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Cass looks at herself in the mirror, a long, black dress hanging off of her shoulders and waist in a way that makes her look majestic. The flows fabric rubs up against her skin, the silky material cold against her senses. Her hair is up in an intricate looking bun, Barbara having done it for her while Stephanie did subtle makeup, merely accentuating her features as opposed to adding to them. They’re kind, Cass has found throughout her two month stay at the Manor, as they’re all so eager to help. A drastic difference to how it was back when she was with her father. She doesn’t know how to take it. It’s all so overwhelming, the warmth that every Wayne seems to have, even if they aren’t a Wayne through the name.
She looks far prettier than she ever thought possible, her hair framing her face in an intentional updo and her dress looking like it was made for her, which she supposes is somewhat true, given that Bruce had it tailored to her specific body shape. It’s overwhelming at the best of times, but she had tries to learn to merely accept the act of kindness and move on.
Bruce said that, since her adoption is official and the public is aware of her presence in the Manor, she has to attend the Gala. He apologized profusely when he told her, but he said that, with his height of status, it’s expected and it can be seen as rude to not introduce his children to the other Gotham elites. Cass understands, her father used to take her to meetings all the time, much like a prized possession. It isn’t quite the same, but Cass can see the similarities. Over the past week leading up to tonight, the other members of the Bat-clan, as they’ve dubbed themselves, have told her what to expect.
Lots of questions, many glares, and too many uncomfortable looks and touches. Cass dreads going to the Gala the more they talk about what happens at them, but Bruce promised that, after this one, she wil only have to attend 2 a year, one of which being the Thomas and Martha Wayne gala, unless she chooses to attend them. Tim, though, says that Bruce often forces them to attend more than just those two the longer they are in the Manor, but Dick informed her that it’s only because Tim has begun helping with the company, and Bruce typically adheres to his promise, there very rarely being exceptions.
Looking to the side, Cass reads the time on the clock. 18:41. Bruce requested that they were all ready to leave by 19:00, so Cass believes that she is making fairly good time. Dick told her that he’s allowed to bring something to do– Tim usually brings some sort of puzzle gam to entertain himself and, back when Jason was around, he would always have a book on him. Cass doesn’t know what to do while she’s there, all she knows how to do is fight.
The Wayne’s are trying to teach her more things, but so far, she hasn't felt the ‘spark’ that they always talk about feeling when they found what they real love to do, Tim using photography as his example, and Dick using gymnastics, even if he starting doing it at a young age and, therefore, doing remember the spark, he claims to feel it whenever he partakes in that activity. They’ve tried to get her in to reading, but she can barely understand spoken work, much less written word. Books confuse her too much to enjoy, and she often doesn’t understand what is happening or why the characters are active the way they are. She gave up on reading pretty quickly.
For this Gala, she’s decided, she will merely observe those around her. She tugs on her dress, trying to readjust it to sit better, but it seems to look worse. She huffs, running her hands over the material to smooth it over before making her way out of the room that she’s staying in. Her room, she corrects herself, trying to remind herself that it’s hers now, and that she’s staying here forever. She’s never had a room before, she thinks, since her and her father moved around so much, they never really had a stable place to stay, therefore, she’s never had something that’s entirely her own.
She carefully steps down the stairs, her movements graceful and stable despite the ridiculous heels that she’s been put in my Barbara. The girl had said that the shoes pull the entire outfit together, but Cass thinks that the girl has forgotten how difficult it is to fight in such thin supports. Cass can still fight, despite all of that, but it will definitely be more difficult than it would be in, say, boots. Dick told her that nobody will need to fight anyone during the Gala, but Cass wants to be prepared for everything.
Dick, Tim, and Bruce are all standing in the foyer, seemingly waiting for her, which Cass finds odd, given that, when she looked at the clock mere minutes ago, it was only 18:53, but she often doesn’t understand the things that the boys do. Alfred comes in not even a minute later, grabbing a key ring with a car phob that Cass hasn’t seen yet, Bruce leading them to a sleek, black car.
Alfred gracefully slides in to the drivers seat, Bruce opening the door to the back seat and holding it there while Dick and Tim get it. He looks at Cass expectantly, and she realizes that he must want her to get in as well, which Cass finds silly because why would he hold the door for her while she gets in? It isn’t like it will close on Cass without anybody actively choosing for that to happen, but Cass decides that it must be another ‘manner’ that Dick has told her is done out of respect.
The car has six seats, the row of three to her left facing the back on the car, and the row of three to her right facing tat way that seats typically face. Cass tilts her head but settles in the seat opposite of Dick, Bruce hopping in soon after Cass and sitting across from Tim, leaving the middle seat on both sides empty. The car rumbles to life as soon as their buckles all click in to place.
