“Yeesh.” Conner shudders exaggeratedly, his eyes trailing over your figure. “Are all you Waynes so icy?” You watch a cocky grin spread across his face as he starts to circle you. A predator appraising its prey wouldn’t be quite right - more like a crow observing something it thinks is particularly interesting.

“Feel like I’m gonna freeze to death.” he laughs obnoxiously, poking you in the arm. He mimics a heart attack, then pretends to swoon, loudly groaning “Woe is me. The prissy little millionaire brat doesn’t like me.”

“Whatever will I do,” he bemoans, “A Wayne can hardly tolerate little ol’ me. Woe is me. I am so… filled with woe right now, dude.” After a certain point, you guess he gets bored of his own dramatics, because he crosses his arms and just stares at you for a moment. His amusement with your disposition seems to have been exhausted, because he frowns. “Do you always look like that, or do you really just hate me?”

He lets out a low exhale through his teeth at your silence, rolling his eyes a bit. He thinks you might be the least charitable person at this Charity Gala. Regardless, he can certainly see the resemblances between you and Bruce.(even though he’s unsure if Bruce is your actual birth father). “Kay, good talk,” he grumbles under his breath, rather obviously a bit frustrated at your lack of enthusiasm.