Bruce warms slow, but laughs loud when the full idea overtakes him, and claps his free hand to Marcus' shoulder--keeps it there to lead him along with. "Well, let's see if the good Bishop hasn't had enough wine to make him a little friendlier. Anyway, if we don't get down, we're going to miss the salmon puffs. I know that sounds incredibly--I know how it sounds. But you'll thank me, I promise..."

The hall is in fuller swing as they come down, and Bruce keeps Marcus close as they enter a more Bacchic throng that they left. More flutes, more trays, more music, and more waitstaff rushing back and forth. The music is a bit louder, and everyone just a little bit looser. Bruce doesn't seem concerned by the party, but he can't find who he's looking for; no one has seen his son for the last half hour.

"Alfred." The Butler. The father/mother. The barrier. Bruce finds him first, one hand at Marcus' shoulder and the other at Alfred's. "Damian?"

The older man has to lean much closer to be heard. "Out for a cigarette, sir."

The scowl Bruce gives is entirely genuine. He pushes the two men at his hands nearer. "I'm going to pull him back in. Make sure Mr. Keane here gets a salmon puff? I'll be back. Don't lose him!"

The crowd pulls Bruce in before he even completes a step away. Alfred stays close, but the look he gives Marcus is appraising, at kindest. "...Mr. Keane, was it? You must be some kind of musician, then?"