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♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡ ╰┈➤ ❝they're both stubborn and it's complicated. ❞
The night began to idle on, drinks, laughing, speeches, drinks, speeches, laughing. It became monotonous the same cycle of privilege and entitlement, like a record scratched and forever cursed on the same loop.
Morana willed herself to listen and join in. She smiled when appropriate, indulging her counterparts with the satisfaction of them apparently amusing her. This was beginning to grow ever so tiresome, the facade slightly slipping lower and lower after each passing remark she disclosed.
At a seeming intermission of frivolity, people spread mixing with foreign bodies conjuring up new and apparent intriguing stories with one another.
Morana was yet to discover a target, that satiated her lust for pearls. The girl eyed each and every face that crossed her eye-line, assessing every minute fraction of detail within their features - none of them matching up quite right.
She scanned the room now heavy with breath and smoldering champagne her eyes voraciously searching for anything. They grew overused and unbothered, until they fell on a certain brooding woolen coat, his hands buried deep in the pockets and eyes rested on the lackluster table before him.
In a swift forward motion, she was on her way to his island of a table. For whatever reason she felt in need of proving something to this man, maybe it was the mystery, the writer in her, maybe it was just too much champagne.
The approach was quiet, no attention drawn nor acquainted. He made no effort in even lifting his gaze to meet her own expectant stare while she stood; and when he did, it was one of turbulent indifference. There was something about that look, that glare of distinct distaste that infuriated her. Every ember of her wanted to scream at him, anyone could simply look at her; but she wanted to be seen by him.
His eyes grew hazy as if this was the longest they had been open and active in while, focusing on one object and not on multiple antiquities occupying his vision. He nor she spoke simply staring at one another, confusing both parties involved.
"Who are you Bruce Wayne?" she stated it blunt and confronting, he stifled in his seat nervous of the sudden direct questioning.
"No one." his tone was harsh like fresh cut stone and driving rain, conversation clearly not his forte.
The response was not enough for Morana, so unperturbed by this lack of willingness she pressed on.
"Anyone can be no one, i'm asking who you are."
A tight lipped smile slipped onto his mouth, it looked wrong somehow against his complexion like it was simply a feature out of place that was in need of moving.
"Well it's not nearly as interesting as your hoping it to be." his tone remained like scratching glass, a heavy air of discomfort trailing along each syllable.
"If I wanted gossip I would've read a magazine, what I'm saying is I want to know who you are under the mask : who exactly is Bruce Wayne?"
He watched impatiently, his teeth clenching to reveal a fervent muscle cascading across his jawline. Now he was worried - what if she knew about him, and this was some taunting joke he knew he shouldn't of come, who cares about his image when he doesn't?
"I don't have to say anything to you, who are you anyway? Some hyped up wannabe journalist scrounging around here for a good story well let me tell you, I'm not who your going to get it from." he paused narrowing his eyes, as if only now analysing the woman stood infront of him "So if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave me alone."
Bruce knew he went a bit overboard, but the less attention on him meant the less chance of his attention being brought to Batman.
Morana stood, watching as he finished quite amused at his sudden spark of emotion.
"Fine." her lips retorted and she began striding away from the looming shadow falling upon her.
The girl was not used to being told off, let alone being told no. Embarrassment was new, it was sickly and overdue it clung and tainted sane thoughts.
Her limbs moved in familiar languid movements, careening towards a table with amicable company it was a sanctum of welcoming drink and hearty laughs. A stark difference to the now solitary one man band across the room.
A sticky air of breaths and stifling heat cascaded around bodies, swadling and cooing to them the event of the year was drawing to a penultimate close - and Morana could not have been more pleased.
Limbs started to move and merge towards exits, like autopilots they followed one after the other. With heavy eyes she glanced for a quicker way out eventually reaching a satisfied looking Bruce Wayne, his clashing figure slunk through a fire exit. A fleeting look flushed his face when he noticed his unrequited audience.
As if like a lure he snuck into the yawning shadows and crept away. Moving triumphantly, she followed and when she reached the building's cavernous roof nothing awaited but the stars.
And just like that he was gone, seemingly as though he became one with the night.
