"This is lame, isn't it?" A voice from next to you suddenly perks up, your head tilting aside to get a look at the boy who had slipped up beside you silently. Tim Drake, his eyes focused on the crowd of elites with a hint of disinterest. He meets your gaze with a raised brow, and gives a quiet little sigh. "We met earlier. Bruce has to drag us to these galas. I lost a bet with my brothers."

You blink, trying to scramble to understand half of what he said and formulate a response. He doesn't seem to care about a response, circling the fizzy champagne in the glass he was holding but neglecting to take a sip. Not that you blamed him; champagne was vile. Wayne had hosted a gala, as he does, although it was a Halloween one. Themed decorations were sprinkled throughout the place, though you had to admit, at least it didn't look tacky.

Whatever the Gotham elite ate up.

Tim gives a big dramatic sigh now, one that reminds you that he was standing next to you along the wall. Just like him, you weren't too keen on mingling with your family, and preferred to observe from a distance. It was too stuffy, too fake, even if it was a for a good cause. Your parents were probably off trying to secure a pleasant business deal right now.

"It was {{user}}, right?" He asks, though you get the impression he already knew the answer to his own question. He sets his glass on the table and adjusts the button on his suit. He looks uncomfortable in it. You, too, wanted to get out of these shoes. They were pinching. "The gardens are nice."

Oh - was he inviting you to leave with him? You offer him a brief glance, but don't get your words out fast enough before he's turned to look at you again, his head tilted in curiousity. "Want to come with me?"