's worries of a rather wide-reaching nature eased at the relaxed tone of her voice.

"Please tell me you're downstairs already. You wouldn't let me face the masses all by my lonesome, would you?"

"Oh, uh, no. No. I'm still getting dressed, but I should be down any minute. You're just outside?"

Bruce stepped to the window. Through the sheer that hanged there he saw Selina's car in the drive, along with a handful of others. Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, was to be his 'date' to the party. Aware of Rachel's presence in the room, he turned to look at her, apology written on his face.

Bruce's touch on her chin almost burned.

Okay, maybe that was being a little overdramatic, but it was meant figuratively, anyway. Of course, at the moment, Rachel's face just burned in general, because she just couldn't stop her face from reddening, and that was just causing her to be even more self-conscious, and really, it was all just a nasty, vicious circle that would probably just keep going until she died of sheer embarrassment. When had she turned into a schoolgirl about all of this, honestly?

Luckily for her (although it was also mildly disappointing), Bruce's cell phone chose that moment to ring and require his attention, and as his hand dropped to her shoulder following an apologetic smile, she just nodded. By all means, she hoped the gesture said, and she took a few steps in the opposite direction as he took a few steps towards the window. As the conversation started, Rachel couldn't help but be a little bit curious, though she silently chastised herself for it. It was none of her business who was on the other end of that line.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of another movement on Bruce's part, and she was faced with an apologetic expression. She raised one hand in assurance that it was fine; she was, after all, the one who was currently somewhere she probably shouldn't have been. "It's fine," she mouthed, and she gestured towards the door. "I'll go." Though she took another step towards the door, it just...it felt awkward. Awkward, and she didn't know how else to describe it, though she was sure there were several more words to do so.

Quickly - but gracefully - crossing the room, she leaned up, placed a silent kiss on his cheek, and with a small smile, headed back towards the door. Just before she ducked out of the huge chamber, she looked over her shoulder. "I'll see you downstairs," she whispered, though she couldn't help but think that she wouldn't. She wouldn't really see him. She'd see the public him, the one who...well, the one who wasn't really him. That Bruce was Prince Wayne. This was Bruce. Regardless, she pulled the door closed quietly behind her, and headed back down into the fray.

Was it just her, or had the number of people nearly tripled since she'd been upstairs? Suddenly more than a little uncomfortable, she was ridiculously tempted to go find Alfred and see if she could just help him for the duration of the party. Or, at the very least? Hide out in the kitchen until this was all over. This wasn't her scene. This had never been her scene. She felt quite a bit like a sheep on its way to the slaughter, among all of these rich and fabulous, and she didn't particularly like it. But...she'd smile and suffer through. She supposed she had to.

"Good? Me?” His laugh was a low purr, that brought a rather coy smile to Ivy’s painted lips. ”I think I've just been insulted."

Ivy reached up and ran her gloved hand along his cheek and then slid it down the front of his jacket, before she slid her arm through his and placed that hand upon his bicep. “Shall we?” After their date the previous night, Ivy was no longer conflicted in regards to how she viewed Benedict. He was a gentleman, but not too gentle and he was good to her…but, he wasn’t too good. He had money and he had power, but unlike the Billionaire playboy who was playing host to the party they were attending this evening, he didn’t flaunt it carelessly or squander it by making a complete ass of himself. Benedict was the far superior man, the Alpha Male of the species and thus a considerable mate. Ivy had always been under the belief that female was the far superior in any species and only a proven male was worthy of what she was willing to give.

No, Ivy was no longer conflicted in regards to her male. He had proven his worth to her completely and therefore, deserved to take what he had earned…her affections. She did not give of these things freely; she did not lessen herself like a commoner and whore herself out for just anyone. Ivy was a particular creature, a creature who was not above the touch of another or the companionship of another living being, but she held her body in high regards. A temple and only those whom she deemed worthy shall...enter that temple. Of course, Pamela was like a schoolgirl who was dating the most popular boy in school and spent her nights lying in bed playing with locks of her red hair, dreamily lost in thought over him. She always was a silly little thing; it was a good thing that she had Ivy now to keep her from doing things she would regret…things that only led to heartbreak.

"Time to storm the castle."

