As coincidence would have it, an evening of anonymity, intoxication, and glittering accessories happened to be precisely up Selina Kyle's alley. To be among the wealthy and idle, to view her socialite peers from behind the deep purple half-mask Selina held poised over green eyes, promised a certain element of empowerment: anyone could do anything tonight, and no one would be any the wiser, because no one would recall specifics.
The room fairly swam in color and shine, all of Gotham's trust fund spawn decked in its best. Selina perched a champagne glass to her lips, gaze flitting across the room in curiosity. Who was where tonight? She had little faith in the human ability to discern jawlines, so she felt, in large part, her own identity would be safe as long as the alcohol continued to flow.
Of course, more importantly, who was wearing what tonight?
Her theory on visual ineptitude was instantly dismantled, however, at the sound of Bruce's voice. She recognized that much about him, at least -- the tone held a certain grating quality to it. Upbeat and welcoming, but on occasions like this, dripping with overdone cheer. There were times when Selina believed Bruce Wayne was his own mask, but what was underneath? Was there anything worthwhile to hide?
"Well, well," she greeted smoothly, lifting her champagne in a mock toast. "The first to ruin my fun. Indulge me: what gave me away?" The corners of her mouth turned up slightly.