The dregs of the awful margarita are downed in one last go, and then Bruce chucks it into the bin. Two points at the buzzer in overtime, Gotham wins. He adjusts sunglasses back onto his face from being clipped into his sweater, though it's still obvious when he gives Clark a look of slightly conflicted frown.

Cephalopods are neat.

It's a near thing, but they can always walk back past more tentacles after. And Bruce finds that he's strangely - shyly? - eager to watch Clark enjoy himself, even if that enjoyment involves daintily holding out dead fish under the guidance of a wetsuited marine biologist with a crackly lav mic on. There's not much of a crowd, but the young man is going for the Oscar anyway, perhaps happy to have less pressure to practice.

Incredibly, the canned speech involves discussing behavioral reactions to the oceanic displacement incident, which catches Bruce off-guard. Not in a bad way, he thinks, after a moment's reflection. It's just doubly strange to be reminded of how much a part of the world they all really are, and not just shadowy machinations making decisions and fighting wars on its behalf.

A very well-trained sea lion blows them all kisses, and does multiple laps back to the littlest girl in the front of the small audience; she has on a giant pink bow and a Gotham U Womens Soccer shirt on, oversized and clearly mom's. Appropriately enamoured despite the overwhelming smell of fish. (Bruce is glad they had the fake pizza.)

Quiet, because Clark doesn't need to strain to hear him, "These are definitely the dogs."