She felt his arm take a tighter hold upon her and she straightened up, doing her best to appear the perfect ‘trophy mate.’ Her backless emerald green gown was stunning, the diamonds around her neck sparkled and if one didn’t know any better, they would swear she stepped right out of some glamour magazine…or a star upon the silver screen. Benedict deserved the best and the best, was what he got. Her heels clicked upon the steps as they made their way up them and she was greeted with a warm greeting and a smile from the elderly servant at the door. For the briefest of moments he’d reminded her of William, the elder groundskeeper upon her father’s estate that had introduced her to the wonders of botany and up until Benedict, the only male that had ever earned her respect. He appeared to have a kind soul; it was just a shame that it was wasted upon caring for a wanton playboy with a Peter Pan complex.

As they stepped through the doors, Ivy’s eyes beheld the marvels of Wayne Manor and suddenly felt out of her element amongst Gotham’s wealthy and elite. While she was raised on money and never had financial want throughout most of her life, she was no longer of that world and felt rather small and insignificant. Who was she but a simple botanist that owned her own shop and paraded around during the night in green spandex, crusading for the rights of all that was flora? She felt the bicep she was holding on to tighten and she glanced up at the imposing figure beside her with the piercing eyes and perfect smile. She was Poison Ivy, world’s foremost eco-terrorist and right now…she was the hot redhead in the emerald green gown that all the catty women in the room’s eyes were upon for snatching up Gotham’s true ‘Prince Charming.’ Ivy smiled as her eyes scanned the room. Eat your hearts out, bitches.

It felt like an eternity since Barbara had accidentally gotten the Gordon family invited to the Wayne Manor Party. In truth, it had been about three months, but so much had happened since then. Who’d have ever thought at the time that she would have taken on a costumed persona? Or moreover, that Big B would come to accept her? It had been a big couple of months, no doubt about it.

As she entered Wayne Manor at her uncle's side, she began to have second thoughts about the whole thing. The party at The Palomar Ballroom hadn’t actually been her idea of fun. At the very least, she hoped that the catering had picked up. Sure, Mr Fancypants Wayne had assured her that he’d fix that, but you never could tell with rich people; mostly because Mr Wayne and Ms Kyle were the only ones she’d met. She also had the most unpleasant suspicion that she was probably the only person wearing the same dress they’d worn last time. Hell, she was probably the only person who still even owned the same dress that they’d worn last time.

If only she’d known what was under the mansion, then her mood would probably have been very different. Before she knew it, her uncle had been whisked away to discuss the fight on crime and she was left on her own.

Feeling the woman at his side tense slightly, Benedict glanced down at her. He wasn't as proficient at reading women as he was at reading men, but he'd hadn't missed the looks he'd gotten from select of the distaff portion of the assemblage and it wasn't difficult to follow the course of their thoughts or hers. It was a course that led into rocky waters, though. And, while he had no fundamental objection to being fought over, or doubt in Ivy's coming out on top in any such conflict, the repercussions were unpredictable and thus to be avoided.

"I will have to mingle," he bent his head to murmur to his lady. "I am not given to betraying confidences -- or confidence."

Lifting his head once more, Benedict scanned the crowd. Despite having met only a few of them in person, part of his preparations had included committing to his capacious memory the faces and salient facts about anybody who was anybody in Gotham so he recognized most of his fellow attendees. Wayne himself had yet to put in an appearance, but there were several lesser moguls and more than a few ne'r-do-well scions of wealthy families. There were celebrities, politicians, and community leaders, as well as some who were all three. A couple of judges were mixed in among the throng, one of them looking rather less than judicial already.

From where he stood to one side, it appeared virtually all of the guests knew one another, greeting each other with at least reasonable facsimiles of delight and mingling easily. There were exceptions, however, and one of them stood facing in the opposite direction not far away. A young brunette woman, she wore a green dress that was elegant in its simplicity and her hair likewise in a knot at the nape of her neck. In a room littered with inexplicable fashions and coiffures overdone to the point of absurdity, she was a breath of fresh air. Still, the angle of her spine and the set of her shoulders suggested she'd prefer to be out in the fresh air and he felt a flare of sympathy.

Then she turned and he saw her face and recognition transformed the fellow feeling into one of mixed wariness and calculation. Rachel Dawes, prosecutor, and rumor had it romantically linked with both Bruce Wayne and DA Harvey Dent. And, if the pearl necklace she was sporting was worth even half what it looked, it appeared Wayne had taken the bidding for her affections to a whole new level. On the other hand, it could also explain why Bird had found nothing of significant value in Dent's apartment. Which would make the district attorney a fool going head on against his enemy's strength, but men certainly weren't immune from folly when a woman was involved.

