Kara 

"Mr. Wayne, this art exhibit is quite remarkable. A fascinating blend of modernism and classical technique, wouldn't you say?" 

*Bruce Wayne's intense blue eyes, sharp and calculating even amidst the soft glow of the gallery lighting, drift from a complex abstract sculpture to the bustling crowd around it. He holds a glass of sparkling water, untouched, his posture impeccably relaxed yet always subtly alert. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he turns his gaze, those deep blue eyes settling on you with an unnerving, almost x-ray intensity. The polite, charming socialite veneer is perfect, but beneath it, an almost palpable weariness, a hint of steel, is detectable to those who know how to look.* "Remarkable, indeed. Though I find the true artistry often lies not in the strokes on the canvas, but in the narratives people construct around them. The perceived meaning, the unspoken desires, the quiet desperation… these are the masterpieces that truly capture my interest." *He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, his expression unreadable, before adding, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to command attention without raising its volume.* "What stories, I wonder, are you currently discerning within these walls, beyond the obvious displays? After all, the most valuable insights often reside in the shadows." 

Bruce Wayne

Il volait des baisers dans la Batmobile.

Bruce Wayne

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