"Excuse me...can I help you?" A rather shrill voice asked of me while my eyes had still remained shut and my body still in an Indian style formation on the ground level, my instincts had never paid enough mind to the idea that I was a bit underdressed for the occasion, let alone the establishment it was being hosted in. His hands were fidgeting about as if he were equally annoyed by my being there and offended by the thought that I would lounge so carelessly, the walls being recognized as cherished works of art by the likes of the resort staff. His attentively woven suit said "trust fund" and his fake accent that was trying so damn hard to be Italian said "I attended college for a year and I apparently know everything," a glitzy nametag informing me that he was the manager the model example of just how far a douchebag could climb the ladder of command.

"Well...for starters, you could let me get some shut eye, or a pillow." I returned without even looking over to see his reaction, he would begin to fumble with his words as he proceeded to lose his way in a fit of anger, staring intensely in my direction as I tried to regain my level of comfort.

"We do not allow outsiders onto the premises, and it is against our policies to have anyone loitering, so I think you should be on your way." He told me condemningly so, as if he were scolding a small child for wrongdoing, however I could only find it a bit disrespectful for him to just assume that I wasn't wanted at the meeting of the great minds of Scrooge and Crouch.

"I'm not sure if you know this or not, but I think you're supposed to keep your dick in your pants and...you know, out of your personality?" My eyes opened mid sentence with a completely deadpan expression across my face as I slowly got up from my knees and stood upright, my own form towering over him by at least a foot and a half.

"If you don't leave I will call the authorities..." He began to trail off as out of the corner of my vision, another man who was of a slightly similar stature to my own came into frame, placing one hand on the staff member and interrupted his train of thought.

"Am I interrupting something? Gary, right? I see you've already met Mr. Welman, he's here for the Falcone wedding, could you be so kind as to show him to his room? Wherever that is?" The man commanded, through tone alone he had silence his own audacity and had reduced him to a sheepish field mouse, now with my eyes focused on him centrally I knew exactly who this man was...for better or for worse.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne, i'll get to that right away." He squeaked, doing little more then mouthing the words to him as he started towards the front desk to check something on a rather cumbersome desktop computer setup, hurriedly bringing his hands to the keys as if the devil himself were breathing down his neck.

"It's an odd choice of location, you know? Do you often choose to spend your free time watching the children of some of the most notorious criminals in all of Gotham walk down the aisle?" Bruce Wayne was rarely depicted as a man without a sense of purpose, and because of such a referential description, if he was to speak to you for more then a few seconds then he was taking an interest in you. Which, can easily be why I previously listed recognizing him as a case of a "for better or worse" scenario, my face had been covered when I saw him last but I wouldn't take the chance of him putting two and two together and posturing to the socialites that he had deduced what the police hadn't cared enough to.

"I could say the same thing to you, sir. I'm here with a friend of mine...he just so happens to...well, not be here." I replied, mostly feeling the need to defend my own being there, as I could feel his coffee colored eyes tensely bore through whatever effort to disguise the awkwardness of the oddly personal attack beginning.

"I'm here to wish the family luck, most people do not know this but the Wayne's and the Falcone's go back quite a ways...although they might not have the best track record, I still honor the past." He spoke in a tone of cold opposition, but yet he himself was saying the words that would make him seem to be in a sort of conflict with himself, he tilted his head to the side to begin again with a bit more privacy. "I could make a phone call to the census bureau, and they would say that you are a dishwasher, but...if I were to make a simple visit to your place of work they would tell me that your availability has been erratic at best...and you've worked two days in the last two weeks. And maybe, if the city weren't so preoccupied with the gangs and issues of domestic terrorism, maybe they'd be asking just how one of the wealthiest men your age spends his time. So, what have you been up to?"

"Pilates." My body language not changing one bit, standing perfectly still, save for my hands now being raised slightly and shoved into the recesses of my pockets in an attempt to create a noticeable bit of defensive posture.

"Pilates?" He repeated, dumbfounded, clearly not taking the joke to heart.

"...and a bit of yoga, you know, to keep things fresh." I continued the bluff, he took a few steps back in I could only imagine was his way of changing the topic and leaving things where they currently stood, perhaps he was viewing the encounter as a warning...but to me he merely came across as an asshole.

"Well, I am glad that you are recovering, I know that it must be difficult to come back to society after so long. Im sure that certain practices are difficult to do away with, like not having to take pills each day, but i'm sure you'll find your own way."

"And of course you'd be the authority substance abuse, wouldn't you, Mr. Wayne? Well, at least the little blue pills, I imagine?"

"I don't know what you're talking abo-" He tried his best to counter, but I had cut him off before he got the chance.

"Hey, for a man at your age, its okay to be a little embarrassed...I've just heard that WayneTech's stock is the only thing you've been able to get up these days. It happens to the best of us."

"Highly inappropriate, Mr. Welman. If you'll excuse me, I have to make my rounds to the rest of the guests, but stay awhile if you have the time. The wedding isn't until tomorrow afternoon, after all." Wayne had had enough of my tone by this point, not leaving enough of a gap in dialogue for me to respond in any way to what would soon be an abruptly rude exit, the clerk coming over to see me just as he did so.

"Here is the luggage you asked for, sir, I can take it back behind the counter once you've gotten what you need." He said as he handed the beige suitcase over to me, of which I then promptly sat it on it's back and began to sort through the contents held within, amongst the overabundance of pop-top collared shirts and cologne bottles there lie a single three-piece suit...a suit of a putrid bright orange. "If that is all?"

"Thank you..." I replied as I took the garment out from the suitcase and handed it back to him, indirectly answering his request to leave with a silent nod of approval, I unfurled the set of frightening fabrics and held them against my person to do my best to see how they would look on me. Needless to say, looking as if Charlies Brown's Great Pumpkin was on an all night bender and furiously vomited on you wasn't going to do anyone any favors, but for the moment there wasn't much else I could do but laugh at the situation. "You've got to be fucking kidding me...I look like Lloyd Christmas."