Curious which of her paramours it was, Benedict was about to approach her when another arrival caught his eye. James Gordon, Police Commissioner, was just entering. Even Bird, for whom the inherent venality of mankind in general and the Gotham PD in particular was virtually an article of faith, regarded Gordon as incorruptible. Which made the man, unremarkable-looking as he appeared, both exceptional and extremely dangerous. It also meant Bane would need to find some other way to influence him. That thought brought Benedict's gaze to the young lady at the Commissioner's side. A niece, if memory served -- and it always did. Orphaned, adopted, and possibly doted-upon. There might be an angle there. While Bane avoided menacing loved ones, having found it generally produced more in the way of unpredictable desperation than useful compliance, he wasn't above cozening them into becoming unwitting catspaws.

A target-rich environment, he thought. Decisions, decisions.

This post has been edited by Bane on Apr 23 2009, 03:54 AM

The conversation with Selina ended almost as soon as it had begun but lasted just long enough for Rachel to grow uncomfortable enough to make her exit. Rachel probably would have been pained to know it, but he was glad to have the final moments before his descent alone. Like a boxer preparing to enter the ring, Bruce was anxious to psyche himself up for the taxing encounters that undoubtedly lay before him. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but it was certainly helpful.

He took a few deep breaths as he shrugged the tuxedo jacket onto his shoulders. He tugged at the collar and gave himself a final look in the mirror, testing out the wide-eyed smile that he would wear down the stairs to greet the partygoers. The scars from the Fun House were almost entirely healed. Bruce hadn’t even bothered to conceal them. Swift fingers affixed the top button of the jacket, and the costume was complete. Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was ready for his audience.

The room fell dark as Bruce stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him, the knob locked. In the past, Bruce had fallen victim to guests who were curious for souvenirs. He was going to be certain that his bedroom remained off-limits.

Mirror-polished shoes danced down the grand stairs, and the performance began immediately. “Bruce!” a woman’s voice called out. Another, a man’s, followed suit. Soon, a brief and unexpected round of applause broke out. Many of the less excitable guests didn’t bother to join in. Bruce remained gracious, however, grinning and nodding his head with acceptance of the undeserved reception.

He clapped the back of a familiar face, a fuddy-duddy who eased his complaints about the new president’s tax reforms long enough to grace Bruce with a polite smile. He shook a few hands. All the while, his eyes trailed over the party, keeping a mental list of those in attendance. He knew Rachel was present. Alfred would be around, somewhere, offering someone a drink. Selina was bound to either be making her way inside or would be soon. There really was only one more individual that Bruce could remember personally inviting, and he had to grin when her red hair caught his eye.

Barbara Gordon looked every bit as uncomfortable and bored as she had the first time he’d encountered her at a formal function. She was wearing the same dress, too. Seemingly ages ago, he’d invited the younger Gordon to the party on a whim, promising a better menu than the one available at the time. Bruce and Barbara’s relationship had taken some interesting turns in the time intervening (at least from Bruce’s perspective,) but he’d made sure Selina made the necessary provisions so that he could keep his word.

It was a pleasant surprise to see her in attendance. Adding a special significance to her presence was the knowledge that her uncle and guardian, Jim Gordon, was also among the guests. Though he knew it was vanity, it brought Bruce some relief thinking that the new commissioner might see him as something more than a trust-fund brat.

Bruce made his way through the crowd meanderingly, welcoming guests as he went. Soon enough, though, he shouldered his way between a few partiers to emerge in front of young Barbara.

“Barbara Gordon,” he said. “So glad you could make it.”

"Oh, uh, no. No. I'm still getting dressed, but I should be down any minute. You're just outside?"

"Mmm. Bracing myself for the hordes." Selina laughed. "I expect to see you soon, then. Try not to burn down the house before I get a chance to say hello."

The conversation ended soon after, and Selina stored her phone back in her purse and eyed the mansion. More and more cars were pulling up outside, and she saw a couple of familiar faces make the trek up the stairs. She took a second to check her appearance with a pocket mirror, fixed up a loose strand of hair, and followed them to the entrance.

