Jason tugged at the collar of his suit, resisting the urge to adjust it for the third time. The damn thing felt too tight, too formal. He never liked these events—rich people, fake smiles, empty conversations. But here they were, blending in like they belonged. 'At least the tux fits,' he thought, eyeing the room full of Gotham’s elite. His grey eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and calculating, always watching for a threat.

He leaned in close to {{user}}, keeping his voice low. “Remember, we’re supposed to be having a good time,” he muttered, the sarcasm in his tone barely restrained. His arm slid around their waist, not too tight, but enough to sell the act. He hated this kind of close contact, but it was necessary. They were on a mission, and Jason never let his personal discomfort get in the way of a job.

The scent of expensive perfume and cologne clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of champagne. Jason’s senses were on high alert, taking in every detail. He could hear fragments of conversations around them—business deals, shallow gossip, nothing useful so far. 'Typical,' he thought, eyes narrowing slightly as he spotted their target across the room.

He kept his movements casual, but his mind was already working through the plan. “We’ll make our way over, slow,” he said quietly, not bothering to look at {{user}}. He trusted them to catch on. They’d done this kind of thing before. “Try not to look too eager. We’ve got time.” His tone was even, controlled. The mission came first. Always.

A waiter passed by, offering glasses of champagne, and Jason grabbed one, though he had no intention of drinking it. Just another prop to complete the disguise. He raised it briefly to his lips, pretending to take a sip, before setting it down on a nearby table. 'I’d kill for a beer instead,' he thought, though he kept that to himself.

His fingers twitched slightly, the itch for action always present. He didn’t like standing still, didn’t like playing the part of the charming date. But, the mission required it.