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It's late, even for Batman.
Bruce is just doing a final run-through of the reports tonight before he heads upstairs. He's exhausted, having just returned from a week long off-world mission, accompanied by Superman and Martian Manhunter. Thankfully, it was a diplomatic mission, but he'd been called in because this species was being particularly… difficult, to say in the least. He'd been called to pacify them and come up with a very elaborate, very detailed truce that both parties were to sign, and who better to come up with contingencies than the Batman? At least he'd been the last option; Superman had done his best to get them to agree to their terms so both races could live in peace. And, to Clark's credit, he'd at least gotten them to a point where they were willing to listen to the League.
The point is, it had been a long trip, and Bruce is glad for the familiarity and relative silence of the Batcave.
A call cuts through the silence. Bruce spares it half a glance, recognising the caller ID as the Watchtower. He picks it up, still in the Batsuit, though the cowl lays strewn on the table next to him, and he makes no move to collect it. Barry and Clark appear on the screen, against the backdrop of the gray watchtower walls, and Bruce can't help but grimace at the tired expression on Superman's face.
"Batman," Clark says, a tired smile on his face. Flash doesn't seem to be having the same problem; he's practically vibrating in his seat, though to be fair, Bruce can't recall an instance where he isn't.
"Superman," He says. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah, actually. Remember the case Flash and Green Arrow were following up on while we were in space?"
"The ongoing attempt to build another doomsday device in Star City, yes. Why, have they found a lead?"
"The supplier is from Gotham!" Barry cuts in, eyes bright. Batman knew this had been a hard case for them, and especially dangerous since they'd agreed to leave this doomsday device intact, hoping to send out a recon team, find out who was suppling them all their materials. There had been a suspiciously timed increase in number of doomsday devices throughout various cities, and they had an inkling it was all connected.
"Do we have any idea who it could be?"
"We're not completely sure, but we've traced some activity down to a warehouse owned by Cobblepot?"
Bruce frowns. "Penguin? This doesn't seem like the kind of thing he would do." Clark raises an eyebrow at that, but seems to choose not to comment.
"Is there any way you could find out? Break into his house or something? We would help, but, y'know…" Barry shrugs. "Gotham being your territory and all,"
Batman ponders this. Oswald Cobblepot, huh? Breaking into his house won't be easy. He's a charismatic man, and has allies in the strangest of places. Bruce has no doubt he's hired several types of henchmen and bodyguards, along with crafty little traps, cameras, and all sorts of other security. It poses no real challenge, of course, but the man always was more creative than anybody ever gave him credit for, and Bruce doesn't want to go through all the effort of breaking in if he can avoid it. Beyond that, Oswald seems to have genuinely been focusing on reclaiming his status in society recently, attending events and gaining overall public favour. What for, Bruce doesn't know, but he's glad of it, and he can't recall seeing a report regarding the Penguin in over two months, now.
He adjusts in his seat as an idea starts to form in his mind.
"Well?" Barry prompts. "That's the thinking face, Batman. What do you have for us? Can you do it?"
"We might not need that." He clears his throat. "I believe Oswald Cobblepot is hosting a gala sometime next week." He muses. "And it's been a while," His eyes flash with something akin to mischief. "The public must be missing Bruce Wayne."
Bruce adjusts his cufflinks, getting ready for the long evening.
The League had insisted on having access to the cameras in his contact lenses; something about how it was a 'joint case' and 'very important' and that they 'wanted to help' or some other crap. Honestly, Bruce is just glad his kids are on the comms, because as much as he respects the League, the fact is that they don't know Gotham streets like its own kind did, and he doesn't want them interfering in his business. He knows how to handle his rogues, in this or any other city.
He tunes into the comm line, hearing chattering on the other end as he enters the limo Alfred had prepared for him.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Jason cackles from somewhere in the background.
A voice addresses him. "Bruce, can you hear us?" Clark says from the direct line Babs had established to him long ago.
"I can. Do you have a clear vision of my surroundings?"
"We do." He confirms.
Alfred gives him a knowing smile as they drive away, and he can't help the grin he returns.
Now's when the real fun begins.