Normally, she didn't mind these parties as much as she let on; in truth, it varied day by day. As far as she could see, the deciding factor was how much she went out as Catwoman. The night after a successful heist, she'd mingle with the crowd, charm open a couple of wallets and take ever-so-much enjoyment from knowing she'd just stolen the host's priceless earrings; after a weeks-long drought, high society became tedious and frustrating. Selina Kyle didn't belong there; Catwoman did. What cat didn't love toying with its prey? What kind of a thief would she be if she didn't love what she stole, even if that thing was status?

It had been three weeks since Batman's visit to her house, and she still didn't know what to do about it.

All of that was concern for a later date. Now - now was the time for Selina Kyle to make her entrance.

A smile widened on her face as she walked into the hall. She knew how she'd left it earlier that day; but with the lighting on, the music in the background, and all the beautiful people of Gotham in their very best dresses and suits - and not half-bad jewelry, either - the room had gone from impressive to stunning. This was what she'd helped build.

"Mr McAllister," she said warmly, placing her hand on the man's arm. "It's so good to see you here." He was one of the few politicians she could stand: as an animal lover and devout left-winger, he'd helped her out before with some of her environmental efforts. His face lit up at the sight of her and they chatted briefly, until someone else stole his attention away from her. She didn't mind. The night was still young, and McAllister couldn't be the only friendly soul around.

For a minute, she got sucked in by a group of chattering debutantes, but the conversation turned her stomach and she excused herself as quickly as she could. The next person to demand her time: one of Thomas Wayne's old friends, complimenting her on the event. "Although I do hope young Mr Wayne will keep his dignity this time," he said, and sniffed. "I was around for his birthday, you know. That was not how Thomas raised the boy, believe me."

"Trust me, Mr Davis - he will. The youth centre means too much for him." She smiled. "In large part because he knew it would have meant a lot to Thomas Wayne, too."

Enough defending the host. Time to meet him. Carrying a glass of red wine, she sought him out in the crowd. Before too long, she spotted him - tall, dark and ever-so-handsome - chatting to another familiar face. Barbara Gordon. She kept in a laugh. It was an odd little pair.

She came up from behind, wrapping one arm around Bruce's waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. She was still the loving girlfriend, after all. "The both of you look quite fetching," she greeted them. "I hope everything is to your wishes. If not, I happen to know the host of this party. I wouldn't mind exchanging a few words with him."

//sorry for the wait, and call for edits! like before, feel free to insert this post later if you'd like to go a few rounds without me first

Somehow, Barbara’s doubts and regrets about coming to the party really weren’t going anywhere. She’d sort of been hoping that maybe, just maybe she might run into Thomas. Sure, there was the fact that she was still harbouring a crush on him, but mostly, she just wanted someone; anyone that she could talk to. Distracted as she was, she never noticed the host of the party approaching her.

“Barbara Gordon. So glad you could make it.”

“You are?” Barbara asked in surprise. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that most people would notice whether she was there or not. “That is to say, thanks, glad I could be here,” she said, possibly not altogether convincingly. Not that she wasn’t glad, just that she was still a little ill at ease.

Anything else that Barbara might have been about to say was cut short as Ms Kyle came up behind Bruce and wrapped an arm around him. As Ms Kyle kissed Bruce Wayne on the cheek, Barbara raised a hand to cover her eyes in jest. It looked like they were over whatever problems they had before.

"The both of you look quite fetching, I hope everything is to your wishes. If not, I happen to know the host of this party. I wouldn't mind exchanging a few words with him."

“Thanks, you too,” Barbara replied with a slightly nervous smile. “I should probably leave you two kids to... well, you know,” she told them, before turning to go... somewhere.

She felt the eyes on her; well at least from several of the “ladies”, as they entered and it was enough to make her slightly tense. She’d seen the Gotham Gazette this morning; she’d seen the picture snapped of the two of them at Fleur de Lys last night and the accompanying article that went along with it. Amongst those assembled it was a topic of gossip whether one of the eligible bachelors among them had been taken off the market and now it was the “elite’s” job to put her under a microscope…and for the jealous hags to tear her apart with their glares. She’d grown up with money, she’d watched her mother and listened to her venomous words in regards to the ladies that attempted to breach their inner sanctum…how they were trying to “weasel in” to a higher social status. While she despised such actions and pitied these ladies, she also found a thrill in it…knowing full well that her being with Benedict must be eating them alive. Well…boo-hoo, all’s fair in love and war.

"I will have to mingle." She turned her head upward to meet his eyes and gave him a smile as he bent his head to lightly murmur his words to her. "I am not given to betraying confidences -- or confidence."

