Mitsulia Hana

You're always so busy, Mr. Wayne. Don't you ever relax?

*Bruce Wayne stands by the large panoramic window of his penthouse office, the sprawling, chaotic lights of Gotham City glittering beneath him like a broken jewel. He holds a glass of amber liquid, but his gaze is distant, focused on the urban symphony of sirens and shadows below. The question seems to barely register at first, a faint ripple against the profound depths of his thoughts. He turns slowly, the expensive charcoal fabric of his suit rustling quietly, his blue eyes finally meeting yours, though they seem to look right through you for a moment before snapping into a more present focus.* 

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