Dick watches Babs fiddle with the computer, and eventually access the cameras at the Cobblepot Manor. She grins at him, and the rest of the flock finally settle down around the monitors. Clark is standing nearby, watching the screens intently, having the rest of the Justice League on standby, in case things go south. Dick isn't sure what could possibly go wrong that the Bats couldn't handle, but Clark seems to suspect Lex Luthor has a part to play, and doesn't want to be two steps behind him again. To each their own, he supposes. At least Diana looked less serious, having seated herself in a comfortable purple cushioned chair, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands.
The main monitor displays the view from Bruce's contact lens camera, and the three around it show different angles on the event room. Currently, the room is a spotless off-white, tables spread around covered in rich red tablecloths, packed with people swarming to and from the buffet, greeting each other and making what can only be assumed is pleasant talk.
From a camera conveniently located in a corner of the room, everybody at the cave gathers around to watch the doors burst open suddenly in a dramatic swing.
"He's pulling this Drama Queen shit again?" Tim rolls his eyes, but Dick sees the faintest tilt of his lips.
Bruce enters with all the flare of, as Tim so accurately pointed out, a drama queen. He struts over to the midst of the crowd with purpose, not acknowledging any of the stares his way. He picks up a large glass of water, leaning over to the nearest stranger as he makes a comment on how thirsty he'd been. She goes red as he walks away.
From there, Bruce makes his way around the room, greeting people and politely listening to them complain about their problems. It takes a while, and the Batkids wander off at various stages, knowing that the warm up act will be over soon.
Bruce makes his way over to the outskirts once people seem to be slowly going back to their own affairs, getting used to the fact that the Bruce Wayne is there. From where Barbara can see, someone in a dark three-piece suit seems to be approaching him.
"Hey! It's Henry!" Steph points out excitedly at the corner of the screen.
"Henry? Like, our Henry? He's finally back?" Jason swoops over to get a better look at the camera.
"I guess he is," Tim grins.
"Who's Henry?" Clark asks curiously, hovering awkwardly near the monitor.
Tim swivels around in his chair. "He's a friend of the Waynes. Always backed up our causes, very supportive of what we do, works with us quite a lot. A lot of people out there disagree with both of our causes, but it's easier to target him because he's not a billionaire. We do what we can to help him out, but he usually refuses. He's a really good person all around. And he just got back from a very long business trip, I think," Tim speaks with unmistakable fondness in his voice, and the rest of the Bats have varying degrees of smiles on their faces.
"His daughter is a blast." Jason shares a smirk with Steph.
Damian scoffs. "You three are constantly scheming society's downfall together."
"Don't pretend you don't like him, Dami." Steph teases lightly.
Damian's expression softens. "Well… I like his dog. And I do admire his virtuous qualities."
Clark watches them bicker with a fond expression, glad Bruce has them all.
"Is that the Bruce Wayne I see right there? It's been a minute, how are you doing, man?"
Bruce laughs good-naturedly. He really does like Henry. He's genuine and friendly, and more importantly, he's made it obvious time and time again he won't take any shit from anybody.
Henry offers him a drink, which Bruce takes readily. He takes a sip, letting the bitter taste settle in his mouth, before placing it down on the nearest table.
"Actually, Henry, I was wondering if you knew where the bathroom was?" He slips a into the Brucie Wayne act, having a killer reputation for getting lost in large areas. He'd get lost in his own mansion if he didn't have a butler, according to a news article headline by Viki Vale.
"Down the hall and left, that way," Henry says, pointing to a door in the side of the room. "Actually, I'd better come show you. Make sure you don't lock yourself in the bathroom or something again." He chuckles.
"Again? What do you mean he's locked himself in a bathroom before?" He hears Clark's voice faintly through the comms, and has to stop a chuckle from escaping at the genuine worry and confusion he detects in Superman's voice. He follows Henry to a posh, chisled bathroom, closed by an oak door with a gold handle. Henry opens it dramatically for him, gesturing to it like it's a prized posession, a grin on his face.
"Need me to help you back, or can you figure it out on your own?"
Bruce grins right back, shakes his head, and steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him. He presses his ear against the door, and sure enough, a moment later he hears the sound of receding footsteps. He counts ten seconds after all traces of footsteps are gone, before quietly opening the door and sprinting down the hallway. On the way, he taps his watch twice, the screen morphing into the blueprint plans for the Cobblepot house. Of course, he already knows where he is, but he's short on time and doesn't want to take any chances. He turns sharply into the study, and heads straight to the oak desk in the corner of the room. His fingers click too loudly on the keyboard as he starts the computer up, but within moments he has a code running and a USB inserted to make copies of all the files on it. His eyes flicker around the room while it loads, finding some paper strewn around. He flips through them and curses softly under his breath.