“Of course, darling.” With that, she reached up and stroked his cheek. They’d had a wonderful evening…and morning together, something that Ivy wasn’t used to in the least bit but had enjoyed immensely. He’d been nothing short of a gentleman with her, had been since they’d first met and that fact had not gone without its reward. She gave him a smile and then released his arm, allowing Benedict to make his rounds. She trusted him or at least trusted him to know that he would not be lured in by one of these hussies and warming only HER bed this evening. As he made his way into the crowd, Ivy glanced about the faces around her and tried to plaster on her best fake smile. Several smiles seemed genuine, mostly from the men who could never land the ladies they were with if it wasn’t for their tremendous bankrolls and yet others were as fake as the breasts of the women they belonged to, which the very thought made Ivy’s smile broaden.

In a way, she sort of wished Harley were here to snicker along with her, that girl would get a kick of the silicone stuffed harlots and would no doubt call them out on them. That would certainly liven up this little shindig, that’s for sure. Yet, beyond the sea of silicone and bleach blonde hair, one female stood out amongst the rest and surprisingly, she wasn’t quite a woman…yet. Like Ivy she was a fellow redhead and quite pretty, yet half of her age. She cocked a curious brow at the girl, who looked no more than sixteen at the most and found it rather odd that a child was attending an event thrown by Gotham’s resident billionaire playboy. Relative? Maybe…surely she wasn’t here for Wayne himself? She had little doubt the guy liked them young, but not that young. Certainly pedophilia was frowned upon in Wayne’s social circle, right? The very thought made Ivy gag.

She was soon joined by an older male with a moustache, who she could only assume was her father and just as out of place. Soon the swine, err…host himself finally arrived and Ivy watched in mild distaste as Bruce Wayne made his way through the hordes of ass kissers and general suck ups along the way. Long suspecting Wayne’s company of wrongdoing, Ivy was neither a fan of the guy…nor was she one of the lecherous simpletons that fawned over the man in any way. Ivy gritted her teeth and tried to fake a smile at Wayne for Benedict’s sake as he passed her and watched as he made his way over toward the young girl and her guardian. It was not long after he was joined by his latest flavor of the week, Selena Kyle and the pair actually looked rather…cozy, to say the least. While she might not be a big fan of Wayne, Miss Kyle was known for being a rather strong woman and known for her charities, something that Ivy could at least admire about her.

Soon a woman, whose face screamed of botox and whose boobs were definitely paid for, blocked her view and Ivy sipped her drink. ”How ever did you manage to reel in Benedict Dante?” Ivy calmly continued to sip her drink, but the urge to throw it in the other woman’s face was growing rapidly. ”Is he as…LARGE…as we all suspect?” Ivy’s free hand balled into a fist, but she remembered whom she was here for and relaxed it. ”I’ll bet he’s as big as a…” Ivy turned her head and glared at the woman, who stopped before she finished that thought and smiled as she put out a hand. ”The name is Fontaine…Ashley Fontaine.” Ivy just looked at the woman, before raising her own hand to take it. ”A pleasure.”

“Isley…Pamela Isley.” There was a certain amount of venom in the way she said her name, directed at the harlot with spite. “How ever do you do?” The makings of an actual catfight were in the works here, only Ivy was hoping that it didn’t come that…considering she was a girlie-girl when it actually came to confrontations. “And there’s no doubt that the pleasure is all yours, because it most certainly isn’t mine.” Her words received a feigned gasp, but she knew it probably made the woman giddy that she’d managed to get under Ivy’s skin. “Excuse me.” Ivy started to walk away, but turned and faced the woman once again. “And for the record…I didn’t reel him in. He’s not a fish, he’s a man…MY man, a REAL man.” This brought about a rather bored smile from Ashley, so Ivy moved in a little closer. “And as for your other question…” This sparked interest in Ashley, but only made Ivy laugh. “Guess you’ll never know, cause my Benedict has class…as do I and neither of us prefers to spend their time in the company of whores.” A few snickers could be heard amongst those around them as Ivy turned and gave a parting wave as she departed. “Toodles.”

