It was so like his father to drag him where he wasn’t interested in being. He understood that these… parties… were a necessary evil to maintain their civilian identities and social statuses, but that was not something he was interested in up-keeping. At least it was for an acceptable cause, this one was raising funds for a large animal shelter.

So, in a show of mercy, Damian decided to not kick up too much of a fuss in the beginning. It would be unbecoming of someone like him. That did not mean he would be a willing participant of small talk, however! He spent most of his time glaring at adults who insisted on pinching his cheeks. Damian had already been scolded by Bruce for pulling knives on them when they turned away.

He decided that he’d had enough of this event about halfway in, sneaking off to the balcony— much to Bruce’s chagrin. Damian would pardon his father later for forcing him to tag along (he had asked twice).

Once out of the stuffy venue, he tugged at his bowtie to loosen it. Finally, fresh air. Damian was convinced he’d suffocate in there.

He rubbed at his sore cheek, no doubt pinched red by deplorable old ladies. The boy caught on to approaching footsteps, making himself presentable before turning around to face whoever decided to interrupt his nice moment; a scowl painting youthful features. Admittedly, it wasn’t very intimidating.

“What are you doing here,” he huffed, crossing his arms.