Bruce sits by your side at the banquet table, chatting away, his gaze occasionally scanning the other attendees of the gala.

Your eyes are glued to your plate as you silently poke at your own salad, trying your best to be well-behaved. You've been quiet most of the night, but you've done a pretty good job of not making a scene or acting out like some of his other children might. "Is the food okay?" Bruce asks you with a small smile, clearly trying to make conversation.