Bruce stared into the mirror, his eyes fixed intently on those of his reflection. He wasn't particularly fascinated by his own image out of some sense of self-satisfied vanity, but by the surprising fact that he felt like he was looking at someone else. Certainly those were his eyes, his own dark hair, the familiar contours and lines, both laugh lines and creases left from worried frowning...But there was something utterly unfamiliar about it, too, something he couldn't quite place but which made him feel almost as if he were looking into a window at someone else looking back at him instead of into a mirror reflecting his own face. It was a startling moment, when he realized that sometimes, he wasn't at all sure who he was. So, who was he? It was a relative question, really. He knew his name. Bruce Wayne, it was easy to remember, especially with it plastered all over the newspapers as it had been recently. It wasn't the name, or even the connotations that went along with it. It was just what he was supposed to do with it that he couldn't quite pin down. He always ended up coming back to the conclusion that the only way he could feel as if he was doing everything he could for Gotham was by doing exactly what he was doing. Gotham needed Batman, but Bruce Wayne was not without his uses. He could not sacrifice Bruce's name entirely for Batman's cause, any more than he could give up fighting crime to keep suspicion off of Bruce. That was why he had to do things like this, what he was doing tonight. He had to put on the public face and be the Bruce Wayne that Gotham expected him to be. And after last year's shenanigans...well, that was the whole reason for this year's celebration. This year was to make amends for the disaster that had been the result of his last big party.

So, tonight, almost exactly on the anniversary of the fiery catastrophe that had brought his house to the ground, Bruce straightened his tie in the mirror of the newly finished master bathroom, adjusted his cuff links, and descended the stairs into the equally novel ballroom, where his guests were already assembling. He glanced out across the crowd, taking in the costumes, not even sure what some of them were. He himself was dressed as the suave but rather uncreative Bond, James Bond; he was forced to introduce himself just like that, since James didn't start with B or W. He could have made a very convincing Batman, but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk pulling out that costume. It was entirely possible that someone at the party just might realize that they'd seen his mouth and chin in that mask before, and then it would all be over. No, it was safer to let people think that his creativity had all been expended on the party decorations, and play it safe. Anyway, at least they'd know where the host was, since his face wasn't concealed by his costume as so many others seemed to be. He gave a nod to a particularly odd-looking person who he could only guess might be bubblegum, and something else that might have been a Winnie the Pooh, and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray that he passed by on his way to the door to greet those who were coming in.

He kept an eye out for anything that looked like it might be Clara; he hadn't been able to get her to tell him what she'd be coming as, so he had no idea what to expect. In addition, he was trying to make sure that no shady characters came in under the guise of party guests. He was well aware that a setting like this provided ample opportunity for some ill-meaning person to do so, but he hoped that the amount of extra security he'd hired would help to discourage that. Not that the security were visible; they seemed quite effective at blending in, and if Bruce himself hadn't known what he was looking for, he might have missed them too. If, of course, he'd been only the naive billionaire playboy he was pretending to be. Noting that the room was growing considerably full, he lifted his champagne glass, and, reaching for the nearest utensil he could find (which happened to be the glass skewer that was run through some kind of fruit kebab), tapped the glass with it, trying to get everyone's attention. It was ironic, he thought, that so many of these people had probably already forgotten the similar events of last year's party, how he'd made his little speech, offended so many people, then, to the best of their knowledge, lost his mind to the booze in his hand and burned his own house down. Well, apparently they'd either forgotten that, or chosen to overlook it. Whichever the case, Bruce thought he ought to give them the kind of party they deserved, or at least, the kind of party he was capable of giving them.

"Evening, everyone." he said, speaking loudly at first, then lowering his voice just enough so as to still be audible to those farthest from him. "I'd just like to welcome you all to my house, which, as you can see, has finally been restored. At least, that's what they tell me, and I hope they're not lying, because I'm moving back in next week." He paused, hoping he'd hear the light ripple of laughter across the room that would indicate they at least understood what he was talking about and were making an effort to make him feel like he was amusing them. "Anyway, feel free to drink, dance, and make merry to your hearts' content. If you have any questions or requests, just ask me, the DJ, or the bartender, and we should be able to set you up with whatever you need." Raising his glass towards the chandelier above him, he then drew it back and took a decent sized sip of it, crossing his fingers that this evening went better than the last party he'd thrown...

So... this is intense, the young woman thought as she listened to the steady, reliable sound of her transportation. This was certainly no ordinary night, and the woman could barely believe she was actually going through with this. The chilly autumn air of the evening gave her a severe case of the goose bumps and wrap her coat a little tighter around her. As it was, she was seriously not dressed to be outdoors at this time of night at this time of year. But, it was all going to be worth it... she hoped. It would certainly turn some heads, and she was loathe to think of what she would say if anyone from the law offices saw her at this shindig. Embarrassment city. But, she would deal with that bridge if and when she came to it. The biggest thing was thinking of what she would say to the host... who was—if you can believe it—her date for the evening. She wondered how long it would take him to spot her.