From the corner of his eye, Bruce was aware that he was being watched. The glare came from a woman with striking red hair. Bruce didn't recognize the woman, which was odd. Stranger still, though, was that he felt as if her stare was scornful and, if Bruce's senses were correct, filled with disdain. What, he wondered, had he done to her? He had a feeling hers wasn't the type of face he would forget, though he didn't dare make direct eye contact. He dismissed his suspicions. Plenty of people didn't like him, and for literally dozens of good reasons. He instead focused on Barbara's discomfort and the stark contrast between the courageous young woman who wore the Batgirl mask and the uncertain young woman standing before him now.

With his attention pulled in several directions, Bruce was genuinely shocked when an arm settled around his back. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek that set Bruce's smile a little wider. He raised his own arm and it settled hurriedly on Selina Kyle's shoulders. He was fairly confident that he'd even made the maneuver look smooth. Things with Selina were in a weird place. He didn't know how to end their 'arrangement' without making the whole thing seem like something it was never intended to be. Their meeting at the youth center had proven unexpectedly complex. Most painful of all, he'd grown to value her company and friendship.

Despite everything he knew about her, looking into her exotic eyes--enhanced by the careful and skillful application of dark makeup with a hint of color--Bruce was genuinely happy to see her and once again taken with her beauty.

"I hope everything is to your wishes. If not, I happen to know the host of this party. I wouldn't mind exchanging a few words with him," Selina joked.

"I should probably leave you two kids to... well, you know,"Barbara added with discomfort in her voice.
Bruce, playing the role of the attentive boyfriend, managed to steal his eyes away from Selina long enough to throw up a finger. "Oh, Barbara! Make sure your waiter understands exactly who you are. Tell him you get the special menu. They should understand. If he gives you any shit, I want to hear about it."

He squeezed a little tighter on Selina's shoulders, turning her in the opposite direction so that they could continue their mingling and leave Barbara to her own devices. Bruce understood the awkwardness of being a teenager in a room full of rich people. It was not a pleasant experience. Hopefully, the dinner would make up for it.

"You know the host, huh?" he said to Selina, grinning playfully. "Tell him to open the good champagne why don't you."

He saw a small, white-haired, mustachioed man spot him, swallow the remnants of his glass in one gulp, throw up a hand, and start in Bruce's direction.

"Everything looks great. You look great," he whispered to Selina hurriedly. "Thanks. For everything." He lifted his arm off of her to give the old Italian man a hug, greeting him with a booming "Buongiorno!" The two men's laughter dominated the room as the elderly man began sharing all the bawdy details of his latest affair in his native tongue. The man was a pig, but he certainly knew how to tell a story.

This post has been edited by Selina Kyle on May 13 2009, 02:05 PM

Snagging a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray, Benedict sipped from it as he maneuvered through the crowd seeking a position from which he could best observe what he judged to be their host's most likely approach. There were several entrances to the room, but the former prison lord knew well there was an art to awing people, even if you were a head taller -- or a dozen times richer -- than everyone else in the room. No small part of it involved Making an Entrance. And no small part of that involved height, which made the stairs what Benedict would pick in Wayne's place.

An ice sculpture sat on a table to one side across from the sweeping curve of steps and Benedict took up a place near it. It depicted a big-eyed, waiflike little girl with thin arms and legs sticking out of her tattered dress and was surrounded by trays of hors d'oeuvres. Finding the juxtaposition darkly humorous, he pretended to study it while he waited for his quarry.

He didn't have to wait long. Less than a minute after he'd settled in, Benedict caught a glimpse of motion on the balcony, followed a second later by Wayne coming into view, heading for the stairs. Physically, the billionaire was bigger than he'd expected, taller and broader across the shoulders, and moved with an easy, offhanded grace. He looked pensive until he neared the top step, then donning a magnanimous, welcoming smile that was, at least to Benedict's eyes, just the tiniest bit smug. It was also just a bit oblivious, he decided, as Wayne's eyes passed without a visible flicker of awareness over his enemy's bulky form.

Still, the performance of Gotham's prince was rewarded as others caught sight of him. One woman called out to him and there was even a smattering of applause. It brought a bitter smile to the big man's lips. In the pit, he had had men and women on their feet clapping and screaming his name, and it had taken him some time to realize that it wasn't because they respected, feared, or loved him. It was simply because he sated their bloodlust. Do they love you, Bruce? he asked silently, watching Wayne gladhand his way through the room. Or do you just feed some hunger within them?