He presses a finger to his ear. "Where would Cobblepot keep his files?" He directs the question briskly to Barbara, who replies back a moment later.
"Basement. Filing cabinet in the corner; drawer two. I'm pulling up the cameras en route." His watch beeps with a red dot marking the basement, and he silently plucks the USB out of the computer, shutting it back down again before swiftly making his way downstairs. He stops before the corner, waiting for Babs to signal the all clear. The stairs are hard and cold, and thankfully, nobody spots him. He rushes to get the aforementioned drawer, sifting through the neatly lined beige files until he finds the one he needs, marked with the warehouse Barry suspects.
"Babs. Isolate this from the recording." He hears the click of a button, and goes through each page in the file, stopping briefly to make sure the cameras in his eyes focus on the content on the page. He doesn't bother to read any of it, knowing he'll get a good view of it on recording later, back at the Batcave. Besides, he's sure at least two of his kids are going through the details right now. When he gets to the end of the file, he replaces it gently, making his way back up the stairs and down the corridor, looking for a mirror before he re-enters the party, having gotten all the direct data he needs.
He plasters on a big smile. Now, for interrogation of the Gotham Elite.
"He's effective." Clark says, his admiration thinly masked in his voice. "Did a very quick job, and left everything more or less the way it was before, as far as I can tell. The only thing is, he was in the 'bathroom' for way longer than he should've been."
Tim smirks. "Don't worry. He's got it covered." He points to the screen, where they can see Bruce pausing in front of a mirror, scrutinising his own reflection.
Bafflingly, he takes out a bright red lipstick from his breast pocket and applies it onto his finger. Carefully, he smears it over the side of his cheek and on his neck, squinting in the mirror, and ruffling up his hair slightly. He re-enters the main room, where he's caught by some lady in a rich green blouson dress, dark hair long and loose over her shoulders. Clearly she's trying to gain attention from how tight her dress is, but Bruce makes sure to look her right in the eyes as she approaches him.
"Bruce, darling, where have you been? We've been missing you!"
"Addison," He smiles. "I was in the washroom."
"Let me guess - got lost on your way back?"
"Got lost, then got distracted. A very hot distraction." He smiles a little guiltily.
She laughs. "So I can see,"
He holds up a hand to cut her off before she can finish her train of thought.
"Hang on, my good friend Henry is gesturing me over." He pointedly ignores the way her face sours at this. "I will be right back, dear."
He takes off and loses himself swiftly in the crowd, not making his way over to Henry at all, but instead making small talk with random people where he can. Clark watches how effortlessly innocent Bruce seems for a bit, before speaking up.
"So is anybody going to tell me why he just had that on him?" Clark can deal with Batman having everything in his utility belt, but Bruce somehow fitting everything on himself in his civilian identity feels like pushing it. He didn't even have anywhere to store it, for god's sake!
"Oh trust me," Jason smirks, leaning against a wall, having gotten a cup of ice cream at some point when Clark wasn't looking. "Lipstick is the least weird thing B is carrying around right now."
Clark can't even begin to imagine the supposedly worse things Bruce would have on his persona at that moment, and he voices as much.
"Well, he carries a bottle of vanilla extract whenever he hits up parties - just dumps some in his alcohol whenever he drinks because he says wine 'tastes bad'."
“Oh yeah, he hates red wine.” Tim nods along seriously as if this is the most normal behaviour anybody has every displayed. Clark’s head is spinning a bit, struggling to comprehend this newest information.
A loud slam from Bruce's mic gets their attention back to the screen. Clark can hardly believe what he's seeing.
Bruce Wayne is currently making out with Darrel Ericsson.
He’d approached Bruce first, not noticeably drunk. He’d strode confidently over, offering Bruce seductive smiles and soft touches. Bruce just so happens to know that the Ericsson business mysteriously expanded quite a large amount recently, with no apparent explaination. Sure, it’s not directly related to the case he was helping with, but it never hurt to know more about Gotham inhabitants.
