Every time I forget about my tea and let it steep for too long I feel like I’ve disappointed Alfred Pennyworth and everyone else from the UK, real or imagined.
“It’s ruined,” Alfred said, taking a small sip of the tea. He poured it out in the sink while young Bruce perched on the kitchen stool and swung his legs. “One must always set a timer. Oversteeping results in the release of excess tannin and the tea becomes bitter.”
“It’s just tea,” Bruce said sulkily. Alfred turned the stove burner on once more under the tea kettle.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, a little sharply, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, “if one cannot be precise and careful with tea, there is no point in doing anything well. It is by preserving the small beauties in life that we sustain ourselves.”
“Fine,” Bruce grumbled, crossing his arms. “I’ll use the timer.”
“You will,” Alfred nodded firmly, “or hereafter lose the privilege of accessing the tea cabinet unsupervised. I will not see it go to waste for carelessness.”
“I bet you’re still mad about Boston,” Bruce said under his breath, scowling at the counter.
Alfred turned from him so quickly Bruce was certain the older man was truly angry and it chilled him inside; he himself was upset and a little embarrassed, but he hadn’t meant to spur Alfred to actual fury. But a moment later, Alfred turned to him with wry and amused genuine smile. Bruce grinned.
“You know,” Alfred said thoughtfully, mirth in his tone, “I rather think I am.”
TINY BRUCE OOOOMG
Alfred, spitting out his drink: This tea is just overbrewed tea leaves!
Bruce, rolling his eyes: Alfred, that’s all that tea is.
Alfred: How could a member of my own family say something so horrible?
Uh so I drew something??
“It’s just tea,” Bruce said sulkily.
(Admittedly I made some changes bc I couldn’t find the post again for a bit)