The world passes by Cass in a blur, the car staying silent for most of the drive. Tonight's Gala is in a museum, or so Bruce has told her, stating that it’s a charity Gala to donate towards bringing more art to school and educational instituations alike. Cass doesn’t quite understand art, but she knows that many people are moved by it. She often saw people in tears when she was with her father, said man showing her works of art that came from fights, blood splattering creating a visual of it. She doesn’t think that it’s the same, but she shrugs the thought off.
When they arrive of the venue, Cass’ heart starts to flutter in an uncomfortable manner, which she dislikes immensely. Her eyes furrow, looking out the window to see a plush, red carpet leading up the stairs with red ropes on either side of the carpet, people with cameras and microphones behind the ropes, leaving the length of the carpet untouched. Alfred stops in front of the carpet, Bruce saying something that Cass can’t understand through the pounding in her ears. She’s never seen so many people gathered in the same space up close before, only ever watching large gatherings from afar back with her father and only on TVs now that she’s with the Waynes. Dick waves a hand in front of her face, speaking to her without any words actually reaching her ears. Bruce signals to her to swap places with him and, once she’s seated in Bruce’s seat, Alfred opens the door (when he got out, Cass doesn’t know).
A loud cachophany of sound floods into the car, Cass gasping at the mere volume of the words. Bruce gets out first, Tim following close after him. They wait outside the door for Cass, which she realizes when Dick looks at her and points to the door. She doesn’t stumble– she doesn’t– when she gets out, but the sound of the people (Dick called them paparazzi) iss startling to her senses, tears pushing against her eyes. Dick lays a hand on her back, giving her a meaningful look that she can’t decipher, not with all the grating on her senses, but she allows him to gently lead her through the crowd nonetheless. Her breathing starts to quicken in a way that she can only remember happening when she was younger, when her father would hide her in closets before she knew how to act properly around guests. She hates the thought of that, the memories that her reaction to the paparazzi brings up, her mouth opening to wheeze uncomfortably.
Dick yells something, his voice passing in a blur of sound, but the questions (she thinks they’re questions, given the lilt of their voices that people usually take on when inquiring about something) quiet down, not much, but enough to be noticeable. Cass slowly removes her hands from her ears (when did they get there? Why can’t she remember covering her ears?) and looks up at Dick. She realizes that she’s on her knees, cowering in a way that her father would have hated, but when she looks over at Bruce, he merely looks concerned. Dick helps her up, her breaths still quick and tiring, lungs contracting painfully, but Dick drags her past the red carpet and into a (much quieter) room.
There are people milling about, and they all look at the door and start speaking, but Cass can’t hear them over her own wheezing. Dick sets her against a wall, leading her to a sitting position as she clutches the fabric over where her heart is, shaking wildly. She can feel her (painted, thanks to Stephanie) nails digging into her skin, just as she can feel Bruce trying to pry them off of her chest, but she can’t find it within her to care. When she opens her eyes, Tim is kneeling in front of her, voice calm as he talks about something that she can’t hear. She focuses on the sound of his voice and, after a moment, notices his hands moving as he talks. Cass smiles likely looking a bit mad, as the processes the words that Tim is showing with his hands.
Sign language, she finally realizes.
“Follow Bruce’s breathing, you’re safe now.” Tim signs repeatedly. Cass nods as best she can, finally allowing Bruce to take her hand and lay it over his own heart, letting her feel the rise and fall of his deep breaths. Cass tries to move in sync with him, the dizziness that she didn’t even realize she was feeling subsiding, her ears finally working again. “There you go,” Tim smiles. Cass nods once more, her mouth cementing itself close the moment that she can breath through her nose again.
“You’re safe, we’ll keep you safe, all of the paparazzi are outside, you’re okay now.” Dick says, his words paired with sign language, which Cass appreciates more than he knows. She glances around the room, most all of the guests’ eyes trained on the Wayne Family. Cass stand up, her legs wobbly like a baby duck’s. Bruce also stands, squaring his shoulder the way that he does when he wants to be takes seriously.
“Thank you for all of your concern, but we are alright now. You may return to as you were before we arrived.” Bruce announces, and Cass doesn’t think that they were staring out of concern, but maybe that’s just another thing that she has yet to understand. The Elites all turn away sheepishly, giving the Waynes some sense of privacy. Bruce turns to Cass.
“How are you feeling?” He signs, not nothing to talk. Cass nods.
“Okay.” She signs back. Bruce nods, pursing his lips.
“You are okay to finish the Gala?” He asks. Cass nods once more.
“Am okay. Will be okay tonight.” She responds. Out of the corner of her eye, she can spot some people watching their silent interaction, but she ignores them.
She stays close to at least one member of the family, her family, the entire night, whether it be people watching with Dick, or chatting to other with Bruce, or solving some of Tim’s puzzles before he himself can, she is thoroughly entertained the entire time.