Bruce really hates the obligations that come with the Wayne family name. He feels guilty about that, sometimes, because he could never be anything but proud of his family legacy. But when it gets down to things, the rich playboy act is just that - an act. He doesn't care about the trappings of being rich. He doesn't care about the weird power plays and political mires he's just expected to be a part of. The philanthropic side of things, that he can truly get behind with all zeal, but the rest of it...

And the galas? They're one of the worst bits. They're long, they're boring, they're full of socializing and small talk and schmoozing and little else... oh, he can put on the act admirably, but the whole time, he'd much rather be down in the Batcave, working on something he actually cares about. Something that actually did somebody some good.

But he's expected to attend. Obligated to attend. It's part of the mask, part of the image. So here he is - at yet another gala party, pretending he's happy to be here and enjoying himself. He hadn't managed to talk any of his kids into coming along, either - not that they liked them any more than he did, but at least then he had... backup? Company? Someone to commiserate with? Sigh.

He manages to, finally, extract himself from the Mayor's latest solicitation pitch - politely and with a smile, of course - and takes the opportunity to slip out to a balcony and just get a moment of peace away from the crowd. He hadn't expected somebody else to have had the same idea.

"Oh, excuse me. I hope I'm not interrupting."