Washing down a crab puff with more of the sparkling water, Benedict watched Wayne chat briefly with Gordon's niece before Selina Kyle arrived on the scene. Another girlfriend? he wondered as they slipped arms around one another. It wouldn't be surprising -- the billionaire had a reputation as a considerable playboy. His women were toys, though Benedict thought with a bit of smugness of his own. Not like Ivy, who was a power in her own right.

Benedict glanced in the redhead's direction, finding her talking with a slinky sort of blonde. Looking back, he was just in time to see Wayne and Kyle stroll off together, leaving Gordon's niece standing alone. It was an opportunity, if he could find a way to make use of it. Heading toward her, he tried to think of an opening gambit. Suicidal junkies, psychotic assassins, greedy thugs, all of these he understood and could connect with. But what could he say to a teenage girl?

By the time he arrived at Barbara's side, he still had no angle. With a rueful mental sigh, he abandoned Machiavellian cleverness and settled for simplicity. "Good evening," he said.

This post has been edited by Bane on May 18 2009, 03:02 AM

"Oh, Barbara! Make sure your waiter understands exactly who you are. Tell him you get the special menu. They should understand. If he gives you any shit, I want to hear about it."

Special menu? Seriously? Jeez, way to treat her like she was about twelve. She was almost tempted to eat their weird fancy junk, just to prove a point. Or at least, she might have been if she wasn’t fairly sure that she would have been the one who came out of that scenario the worst. She didn’t say any of that, though. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” she assured him. “And don’t swear in front of impressionable minors!”

It was at times like this that dual identities were just super fun. Wayne would just never know just how much she really could take care of herself.

Unfortunately, the fun didn’t really last all that long as she quickly realised that she was alone, once again. Stupid people and their having girlfriends. She should have had a boyfriend and should not have responded to that thought by looking around for Thomas. Besides, she’d have made a terrible girlfriend. Sure, you ask any number of guys and no doubt they’d say that dating a hero would be awesome, but just as quick, they’d be bitching and moaning when said hero wasn’t there because they were actually being a hero.

"Good evening,"

“Whoa!” Barbara didn’t know quite how she’d missed the fact that Juggernaut was headed her way, but somehow she had. No doubt it was something to do with him not looking like Thomas, or just generally someone cute and in her age group. “Grow them big where you come from, don’t they?”

Oh God.

Did she actually say that, or just think it? She definitely seemed to remember saying it. Crap.

“I mean good evening?” she tried with a hopeful smile and offered her hand to shake. It would be good to get it back, this guy looked like he could snap it off if he wanted to.

"Thanks, you too. I should probably leave you two kids to... well, you know."

Poor girl. Barbara didnt seem the least bit comfortable. Ten years ago Selina would've thought her crazy for not enjoying herself, but these days, she understood. Not everyone had the same pathetic childhood dreams as she had.

"Oh, Barbara! Make sure your waiter understands exactly who you are. Tell him you get the special menu. They should understand. If he gives you any shit, I want to hear about it."

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. And don’t swear in front of impressionable minors!”

"Careful, now. Her uncle's the commissioner these days, you know."

With a soft squeeze of her shoulders, Bruce turned her around, and she followed as the obedient girlfriend she was supposed to be. Well, semi-obedient; she'd given the role her own little Selina Kyle flair, and she got the feeling that Bruce didn't mind.

"You know the host, huh?"

"Intimately. Don't be jealous, now."

"Tell him to open the good champagne why don't you."

"The night is young. Have to save the good stuff for later."

Selina scanned the crowd, looking for any familiar faces. She found plenty. None of them she particularly wanted to approach. Unsurprisingly, she didn't get a choice in the matter - a vaguely familiar man approached, eyes on Bruce, wide smile under his bushy mustache.

"Everything looks great. You look great. Thanks. For everything."

She didn't have the chance to respond as Bruce let go of her to greet the other man. Her eyebrows raised, amused at the sight - and the sound. Bruce spoke Italian? She'd figured out long ago he was infinitely smarter than he let on, yet he still managed to surprise her again and again.

She stayed by Bruce's side, feigning listening despite not understanding a word, but her thoughts started to drift off. This wasn't her scene anymore. She could play along, but sometimes, it was hard to stay interested when she cared a million times more about what was in any of these people's safety vaults than the people themselves.

Bruce burst out in laughter at something the man had been telling him, who now seemed awfully pleased with himself. When the laughter died down, she interjected, "I can entertain myself if this is a boys-only club, but I do hate to miss a good story. Care to share?"

