[b]Wayne Manor-the day of the wedding[/b]

Damian [i]hated[/i] proper suits. They had to be almost literally the most combat restrictive clothing in the entire world. The jacket hampered arm and shoulder movements to a ridiculous degree unless he stripped down to the waistcoat while the trousers barely allowed for enough range of motion to execute proper kicks. Worse yet any acrobatics he had to perform would feel far more stiff and unnatural than normal and even though Damian insisted otherwise and been extremely specific Grayson or his father must have countermanded his orders in secret, because the tailoring made it near impossible for him to hide weapons on his person with any amount of decency. He would think it was like being tied up in a straight-jacket but having actually experienced that the suit was definitely far, far worse.
 
But the absolute worst part of all was the damned neck-tie! It was like wearing a silk noose around his neck and never being able to take it off! It would be the very first thing an enemy would grab onto and it would make it horrifyingly easy to strangle him or give them access to strike his head or initiate all sorts of other grappling maneuvers with ease. Of course Grandfather often wore neck-ties, but at this point Damian had become convinced that he did so as a sheer statement of superiority in combat. It was an absolute death-trap and the worst part was...
 
It seemed to be infuriatingly difficult to actually tie. He had studied the problem from every possible angle, but all of the different styles of knot had seemed virtually the same and all of them were equally needlessly complex! It wasn't that he couldn't do it, of course. He had no equal in any field he chose to seriously pursue, it was just that he didn't see the point of learning it, that was all! Before he had always managed to avoid wearing one at formal appearances over the last year or so, but [i]of course[/i] today Father insisted just like he insisted that nobody argue. It was bad enough being constantly mocked by the Brown girl and putting up with Drake without having a stress-induced aneurysm, but he'd rather die than ask one of the others for help. Petty-minded as they were, they would all probably shame him for it for months if not years.
 
So he sat in a corner with a sketchbook and the idiotic, improperly done neck-tie while everyone else presumably made preparations, trying extremely hard not to be noticed while drawing all the various ways Drake ought to violently pay for being such an irritant, then preferably roast atop a bonfire of all the world's formal suits.