I Moderate (i_moderate) wrote in we_archive, @ 2006-01-21 01:39:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | alfred pennyworth, bruce wayne |
i_walktheline Fruitful [ Open / Tim ]
Hair sticking up every which way, shirtless, cotton pajama bottoms barely hanging onto his hips and barefooted, Bruce Wayne wandered into the kitchen early Friday morning, scratching his chest and looking a bit like a lost child in search of a glass of milk.
"Alfred ?"
"Yes, Master Bruce ?" Alfred turned from where he was up to the wrists in pancake and waffle mix. He chuckled. "Late night ?"
"Alfred." Bruce said again, yawning and stretching. "Do we have any apples ?"
Kevlar, Norex, Gorex suits. Heat seeking bat-projectiles, teenagers who returned from the dead, or arrived from the future were almost every day things in the house. At least, in the house in this City. And yet, Alfred blinked. "Apples, Master Bruce ?"
"Yes, a friend of mine is coming over for dinner sometime soon. I'm not sure when. But she really likes apples. Not apple pie, just apples. At least, I think it's just apples. I promised her at least a bushel of apples. Do you think it should have more than one kind ?"
Alfred watched Bruce wander over to the kitchen and snag a strawberry out of a bowl of toppings for Master Dick's Belgium waffles. Bruce looked, strangely well rested. A sight he wasn't normally used to and he wondered if it explained his rambling.
"Apples, sir ?"
"Yes. For... my friend."
"Your friend, sir ?"
Bruce sighed. " Death, My friend Death is going to be coming over, I'm not sure when. I think she'll call me when it happens. And she really likes apples. Hey, do you think you could bake a few of them ?"
Alfred Pennyworth prided himself on a certain measure of unflappability. And yet. "Death, sir ?"
He watched his charge, and Bruce would be his charge until one of them entered the grave, brighten up like a small child at Christmas."Yes, though, I suppose we shouldn't call her that since she won't be here in an official capacity."
"Death's coming to dinner, sir ?" A fact that seemed to be making Bruce almost beam with glee. A small part of himself wondered if it didn't make sense that Bruce would have a kind of fixation, if not crush on Death. And they were in a strange enough environment for her to actually be a person. And it was not as if Bruce wasn't to be trusted in telling truth from fiction and manipulation. "You have a date with Death sir ?" He attempted to clarify.
Immediately Bruce looked serious. Or as serious as he could get at six in the morning, in his pajamas, stealing strawberries. "It's an outing. Not a date. An outing"
Well that settled that then. Death was real. Female. And Bruce was adamant that it was not a date. "Very good sir. An outing with death. With apples."
"They keep, right ?"
"Sir ?"
"The apples ? They'll keep ? I'm not quite sure when she'll get here. I didn't ask, for security purposes, I didn't want that knowledge floating about."
Alfred shook his head, hiding a smile. This reality or his own reality, life with Bruce Wayne was never dull. "They'll keep sir. For at least a month if properly stored in the cellar. And we can always buy more if necessary."
"I don't want to be wasteful."
Alfred chuckled. "With two teenagers and Master Dick in the house, sir. I doubt we could be."
Bruce smiled and picked up one last strawberry. "Great. I just wanted to get that out the way as soon as possible. The apples, I mean. So she'll have some." He beamed again. "The pancakes smell great. Don't let the boys eat them all up before I get here."
Alfred watched him bounce back up the back-stairs and shook his head. "Death, coming for dinner."