"Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage.”
Alfred Pennyworth carefully arranged the plate of cookies next to the teapot and lifted the fully stocked tray with steady hands. He had managed to coerce Bruce into agreeing to join him in the sunroom for a tea. Young Master Bruce did not take nearly enough time to rest, in his eyes, and Alfred grew more and more concerned as each day passed.
The recent years that had passed had not brought a noticeable change to Alfred. He was, as he always had been, the loyal butler...always neat, always pressed, and always available to offer his assistance, in a perfectly tailored suit. The years had not been as kind to the young man he silently considered to be a son. The losses they both had experienced had not been easy, and it did little to ease Alfred's anguish to see the pain Bruce attempted to ignore on a daily basis.
He walked slowly to the sunroom, a pleasant smile on his face that belied the concern swirling within him. The light from the room filtered through to the hallway, and he lowered his gaze as he stepped into the sunroom.
The solid wood floors beneath his feet where gone, replaced by a concrete sidewalk. Immediately concerned, Alfred looked up and around. The newly rebuilt Wayne Manor was nowhere to be seen, and certainly, it was not surrounding him. His grip on the tray tightened considerably, and he walked swiftly over to a nearby bench to set the tray down gently. He took several steps away from the bench, turning in a small circle as he quietly attempting to figure out where he was, and why. A sign indicated he was at Grant Park. This did not help matters, naturally.
His heart beat faster in his chest, but Alfred attempted to remain calm. Where was the Manor? Where was Bruce? The young man would surely be worried. Through the rising panic, Alfred took slow, deep breaths.
"My word..."
The recent years that had passed had not brought a noticeable change to Alfred. He was, as he always had been, the loyal butler...always neat, always pressed, and always available to offer his assistance, in a perfectly tailored suit. The years had not been as kind to the young man he silently considered to be a son. The losses they both had experienced had not been easy, and it did little to ease Alfred's anguish to see the pain Bruce attempted to ignore on a daily basis.
He walked slowly to the sunroom, a pleasant smile on his face that belied the concern swirling within him. The light from the room filtered through to the hallway, and he lowered his gaze as he stepped into the sunroom.
The solid wood floors beneath his feet where gone, replaced by a concrete sidewalk. Immediately concerned, Alfred looked up and around. The newly rebuilt Wayne Manor was nowhere to be seen, and certainly, it was not surrounding him. His grip on the tray tightened considerably, and he walked swiftly over to a nearby bench to set the tray down gently. He took several steps away from the bench, turning in a small circle as he quietly attempting to figure out where he was, and why. A sign indicated he was at Grant Park. This did not help matters, naturally.
His heart beat faster in his chest, but Alfred attempted to remain calm. Where was the Manor? Where was Bruce? The young man would surely be worried. Through the rising panic, Alfred took slow, deep breaths.
"My word..."