Bruce also just happens to know Darrel Ericsson deals in shady business from time to time, taking pleasures where he can find them.
So when Darrel suggestively traces his jawline, he smiles innocently, catching him at the wrist and moving it to his waist. He sees his pupils dialiate, and suggests they move elsewhere.
And now he’s pressed against a bedroom wall, chest to chest with Darrel Ericsson, able to feel the heat from the other man’s body. Their lips are locked together, and he lets Darrel take the lead, gripping his broad shoulders tightly. As he does so, he uses two fingers to press a button on the underside of his watch. Now all he needs to do is wait.
Darrel takes two steps back, eyes wild, and removes his blazer.
ten… nine… eight…
He begins removing the buttons on his shirt, but before he can get that far, Bruce strides forward and shoves him roughly onto the soft bed, lips colliding once more.
five… four… three…
Hungrily, Darrel kisses him back, hands fumbling for Bruce’s belt but then-
A loud and sharp noise breaks the spell, splitting the moment. It’s a ringtone, one Bruce knows all too well. He grins internally. Right on time.
He pushes himself off the bed, making his way to where he’d left his phone on the bedside table.
“I am so sorry,” He says, deciding to lay it on thick after seeing the sour expression gracing Darrel’s face. “It’s a call from work. Hang on, let me just take this.”
It was not, in fact, a call from work. Tim had helped Bruce design a signal that would end up faking a call on Bruce’s phone, thus providing an easy and fast excuse to get out of virtually any situation. Even Bruce Wayne has his failsafes.
He can almost see Clark’s confused expression, can hear Timmy explaining the situation to him.
“What?” He says into the phone, outraged. Of course, his anger is being directed to nobody, but he wants to make sure he effectively ruins the mood. “I did not authorise this. No- no, you know what? I’m busy right now, schedule an appointment with him tomorrow morning, 9 AM, not a second later. We can discuss this then, along with the decision of whether he gets to keep his job or not.”
“Ah, the classic ‘firing an employee’ play. Works every time.” Jason’s voice is muffled but still audible, and Bruce knows the snark is his way of letting him know that they’re following.
He turns back to Darrel Ericsson, who is sitting quietly on the bed, no longer hungry or desperate or all that eager to resume where they left off.
“Sorry once again,” Bruce starts, but he waves it off with a dismissive gesture.
“Don’t worry about it. God, employees these days, am i right?”
“Tell me about it.” Bruce groans, dropping next to him on the bed. “How do you deal with them?”
Ericsson grins. “Well, sometimes you gotta force your way through to them. Make your point really get in their heads, y’know?” He pounds a fist into his hand.
Bruce cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”
He can already feel how informative their little chat is going to be.
By the time Bruce is done, Babs has an up-to-date file on the Ericsson way of running business, which is questionable at best and disgustingly illegal and disrespectful at worst. She also has a list of potential connections to the Cobblepot warehouse that Flash and Green Arrow are investigating, along with recent business transactions and important meetings. Apparently Penguin approached them with a business offer recently, a collaborative project promising profits he couldn't turn down.
Clark looks a little uneasy at how effectively Bruce is able to weed information out of the guy.
“How have people not noticed how perceptive he is yet?” Diana asks, awe in her voice.
“Father makes sure that he is poorly perceived but well loved.”
“Really?”
Steph shrugs. “Sure. Like, he runs a website dedicated to documenting dumb stuff Bruce Wayne does. When we’re good, he gives us access to it for a week and lets us post whatever we want.”
Babs can see Clark trying to wrap his head about that.
Diana raises an eyebrow. “An interesting disciplinary technique.”
Steph shoots a grin at her. “But effective.”
“Oh! He has an account on every major conspiracy theory blog related to the Bats. He posts stuff on there time to time, and it’s always the most unhinged shit you’ve ever seen.” Tim cuts in.
“Oh my god,” Jason says out of nowhere. “Once I heard him ask the Riddler who he thought he was. Riddler answered ‘vampire bat gotten scientifically merged with a lost DNA-compatible alien who found a way down to earth’. He made a post about it and it blew up the next morning.”
Dick snorts. “Harley always answers egotistical robot with too little taste and too much time on his hands.”
Jason pauses at this. “Well, she’s not wrong.”
“Wait,” Clark says. “Circle back to the website he runs.”