Bruce turned at Selina’s words. The smile on his face only widened. The man who had embraced him so heartily was Giuseppe Basso, an artist whose most famous canvas was the life he lived. As a younger man, Basso had embraced the tenants of Epicureanism to the full, though at some point in his life it seems that all limits on his hedonism had fallen by the wayside. Still, the man proclaimed at every opportunity his beliefs that pleasure should be pursued by all and, in his charity, that all should be freed from the chains of pain—in all its various forms. He was a lighthearted man, one that Bruce had been warned away from as a child but had found anyway as a teenager and young man while searching for someone to waste his life away with.

There was much to be respected about Basso, and Bruce had found much in common with him. On some very basic and fundamental beliefs, however, the men had agreed to disagree. When Giuseppe had married, Bruce believed that his pleasure-seeking ways should have been bridled. Giuseppe hadn’t slowed down in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in his infidelities, as if they were a game. Considering the length of his marriage, Bruce would have thought the fun would have long faded.

Still, that was one area where Bruce was content to reserve his harsher judgment.

“Selina,” Bruce said warmly, “allow me to introduce you to Giuseppe Basso, an old friend of mine.” In turn, he introduced Selina to Basso.

The mustachioed man, with his carefully-coifed white hair, dark tan, and slim-fitting suit, eyed Selina appreciatively. ”Such spirit in her eyes,” Giuseppe said in Italian, the only language he would speak though he understood several. ”Vibrancy. Life!” He shook his fist enthusiastically and clapped Bruce on the shoulder. ”At last, you have shared a bed with a real woman. You will never be satisfied again by the empty husks and shells you’ve known.”

Bruce laughed at Basso’s enthusiasm but eyed Selina with slight discomfort. He hoped she wasn’t just feigning ignorance. “He says ‘Your dress is fabulous,’” he censored.

Basso scoffed and pushed Bruce aside. He reached to take Selina’s hands in his and kissed each cheek with great ceremony. ”You are a panther,” he said. ”Let no one cage you.”

//OOC: Let me know if you need any edits. Forgive me if I overstepped my bounds.

“Grow them big where you come from, don’t they? I mean good evening?” she tried with a hopeful smile and offered her hand to shake.

Folding his hand around Barbara's with even more care than usual, Benedict returned the smile with genuine amusement twinkling in his eyes. Her question might not have been the socially approved thing to say, but it was refreshingly straightforward. It also, unlike many of the conversations he'd passed close enough to overhear, didn't require him to feign knowing or caring about any of the artists, actors, or other irrelevancies that seemed to loom so large in others' minds.

"My name is Benedict Dante," he said, giving her hand the lightest of pressure before quickly letting go. One had to be careful with children, especially female ones, and even more especially with the nieces of police officers. "And as far as I know, I am unique. Then again, so are most people." He glanced at the throng of social chatterers. "No matter how much they might try to pretend otherwise."

"My name is Benedict Dante. And as far as I know, I am unique. Then again, so are most people. No matter how much they might try to pretend otherwise."

Barbara frowned at Mr Dante before taking a look around the room. Somehow, she really wasn’t sure. Pretty much everyone here seemed the same to here. Rich, boring and self important. Just about the only thing that seemed different was the clothes, heaven alone knew it would be an absolute disaster to show up wearing the same outfit as someone else. “Let me guess, you’re a motivational speaker, right?” she quipped, shaping her hand to mimic a gun, which she pointed at him and cocked with a wink and her eye and a click of her tongue.

She regretted that even more quickly than the comment about growing them big.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “And I am being completely rude. It’s Barbara Gordon.” She paused; perhaps she should have clarified that she meant her name. No, that was probably obvious. She really did suck at talking to adults sometimes. “So, what can I help you with?” she asked, still a little surprised that he’d chosen her to talk to, when there were so many people closer to his age and probably more capable of not sticking their feet in their mouths.

“So, what can I help you with?”

Motivational speaker? Benedict was wondering, trying to put it together with the finger gun. What? But she'd already moved on and he scooted mentally to keep up.

She still seemed a bit dubious about him, so he tried another genial smile. "Well, Miss Gordon, I'm a stranger here in this very strange land of yours." A twisting flip of the hand indicated the glitterati. "And I'm afraid I don't know who most of these people are -- which fact would probably mortally offend most of them. I was wondering if you might ease my ignorance before I wind up putting my foot in my mouth."

He gave her a hopeful look.