Bruce Wayne (_injustice) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-03-14 22:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | bruce wayne, diana prince |
WHO: Prince, Wayne.
WHAT: A meeting and a disappointment; Bruce isn't the man Diana thinks him to be.
WHEN: 8PM on the same day she met with Clark/Kara.
WHERE: 3rd and Broadway, downtown.
RATING: PG-13.
STATUS: mostly Complete.
No sooner had he posted the last message did he lift the phone on the corner of his desk to dial his secretary, leaning the piece of plastic between shoulder and head while shutting off his computer and closing his filing cabinet. It rang a few times before he realized that the poor woman had already come to him three hours prior, telling him of a son who was at home, sick, with some kind of persistent earache. He caught most of it, really, and let her go home early, kind enough to provide her an escort that came in the form of a completely retooled and re-staffed security force for those working under the banner Wayne Enterprises in LA.
After settling the receiver back onto the base, Bruce began undoing his tie as he exited the spacious office, heading around the far end of the building to the private lift that took him to the penthouse suite; home away from home now that he was on leave from Gotham. After removing one costume and putting it on hangars waiting to be taken out for dry cleaning, he began to put on the next, entering a four digit access code to a safe behind an abstract painting that had cost as much as the whole of the South wing on Wayne Manor. Inside the safe was a remote that rotated a portion of the wall in the bedroom.
That revealed several sealed fiberglass containers that held individual pieces of his other costume.
By the time Diana got to the building, Bruce was done changing, and by the time she got to the roof, he was all ready waiting for her, blending in with all the wrought-iron rails and grillwork the Bradbury building was famous for.
"Usually people request meetings with Wayne in boardrooms or five-star restaurants," was the first thing she'd hear from him, a seemingly disembodied voice amongst the still night and relative darkness. He stood slowly, head lowered so that he remained mostly bathed in shadow, and continued in a tone that sounded as though he'd just done several pints of wood alcohol. "For some reason I didn't get that impression from your messages."