From the passenger seat of the car, Bruce watches Vladimir Masters press the 'end call' button without so much as a change to his expression. He contemplates letting the matter rest - this is none of Brucie Wayne business, really - but he can't. Public persona be damned.
"Do you get a lot of prank calls like this?" He still threads carefully, though. Needless to say, in Gotham, one can never be sure if it's a prank or not, so that is going to be his next question.
However, Vladimir just waves him off.
"No, this is the second or third time," he answers, and then snorts a short, slightly condescending laugh, "Besides, I'm afraid this was not a prank."
...That was supposed to be Bruce's line. He takes in a breath.
"Will be perfectly fine, if late for dinner," finishes the man for him, a bit irritated. But then, he blinks, and his face twists in sudden understanding as he briefly glances at Bruce, "Are you worried?"
"I-" He starts but cuts himself off, making his best 'I am naive but I care a lot' expression, "I imagine I'd have quite a fright if it was one of my boys." That's polite enough, isn't it?
Masters hums thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off the road, and then reaches towards his phone again, turning it on.
"Call Daniel," he commands, and a few dial tones later, someone picks up.
"Not a good time, Vlad," the voice sounds annoyed, but definitely belonging to a teenager. It's a bit staticky, though, must be something wrong with reception.
"Our dinner host is concerned for your well-being, little badger, be nice," the man chastises with a quirk of his lips, and the kid - his son, presumably, groans. "You're on speaker."
There's a dull thump on the other end of the line, then a distant whimper and some clattering.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne, I'll be on time," Daniel reassures with a slightly fake cheer, "I've heard good things about your- Yeah, okay, you can try, but it won't work," he suddenly deadpans, his words followed by a few gunshot sounds and then a scream. Not Daniel's scream, however, it sounds further away and lower. "See?" The kid asks, unperturbed, "Amateurs, honestly, these are not even silver. Where was I? Oh, right, your son spoke highly of your butler's cooking skills, I wouldn't miss that."
The unfazed, flippant maner of his speech, together with the background noises, reminds Bruce too much of his own kids. No wonder why they became friends with Daniel.
"That's good to hear," he offers, smiling and making an effort to sound relieved and not alarmed, "I'll be seeing you soon, then. Take care."
"Sure will, thanks!" Daniel responds, and Bruce can pretty much hear him grinning, "I gotta take care of something else first, though, sorry. Vlad, do you mind hanging up? My hands are full."
Masters rolls his eyes as he stops at the red light. "Use more of them," he advises offhandedly, and then narrows his eyes all of a sudden, "You haven't ruined your shirt yet, have you?"
"...Uh," comes a hesitant, sheepish reply, and then there's shuffling, and the call is ended from Daniel's side.
The light turns green. Vladimir sighs.
"Seems like I made a good call when I brought a spare outfit."
Bruce considers asking how often things like this happen if the man even thought to do such a thing. Yet, instead of that, he simply smiles, "If you hadn't, I'm sure one of my sons wouldn't have minded sharing. They do that quite often."
Vladimir Masters curtly laughs at that.
Bruce feels like this friendship is going to be a lot more exciting than expected.
