Some days are unusual even for Wayne Manor.
Alfred had just finished dusting the drawing room when his phone buzzed in his pocket, in the sequence that meant the Batmobile was returning home. Successfully, he dared hope; Master Bruce and Master Tim had set out to unmask whoever it was that had appropriated Miss Stephanie's colors and mete out whatever justice the situation demanded, and though Alfred felt a trifle ashamed of himself, in his heart of hearts he rather hoped the situation demanded a harsh sort of justice. Miss Stephanie had been an all-too-rare beacon of light in the Batman's grim company, and her death was and remained an unspeakable tragedy.
Whether or not the mission was successful, however, there were proprieties to be observed, and Alfred made his way to the kitchen. The Batcave had its own set of utensils: a sturdy though slightly battered aluminum tea-tray, easily-replaced teacups, and sugar in packets rather than cubes. Alfred maintained higher standards in the house, of course, but sugar cubes in particular were not an ally in his continuing war against the cave's unauthorized vermin. They were far too easily scattered by overexuberant training, earthquakes, or the occasional invading supervillain and were the very devil to clean up again.
The tea was poured and ready and Alfred was already swinging aside the grandfather clock when his phone buzzed again to announce that the Batmobile was pulling into the cave. He could hear their voices as he descended the stairs: Master Bruce, Master Tim, and . . . was that a third voice? Had they brought the miscreant to the Cave? That was hardly usual. And there was something--but no, only the echoes playing tricks on his ears, it must be.
Soon enough they came into view, and Alfred thought his heart might give out. Master Bruce and Master Tim were both smiling, and little wonder, because between them, grinning like a sunbeam . . . it was Miss Stephanie. Impossible as it seemed, there was no mistaking her. "Dear Lord," he gasped, the tray falling from numb fingers . . .
. . . and striking sand, not stone, and Alfred's eyes were suddenly watering from the sunlight rather than tears of joy. The sand gave way under his feet and he stumbled. "What in God's name?"
[One beached butler and a shocking waste of perfectly good tea. Alfred arrives from Robin #174, because apparently someone returning from the dead wasn't quite enough of a shock. He'd appreciate an explanation from the first person to happen by, but anyone after that can find him in the compound washing his dishes.]
Whether or not the mission was successful, however, there were proprieties to be observed, and Alfred made his way to the kitchen. The Batcave had its own set of utensils: a sturdy though slightly battered aluminum tea-tray, easily-replaced teacups, and sugar in packets rather than cubes. Alfred maintained higher standards in the house, of course, but sugar cubes in particular were not an ally in his continuing war against the cave's unauthorized vermin. They were far too easily scattered by overexuberant training, earthquakes, or the occasional invading supervillain and were the very devil to clean up again.
The tea was poured and ready and Alfred was already swinging aside the grandfather clock when his phone buzzed again to announce that the Batmobile was pulling into the cave. He could hear their voices as he descended the stairs: Master Bruce, Master Tim, and . . . was that a third voice? Had they brought the miscreant to the Cave? That was hardly usual. And there was something--but no, only the echoes playing tricks on his ears, it must be.
Soon enough they came into view, and Alfred thought his heart might give out. Master Bruce and Master Tim were both smiling, and little wonder, because between them, grinning like a sunbeam . . . it was Miss Stephanie. Impossible as it seemed, there was no mistaking her. "Dear Lord," he gasped, the tray falling from numb fingers . . .
. . . and striking sand, not stone, and Alfred's eyes were suddenly watering from the sunlight rather than tears of joy. The sand gave way under his feet and he stumbled. "What in God's name?"
[One beached butler and a shocking waste of perfectly good tea. Alfred arrives from Robin #174, because apparently someone returning from the dead wasn't quite enough of a shock. He'd appreciate an explanation from the first person to happen by, but anyone after that can find him in the compound washing his dishes.]