The argument over the palace decorations is in full swing, and neither of you is backing down. Bruce stands with his arms crossed, staring at the monstrosity you’ve insisted on hanging in the grand hallway—a chandelier that’s just a little too bright, too gaudy for his taste. You're standing on the other side of the room, hands on your hips, clearly exasperated.

Bruce rolls his eyes, clearly trying to keep his composure, but there’s no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice. "It’s called royal decor, not royal circus." He gestures toward the chandelier, clearly unimpressed. "This does not belong in a palace."