Sticks And Stones

[anotherknight]

He's never wrong.

He never allows himself to be wrong.

But it's staring him right in the face.

A lapse in judgment.

An error.

The few strips of gauze he's pulled from the drawer just aren't going to be enough to fix this mess.

The blood soaked wad currently in his hand is hurled in the direction of the sink.

Comments

[_alfred_]

The bloody mess is caught deftly before it hits the sink. "Tch, tch ... medical waste belongs in the orange bin, sir."

[anotherknight]

"Leave the lid open and I'll just climb in."

[_alfred_]

"Might I suggest a different course of action, sir?" Alfred approaches with a deference that would fool anyone except the World's Greatest Detective. "Allow me, sir."

[anotherknight]

He's not in much of a position to protest. The wounded arm leaves him one available hand with which to work. "Tell me it doesn't need stitches and I'll consider it a successful evening."

Piss and vinegar.

[jla_futures]

G G D G

The musical notes echo strangely against the walls of the cave, accompanied by a flash of light.

[anotherknight]

The chance to respond is taken from him. Ears perk. Instincts flare. He slides off the table, physically putting himself between Alfred and the uninvited guest.

[_alfred_]

"My word," whispers Alfred, then squares his shoulders. "Sir, I assure you this is not some sort of early Christmas decoration perpetuated by Master Tim."

[anotherknight]

A step closer is taken cautiously. Scrutiny falls on the object as a whole. A single facet shines more vibrant than the rest. His focus naturally shifts.

[anotherknight]

The leaves have begun to turn. All too early the process occurs this year. Weeks ahead of its time. Summer fades prematurely to the red depths of autumn. A sea of individuals have gathered beneath the shade on the grass that grows green despite the weather. They have traveled from every corner of the globe. They represent every creed and nationality. They have come to pay their respects. For where there were two, three now rest. The name WAYNE is joined by another.

PENNYWORTH.

[oracle_watching]

Barbara Gordon Grayson's face is blotchy, and she leans on her cane, her other arm wrapped around her husband. There is a minute shaking of her head as she stares at the newest gravestone.

[last_joke_x]

Behind tented spectacles there's a figure that looks on to those ahead of him. His face is twisted a bit though mostly due to damage here and there combined with a few years of stress. As he comes closer, a polite nod is given to many people he hasn't seen in some time. It seems that it's always tragedy that brings family together.

[_nightwing_]

Dick Grayson has one arm wrapped around his wife of some fifteen years now; his hand resting on the shoulder of their youngest daughter, who is quiet and unmoving. His brief surprise at seeing Jason after all this time registers in his nodded greeting to the younger man.

There is more telling in silence than there can be in words. What lies unspoken is more potent than anything given voice.

[jla_extras]

"God our Father, in loving care your hand has created us, and as the potter fashions the clay you have formed us in your image. Through the Holy Spirit you have breathed into us the gift of life. In the sharing of love you have enriched our knowledge of you and of one another. We claim your love today, as we return these ashes to the ground in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life."

The gentle voice of the priest rises up amidst the sorrow. He stumbles as he reads. He has traveled a great distance to be here and is weary in mind and heart. Alfred will never return to England, so England must travel abroad.

[_nightwing_]

The wind kicks up briefly, rattling the fallen maple leaves and sending them scurrying past the gathered contingent of mourners.

With each word, Dick can't help but feel the passing becomes more final. With each fragile moment, the bond keeping Alfred Pennyworth tied to this earth becomes more tenuous.

Part of him knows it's time -- and that nobody deserves his rest more. Alfred did so much, and asked for little in return except their safety; despite the family's own insistence at putting itself in harm's way for others.

He no longer leads the Titans now -- that torch has passed onto the younger, more vital members of the team -- but retirement hasn't suited him well. Even now he still takes to the rooftops, unable to resist the adrenalin rush and the drive to do something good. To keep things safer for his daughter -- even if she's convinced she wants to take up her parents' vigilante profession. That's an argument for another day.

[starfire_kory]

Her own hands had been raised in prayer to X'hal earlier; they are lowered now, listening respectfully to the sonorous voice of the priest who is reading from yet another human religious text she has never fully understood. But she has always seen the need to pay tribute to the man who was the unobtrusive squire to the Dark Knight.

And like her daughter Mar'i, she weeps.

[jla_extras]

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

[jla_futures]

The artifact rotates, exposing new facets as it turns.

[anotherknight]

The chair is too small for his frame. It isn't the reason though for his restlessness. He rises and wanders to the other side of his wife's hospital bed. An inspection of her features follows. For hours they've remained the same. The medication has robbed her of the pain. As well as her consciousness. To the window he turns. Then once again to the bed. Completing the cycle, he returns to the chair.

Instead of depositing himself, he wanders to the door. With any luck, coffee will hold off the headache. The nurses steer clear as he enters out into the hall.

[laughing_mage]

It's not like the wife of Bruce Wayne can be in the hospital without it hitting every news agency in the world. But John hadn't needed that to tell him she was sick.

The echo of pain he could feel clear across the ocean told him loud and clear that she was fighting something she couldn't take on with fists this times.

Staying away hadn't even been an option.

Bruce wanders out the door just in time to nearly bump into the figure in a trenchcoat wandering in.

[anotherknight]

Not a figure either expected or particularly welcome.

A fistful of trenchcoat is gathered and used to propel John sideways, away from Selina's door and towards the corridor wall.