"Miss Wayne, you look lovely today!"
Alex turned towards the reporter and pasted on a proper socialite smile. "This old outfit?" she asked, looking down and smoothing a hand over one silver-buttoned hip of her high-waisted slacks. "They're vintage," she said, recognizing Nikini Perera as Gotham Globe's society correspondent and figuring she could either talk about her clothing or be trapped into discussing the swirling rumors about who Bruce slept with most recently. "The sweater is new, though." She needlessly adjusted the fitted crop-top sweater, making sure to tap her black nails against the red knit for contrast. "It's Versace, I think."
Flash!
Nikini had brought up her camera to take a picture of Alex's demonstrative pose. Years of habit and hyperawareness had Alex tilting her head just right to hide the crookedness of her nose.
"Tell me about your shoes," Nikini prompted, moving her camera downward.
Alex maintained a smiled. A decade and a half of listening to Silver ramble about her wardrobe wasn't going to waste. She talked Nikini through her heels—yes, they were expensive, yes, she liked how tall they were, yes, she already knew she was tall to begin with—and her pants—yes, she was perfectly comfortable, no, she didn't need to wear a dress to this—and her sweater—yes, it was warm, yes, it was custom, yes, she was well aware you could see the smallest hint of midsection, thank you very much, yes, that was a bit of ink there, no, she wasn't going to lift her shirt to show the camera. Nikini has plenty to comment on, but Alex was eventually able to untangle herself from the conversation with the excuse that she needed a quick bite.
"Miss Wayne, it's so good to see you."
She didn't recognize this one, tall and teal-suited with a recording device in hand. She smiled anyway, thumbing through her mental deck of socially acceptable greetings, which Alfred liked to frequently reminder her she didn't use enough.
"Alex!"
She glanced to the side just in time to brace herself before Dick slid into her, his elbow slamming into her hip, followed by the rest of him. He was already chattering away.
"Have you had any of the mini-cupcakes yet? They're so good. I've had seven!" He beamed up at her. There was, indeed, a swipe of strawberry icing just above his upper lip.
"I haven't. You really shouldn't be eating that many," she said, not for a second believing him since he definitely hadn't been at the party thirty seconds ago. But an out was an out, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and started guiding him away. "Let's get you some water." She threw an apologetic smile to the probably-a-reporter standing there, nodding down at Dick as if to say kids, right? The man looked a bit flustered by the interruption but not particularly annoyed, so she counted it as a win.
"You done clowning around?" she asked, keeping her tone light even as her volume dropped.
"Bruce decided I'd goofed off enough, but he's still running errands; you know how he is. Oop! Champagne!"
Alex smacked his hand away from the tray he was reaching for, steering him more firmly towards the table of refreshments. "Drink," she ordered, picking up a glass of water.
He made a face. "I didn't actually eat—"
"I know." She waited until he took the glass and his first sip before saying, "What errand could possibly be more important than the party thrown for him for his birthday?"
"Just a drop-off," Dick commented, picking out a cookie.
Alex wrinkled her nose. So Bruce was really insisting on carting Joker to Arkham himself as if Gordon had never done it before? Typical.
Bruce still being out as Batman meant that Alfred was still in the Batcave. Alfred still being in the Batcave meant that it was just Alex and Dick in the ballroom with over two hundred guests. It being just Alex and Dick in the ballroom meant that Alex was practically alone when it came to deflecting questions from reporters and socialites and everyone else who wanted to know where the man of the hour (even though it had been almost two hours now) was.
"Do you think they play jazz?" she murmured to Dick once she'd gotten a moment to start in on her chocolate croissant.
Dick looked towards the small orchestra. "Maybe." He grinned. "Do you think the people in here could dance to that? Can you dance to that?"
"Of course I can." She shoved the rest of the croissant in her mouth. "Better than you." She swiped at Dick's feet with one of her own. When he skipped out of the way, grinning, she snatched up one more croissant and started striding towards the band. He trailed behind her, snickering.
After a brief discussion with the conductor, Alex found her way to the microphone. The music came to a slow pause, and she put on a smile. "Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming. I know what you're thinking: where's the birthday boy? Well, if you know anything about Brucie, you know that he doesn't operate on anyone's schedule but his own. It seems he's trying his best to be as fashionably late as possible." She looked over at the conductor and nodded. "But let's forget all that for now." She put both hands out to the side—croissant in one—and smirked, announcing, "This party needs a little life."
The orchestra burst into loud jazz, and the room came abuzz with activity. Dick was standing just in front of the stage, grinning up at her. She forewent the stairs in favor of crouching down and hopping off the stage. She landed firmly in her heels. "That buys us a good ten or fifteen minutes, don't you think? I can try having them switch to hip-hop next. I'm sure the violin works great for hip-hop."
He snickered. Elbowing her, he stage-whispered, "How annoyed do you think he'll be if he shows up to a conga line?"
Bruce did not, in fact, show up to a conga line. By the time he arrived, all of the guests were gathered in a circle and looking up at where Dick was swinging from the ballroom's chandelier as the orchestra played Jean-Féry Rebel's Les Elemens.
"Please tell me you haven't been encouraging this," he murmured, arriving quietly and unnoticed by others at Alex's side.
"Of course I have, Goose," she said without looking over at him. She cupped both hands around her mouth to whoop loudly. "Brucie's here, Dickie! Show him your finale!"
Her words drew everyone's attention to Bruce, and she looked over at her brother just in time to enjoy the annoyed look he gave her before he seamlessly slipped into his socialite persona. Dick, meanwhile, laughed. Most of the guests were focused on Bruce and not him as he swung and flipped towards the massive curtains along the towering windows. He caught the thick, braided cord and started repelling down.
"Pictures, Alex!" Bruce announced excitedly, winding an arm around her and pulling her into his side.
She threw a smile at the camera, tilting her head. Still smiling and with all the expertise of someone who had spent seventeen months as a child wanting to be a ventriloquist, she spoke without moving her lips. "Don't ever make me stall for you again." She kept her voice quiet.
"But you did so well," he whispered back as they turned for another camera.
"Fuck you."
"I'm glad to see we can finally get celebrations properly started," Alfred said, appearing out of nowhere, tuxedo impeccable. "And that will be a dollar for the jar," he said, volume lowering.
"How did you even hear that?" she muttered, detangling herself from Bruce. "I'll put it in later."
"Be sure that you do."