Babs grins. “You would not believe all the stuff he’s done. Most of the website is just him doing stupid things, tripping over at the worst possible times, or quoting dumb shit people have heard him say,” She pulls up the website, and the latest post dates last Tuesday, of Bruce falling into a public fountain with an expression that’s a bizzare mix of surprised and annoyed. She scrolls down to show plain white pages with things like ‘Elsa should’ve been wearing latex gloves to conceal don’t feel!’ and ‘slay the day before it slays you!’, all attributed to Bruce Wayne. There’s even a ‘It’s not my fault my son looks like a triangle!’ that nobody in the room knows what to make of.
“Oh my god.” Clark whispers, eyes scanning through the website, and Babs can see his sanity slowly slipping away in the face of one Brucie Wayne.
She, of course, decides to help speed up the process.
“Of course, that doesn’t compare to the things he’s done off camera.”
She can’t help but admire her work when everybody immediately starts talking over each other, ready to chime in with stories about the one and only Batman, Mr I-Am-Darkness-I-Am-The-Night-I-Skateboarded-Down-The-Stairs-Yesterday-And-Broke-My-Nose.
Duke’s voice rings out above the arguing Batclan. “Okay, but he swan dived off of a roof in duck patterned swim trunks at my birthday once! They interviewed him about it and he sat there and just sat there and sipped a banana milkshake the entire time.” He sounds strangely proud and looks smug about it in a way they all knew Alfred would disapprove of, as if he’d just won an argument. There’s a moment of silence to process this, before Dick perks up again, ready to fire back. Clark looks like he might cry, and so Babs decides to cut in. She can’t let Dick get the last word in, after all.
"Guys," She calls, and she knows everyone can hear the poorly suppressed laughter in her voice. "You might want to look at this."
Clark's jaw drops.
Bruce Wayne is talking to Addison Ray. He doesn’t really like her, and he’s not really paying attention to what she’s saying. Darrel Ericsson is off in the other side of the room, talking to some lady in six inch heels that she’s pulling off flawlessly, and the only hint of any of what had happened was his slightly crooked tie.
“-and my daughter’s girlfriend came over,” The way she drawls it out distastefully catches his attention, and he narrows his eyes slightly. “Like, I don’t know why she decided to be gay, but seriously, can’t she wait until eighteen? I support her, it’s just a bit weird to see them in the same room together now, wouldn’t you agree?”
Bruce sips his water. “I think,” he starts, putting his glass down rather forcefully and looking her right in the eye. “That your daughter sounds very happy, and I’m glad for it, even if you're clearly not.”
He walks away without waiting for her reaction, and he can hear Tim and Steph Ooooohhhhhhh-ing in the background from his comm.
He’s walking away from her aimlessly when Harriet approaches him firmly, a determined and somewhat pissed-off expression on her face.
“I hear you’ve been going off with my husband?” She demands, prodding him in the chest.
Bruce blinks as innocently as he can manage without looking like an anime girl. “Sorry?”
She grits her teeth. “Darrel Ericsson. My husband.”
He does his best to look horrified, despite knowing both Darrel and his wife both constantly have affairs, especially since they’ve both made advances on him and his associates before. He doesn’t think she really cares, but he plays along. “Oh, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea he was your husband, or I never would’ve- My goodness!” He places a hand over his heart for a little extra drama, enjoying himself far too much. “Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”
She looks taken aback for a moment, before scrutinising him acutely. Bruce holds his act, and when she finds him genuine, she looks him up and down, considering.
“Well.” She says grudgingly. “I guess it could be evened out if I also got a turn at you.”
Bruce beams. “Well, how can I say no to a lady as lovely as yourself?” He holds an arm out for her, and she dutifully takes it, leading him out into the corridor.
“One time,” Dick chimes in, swivelling around on his chair. “A couple years ago, he was invited to a house party or something, and the dude was annoying the hell out of him, so guess what B does?” There’s a dramatic pause for a second, and Dick swings to an abrupt stop to look his audience in the eye. “That’s right - he sneaks back into his house after everybody's asleep and pisses on his living room carpet!”
Duke chokes on his laughter. Steph coughs out a disbelieving oh my god, and Damian makes a disapproving tt. Diana’s grinning from ear to ear, and Clark just looks stunned.
