bruce wayne has attended more charity galas than he would care to even think about counting. ·over the decades prior, ·he has both gravitated toward causes as they have to him, ·appearing a man ready to throw his money at anything. ·he wouldn’t mind the charities if they did not come with the essential socializing aspect–the parties always full of sycophants and social climbers, · the high life and blissfully unaware. ·some blissfully aware, ·but so caught in their own greed that they didn’t care. ·as much as bruce likes to believe in the best of people, ·it makes him sick. ·most of the bourgeoisie of gotham city look away at the city’s misfortune, ·despite it being a foundation for their own fortunes. · charity is not the same as advocacy, ·and therein is apathy.
currently, ·he’s being as inconspicuous as possible at the periphery of the soiree, ·thoroughly exasperated and burnt out from perfunctory smiles and greetings. · despite his status as one of the top contributors to the new gotham’s children’s hospital, ·bruce has no desire to hear any forced gratitude any longer, ·though the welfare of gotham of gotham remains at the top of his concerns forever and always. ·he isn’t joined by a date or a ward for once, ·an unusual occurrence the past few years. ·clad in a dark, custom-tailored italian suit, ·he accentuates the hard lines of his form while carefully covering up scars and bruises with a high collar.·
sipping at ginger ale, ·he examines the penthouse floor–the lights, intricate and melting ice sculptures, ·forms of figures dancing the evening away. ·a non-interfering path is chosen to make his way to the bar to order another drink, craving something a touch harder than ginger ale.
the eyes of those around the bar remain on one girl, ·dark-haired and dressed in a traditional kimono. ·there’s some hushed whispers before attention is diverted, ·drowned out by music playing on speakers built into the walls. ·curious, ·bruce orders a scotch on the rocks, ·and approaches the girl with his new drink in hand, ·other hand in his pocket. ·eyes trailing over her.
“—-i like the outfit,” ·the statement seems to stumble out, ·sheepish smile appearing as he offers a hand. ·“i’m bruce wayne. ·i certainly haven’t seen you around.”
Of all the things she expected from tonight, getting a mile and a handshake from Bruce Wayne without having to pursue it herself was not one of them.
For a long moment, she was stunned, and did a surreptitious glance about, in what was perhaps the fraction of a second. She couldn’t imagine what she was being approached for--while she was proud of the work she did, it was never spoken of in a setting such as this, let alone with one of the leading manufacturers of...well, just about everything.·
Perhaps he had just noticed how she stuck out like a sore thumb. The thought made her guts twist, and the telltale warmth in her cheeks that was the oft-felt Flush of Shame, as she had dubbed it, was ever-present. Did he know what the furisode signified? Perhaps he just felt bad for her. She had hardly ever heard anyone speak ill of them man without having some sort of agenda to hand that required it. Granted, in this city, that was quite common, but the mere fact that anyone was insistent about his earnestness spoke volumes.
He was, without a doubt, one of the most desired men in the city, if not the entirety of the eastern seaboard, after all. So, back to the problem at hand--why was he talking to her?
All of these thoughts rushed by in what could only be identified as a brief flicker of a moment before the usual smile painted its way across her lips, her hand coming up to grasp his in a shake. Her grip was light enough to be properly feminine, but not so limp-wristed as to imply spinelessness. She couldn’t help but notice just how small her hand was in his--in fact, the entirety of his being could easily loom above her, given the difference in their statures.·
“ Sumiko Kurokawa. ” The smile she offered was genuine, warm as her eyes met his.·“ It is a pleasure to finally have a presence to match the image. I must admit--you are considerably taller than I had imagined you to be. ”
Extracting her hand from his, she took a sip of her water delicately as she contemplated what next to say, to cover for her less-than-intelligent comment just now. But nothing came to mind. No wonder--she wasn’t even half as clever as she wished to be. Cursing herself, she forced a smile, all too aware of the embarrassment it betrayed.·“ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem rude, I was just taken aback. But with how small my own stature is, I truly have no reason to judge. “