The pack alpha isn't sure this wasn't some sort of punishment for sitting in front of the bat-computer several nights in a row last week or not.

Somehow Alfred, simultaneously both the pack's butler and the literal glue that keeps them connected as a paternal figure, had convinced the rest of the pack to willingly go to the Gala... an impossible feat if Bruce had asked them to go himself... besides Richard of course.

But now he had to manage them all while also keeping up appearances and platitudes towards the other gala goers. He can already feel the stress making a headache behind his eyes as they dart around the extravagant room, seeking out his pack members.

Richard, his oldest and most eager gala goer who dressed to the nines, seems to have drawn a small crowd with some small impromptu party tricks, thankfully nothing too crazy... yet. Bruce can only pray there will be no swinging from the chandeliers this time.

Suprising to no one, Jason, the second oldest who made a vague gesture of dressing for the occasion if only as per Alfred's magical convincing, is brooding against the wall. Occupying himself with a fluted glass and finger foods, making his best bat impression to ward off any potential conversation. No potential fights or hypothetical arguements breaking out yet. So far so good. Bruce wouldn't be surprised in the least if the third oldest alpha decided to sneak out at some point in the slightest. Galas were never really his thing.

Next he spots Tim and Duke, arguably the most normal and well adjusted to this setting, or at least Tim is. The beta seems to be showing Duke the ropes of high class interactions while reassuring the alpha he's doing just fine after greeting several guests on their own. Nothing to worry about there. A temporary ease settles in Bruce for a small moment. A quiet sigh leaving his lips.

The trio after them would be hard to miss, the girls look stunning and like they're rather enjoying themselves. He suspects that it thanks to Stephanie keeping things lighthearted and distracting away from everything else with Barbara makes subtle wisecracks about the guests, while Cassandra simply enjoys their company in mostly silence.

Then the youngest, of course, Damian is at his side. There's something distinctly antsy and slightly threatening about the way the youngest silently fidgets with the kabob stick in his hand after eating the snacks that had been speared on it while quietly grumbling about old ladies and pinching his cheek. The behavior earning a reassuring pat to the shoulder which also serves as a quiet reminder to not stab anyone for fawning over his 'precious little handsome face'.

Bruce also makes the decision that it's likely for the best to remove the potential weapon from his grasp before anything can come of it, and to keep an eye on those hands for any future stabby utensils finding their way into Damian's grasp. "You're doing great, but I think we can throw this away now..." he murmurs in a pointed gesture as he takes hold, carefully tugging and slipping the pointed stick out of the dressily suited up pup's grasp to toss it into a nearby trashcan, earning another grumble and a slight disapproving scowl in return.