To her credit, Harriet gets as far as removing all her outerwear before Bruce once again presses the button on his watch. Once again, ten seconds later, his phone dutifully starts ringing. He knows Steph is going to call him old and unoriginal for using the same trick twice in a day, but hey, if it works, it works.
"That was my son," He says to her, ending the 'call' and making himself comfortable on a love seat at the window. "My eldest is in Blüdhaven right now and my youngest is sick."
"That would explain why you came alone today." She notes, sitting next to him and not-so-subtly moving closer.
He leans back, gently pushing her away, faking a deep sigh. "It's been so hard coming to these kinds of events. Especially since… especially since my second son won't ever be with me at one again." He says it to completely obliterate the mood, and the emotion in his voice is only largely a ruse.
She feels the shift in tone and backs off, looking more pissed than her husband did.
"If it makes you feel any better, I got farther with you than I did with your husband." He assures her, and it seems to do the trick, because she relaxes slightly.
"I suppose we better head back?" She shrugs her coat on, and he hums in agreement.
"I absolutely must stop by one of these days, if I ever get the time." He won't ever make good on that, and he can tell that she knows. Still, she nods for formality and they both turn to leave.
“Oh!” Tim intervenes, tears in his eyes from the memory. “Don’t forget that time they were working on opening a new fashion branch, and one of his employees was being really transphobic regarding the whole thing and just in general. Well, this got back to Bruce and he showed up the next day in a god damn frilly miniskirt. The guy couldn’t even comment on it because Bruce was his boss,” He stops laughing abruptly. “Anyway. He was fired the next day.”
Jason nods soundly.
They’re back at the party again. Bruce is in a good mood, because the party is almost over, and - in his opinion - had gone excellently. Still, the room is buzzing with noise, and while he’s managed to lose Harriet, he finds himself stumbling into a conversation of some guy making racist comments.
Well. He can’t have that, now can he? He takes a glass of the disgusting red wine he hates so much, and walks over to him purposefully. He trips, making sure it all lands directly over his target’s fancy white three-piece suit.
He walks away, leaving the man sputtering about his new suit. And if anybody complains about the mess, well, at least he didn’t accidentally set fire to a food table again.
He decides that’s its late enough for today, and he gets little sleep as it is. He sends a text to Alfred, and within fifteen minutes, he’s back home, throwing open the doors of the manor and rushing inside.
He slides elegantly into the Cave, so different from his stumbling walk half an hour ago that he can feel the League's collective whiplash.
His kids are lounged around the room in various states of excitement. Jason grins at him and gives him a thumbs up. Duke, Steph and Dick don’t even notice his entrance - they’re comparing bingo cards (where did they get those?) titled “Brucie Wayne’s Public Shenanigans”. Damian is squinting at him suspiciously.
Clark approaches him. “What the hell was that?” He demands, and he looks somewhat shaken.
He looks to Diana for clarification.
“He means the switching from super smart and capable to an absolute himbo,” she offers helpfully.
“Ah.” He shrugs. “What can I say?”
“There’s a reason nobody suspects billionaire playboy Brucie Wayne to be Batman.” Tim chimes in helpfully. He grins at him, and Bruce smiles right back, noting with satisfaction the discomfort on Clark’s face.
“Which reminds me! Addison Ray was being homophobic again. So obviously the only sensible thing to do is to reroute that pride parade we have planned so that it crosses her house. Alfred?” He looks towards the butler, who nods sagely.
“Already on it, Master Bruce. And I assume you want to send her daughter and her daughters’ girlfriend personal invitations?”
“Thanks Alfred. You know me so well. Offer them anonymity as well. You know how Addison gets.”
“Consider it done.”
Bruce then turns to look at them all one by one, the slight edge of a genuine smile playing on his lips. “It’s good to be home, but I think I’d better get to bed,”
Clark watches Bruce head upstairs, and for a blissful moment, the Batcave is quiet. His mind is still spinning with the overload of information he’d received today, but of course, good things never last.
“Well.” Duke claps his hands together once, breaking the silence. “Still not as bad as the time Lex Luthor insulted him over Twitter, so he showed up in a Hawaiian shirt to the next gala and insulted every design choice and somehow got a waterslide and confetti chandeliers installed before the end of the party.” The most baffling bit is that his tone is nonchalant when he says it.
Diana cackles in the back, and Clark knows its going to be a very, very long night.