“Mr Wayne!”
Bruce manoeuvres expertly through the sea of nosey reporters that have gathered outside of the Wayne Enterprise building. His sides ache from the bruises hidden beneath his tailored suit, a rib cracked and painful every time he breathes.
Behind him follows Alfred, chin tilted up with indifference to the journalists all eager to nab a statement from Gothams richest man. In his arms he holds Charlotte, all bright eyed and curious as she stares at the various men and women holding microphones in the hopes that Bruce Wayne will say something.
It’s unusual for Bruce to bring Charlotte with him out in public to the Wayne Tower building, but after last nights events where Batman and Robin prevented a state-wide attack of socialites homes from being blown up in a terrorist plot… Bruce is on high alert and anxious about leaving his daughter at home—even though Wayne Manor is, arguably, safer than the White House itself.
So now not only are the reporters eager to retrieve a statement from Bruce Wayne, a billionaire whose home was on the list of targets, but also because this is the first time in months that his daughter has been spotted out in public.
“Mr Wayne—a moment of your time to answer a few questions, please!”
Bruce tries not to scowl as another man steps directly into his escape route. His car and driver are parked and waiting a few feet away, with the door open and ready for the Wayne’s to jump straight in. But what should have been a couple minutes in getting to the car has now taken almost fifteen minutes to get halfway.
Bruce opens his mouth to less-than-politely tell the reporter to move, but he’s cut off when a newspaper is shoved to his face. On the front page shows a thrilling shot of Batman and Robin in action, both frozen in motion while taking down the terrorist organisation. There’s a headline underneath that talks about the various socialite estates that were targeted, as well as speculation details surrounding the entire ploy.
“Your home was targeted—can you tell us more about this?” The reporter frantically asks, eyes wide and searching for any information to speculate from. Even a shifting expression would be something to write about.
Alfred stops behind Bruce and expertly moves Charlotte to shield her from the onslaught of flashing cameras. But rather than shy away from the attention, noise and light, Charlotte peers directly at the journalists and waves a chubby hand, enticing a wave of cooing and a further of flashing photography.
Alfred leans in close to Bruce, so only they can hear one another. “Sir, should I call security and have us escorted the rest of the way?”
Bruce shakes his head. “No. The car is right there, we can make it. As long as nobody gets violent, we’ll be fine.”
Charlotte peers over Bruce’s shoulder and blows a wet raspberry in his ear. Then, her eyes lock on to the newspaper that the reporter is still holding up for Bruce to see.
She gasps loudly and points a chunky finger at the front page, where Batman and Robin take over the front cover. And without missing a beat, she squeals out a very delighted, “Kee!”
Alfred stiffens and Bruce holds his breath at the loud, correct declaration.
Charlotte smacks a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Kee! Kee!” She repeats, getting louder and louder each time she says it, her eyes twinkling with the adoration she always shows whenever her beloved big brother is involved. Because if anyone adores Dick Grayson, it’s his baby sister.
Alfred loudly clears his throat. “Yes, Miss Charlotte, Master Richard is indeed waiting for us. Shall we go?” He quickly interrupts, saving face before Charlotte can expose the true identities of Batman and Robin.
Bruce forces a smile and forces his way through the crowd of reporters. Charlotte squeals again and cranes her neck around so she can admire the newspaper again, eager to point out the fact that her big brother is on the front cover. “Kee!” She shouts.
Alfred doesn’t falter. “Indeed. Master Richard is a fan of Robin, young Miss.”
Bruce reaches the car first. The driver is standing attentively and gestures for Bruce to slip inside, but Bruce deliberately waits for Alfred to ensure he and his daughter climb in first. It’s only once Alfred and Charlotte are safely tucked into the backseat does Bruce follow, and then the door is closed firmly behind them. The onslaught of photography doesn’t cease once the blacked out windows provide a barrier between them—if anything it spurs them on.
Charlotte wriggles in Alfred’s lap and presses her sticky hands to the window, her breaths fogging up the glass. “Kee!” A string of incoherent baby-babble follows, passionate and adoring.
“It seems Miss Charlotte has almost exposed Master Richard to the media,” Alfred points out with a bemused hum. “I do wonder at what age it is appropriate to begin media training.”
Bruce doesn’t hide his groan as his daughter continues to excitedly slap the windows.