[There's something unique about the cadence with which he speaks, the way words connect to one another and land in a very particular rhythm. This would be less strange, he thinks, if he were still on Gotham's streets- surrounded not by the upper echelon and not by the people Selina considers friends, but by the people between. There's an ease to the conversation that Bruce has never really felt himself but that he's observed in others, that he remembers from listening to boys at school talking to their friends. Two people walking home as they talk about the movie they'd just seen or telling a story about their day.

It is unique for Beacon.
Bruce has met personable, even friendly people thus far. But the reason this registers has less to do with character than it does with behavior. He'll make a new note of it, tonight. It wouldn't be a wise time to start investigating rooftops, after all.

Though he doesn't see her (he hasn't seen anyone), her voice floats over his shoulder. You remember what I said about being a douchebag?

It's very, very hard, not to look.

So Bruce stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks instead, makes a small show of rummaging through them until he pulls a small plastic strip out. Aspirin. Then hands it over. Parker's voice catches over the syllables in 'friend,' and Bruce thinks 'possibly dead, possibly lover,' without reaction.]

Well, if I get drunk enough I'll probably be too sick for your worst case scenario, right? [Bruce's hand claps down on his shoulder, an overly friendly and yet not really at all gentle pat-pat. He'd practiced it just before Penguin's auction a few years ago, when he'd made the public transition from reclusive orphan Bruce Wayne to obnoxious socialite. The smile he wears is wide and careless.]

But to be honest I never really got what people like that were trying to accomplish. You know, with the sanctimonious thing? Is it jealousy because they don't wanna live a little? Because they can't? Or is it just misery tourism?