Taking her mind off of keeping her transport on a straight course, Clara Summers picked at her blonde hair a bit. It would likely stand out, even though it was down tonight—a rare thing. She hadn’t told Bruce what she would be wearing, nor had she bothered trying to pry what he would be decked out as from him. She thought it would be more fun that way... even if the odds of her missing him in his own house, at his own party were slim to nil. After all, all she would really have to do would be look for a large circling-type crowd and then find the middle. Voila. One Bruce Wayne. Sad... but yes, it would be that simple. And yet she would insist on making it hard for him by avoiding that gathering circle of people. If he wanted to be near her, he would have to come find her. That’s what she told him and that was how it was going to be. Cruel? Maybe, maybe not. Fun? Oh... hell yes!

All the same, Clara wasn’t exactly comfortable wearing what she was wearing. She was sure she’d feel better once inside, where it was warmer... and brighter. As she thought about it, Clara was feeling rather stupid for coming out alone dressed the way she was. She wasn’t even in the relative safety of her car, to be honest. Considering her costume choice of a Barbarian warrior—employing both the B and the W constituent of the costume requirements—Clara had decided that showing up in a car didn’t exactly go with her costume. So... she had borrowed one of her uncle’s big, black Percherons and was currently jogging her way to the Wayne Manor. Well... she had been until she let her mind wander. The large horse had decided that if it wasn’t being steered, then it was going to go snack on someone’s lawn. With an anxious laugh, Clara gently kicked the horse back out onto the road and started off for Wayne Manor once again. The big horse snorted, as if annoyed at being interrupted, but then went along its way as Clara directed.

It seemed to take forever, but Clara finally made it to the manor, and only shortly after the whole thing was set to begin. She counted herself lucky on that account, as she was nearly frozen. The only things that had kept her from actually getting so cold that she fell off were the coat she had on and the fact that she was riding bareback, so the horse’s body heat was directly transferred to her as they went along. All the same, she was very grateful when she came to a halt outside of the Wayne Manor. She dismounted and waited a few minutes before a truck and trailer pulled up. She handed the reins to her uncle and then went inside. She stopped just before entering the room where most people were gathering. A low rumble of many voices seemed to pulse out through the doors. Okay... time for a quick once over.
Spear? Check. A handy little piece carved by one of her other uncles. Dress in place and covering what needed covering? Check. And thank goodness it was warmer in here, too. Lace up, high heeled sandals that made her feel like a giant? Check. Here’s hoping she didn’t trip on anything. Leather arm bracers for that true warrior look? Check. Thank goodness for cousins obsessed with medieval things and weren’t against letting their relics be loaned out. Suede choker? Check. Clara’s mother would be happy; she was finally holding her posture near perfectly. Wooden earrings? Check. Another hand-carved gift from her uncle. And last but not least, was her hair still presentable? Well, it sure felt like it... and if it wasn’t perfect she could claim she had meant it to be that way to perfect the jungle-roaming Barbarian look.

Taking a deep breath, Clara entered the room and was amazed at how many people were there. She had clearly entered at the right time, as Bruce had just begun speaking as she stepped through the doors. Good. His attention was elsewhere, meaning she knew exactly where to find him, and he probably wasn’t even aware that she was there yet. She couldn’t have planned it better if she had tried. As it was, she had never been in the Manor before. She had decidedly not been keen on going to some billionaire’s birthday party when she had several cases that needed finishing. But... that had been last year, hadn’t it? This was—obviously—this year and she was not about to miss this one. And yet, she was moderately puzzled as she looked at Bruce. There were some people she had to guess at, but assumed she was correct. He hardly looked as though he had done anything to dress up. Such a shame, it would have made finding him a bit more of a challenge. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes.

Clara then became aware that she was drawing stares... some of them were rather nervous stares as well. But, of course, she was carrying a spear after all. It probably wasn’t the most comforting thing for people to see at what was supposed to be a party. Although, some might overlook it and assume she was part of some security detail. Wouldn’t that be a riot?

As it was, Clara stepped through the crowd confidently. If they chose to assume she was intimidating and draw back a bit, well... that just made it all the easier for her to get around, now, didn’t it? Still, as she looked at all the people that were there, Clara couldn’t help but feel a small cluster of butterflies in her stomach as she moved to the bar. She felt eyes boring into her as she ordered a Cesar, but tried to ignore it. Finally, she couldn’t any longer and turned, drink in one hand, spear clenched tightly in the other. She found herself facing a woman—and had no clue what this woman was supposed to be—who was looking at her dubiously. “You got a permit or something to carry that thing, sweetheart?” the woman asked in a mildly accusatory tone.

Clara bit her lip and looked down toward her hips. She looked back up at the woman with a devilish glint in her eyes. “Oh... gee whiz,” she said, her voice dripping with sardonic innocence. “You know what? I think I left my permit in my other pants. You see... when I go to a big fancy party, I find most people consider it rude to use various bodily orifices as pockets.”