Post by Bruce Wayne on Jan 11, 2006 15:20:28 GMT -5
‘89…90…91…’
Bruce silently counted in his head as he rapidly performed push-ups. Alfred had arrived late the previous evening, and was now standing over him with a glass of orange juice and a copy of the morning paper.
“When you’ve finished Sir, might I remind you that the realtor Mr. Adele will be at the property in less than an hour?”
‘95…96…97…’ Bruce’s reply was strained, but not breathy.
“Thank you Alfred, I won’t be long.”
Arms pumped the last few in his set ‘98…99…100’ before he found his footing and stood up straight.
Dark hair wet with perspiration fell across his vision, his breath was hard, but even and controlled. He took the glass, drinking hard and fast. It had been fortified with vitamins; one of Alfred’s old tricks. It tasted ‘off’ but something easily ignored. Alfred meant well, and if he was going to pursue this newfound quest, a bit of give and take with the surrogate father figure was important.
“Alfred, would you do me a favor? – Have a thank you arrangement sent over to Chloe Sullivan’s office, something tasteful but not overly...”
Bruce gestured with his hands, looking for the right way to say: ‘yes I like this girl, so don’t let me screw this up.’
“I believe I understand what you mean Sir.”
“Oh!” Bruce’s face lit up a little as he remembered, “Get me a meeting with Dr. Swann.”
25 minutes later, Bruce was showered and dressed and driving up the stone littered driveway of the moderate, but private estate. From the look of the place it was obvious that it served as a horse farm. The fence was wide-slatted, and it hugged a good portion of the grounds. The house looked in good order, definitely a place that had a few miles on it, so naturally Bruce liked it already. He parked the silver Lamborghini Murciélago Roadster in the side lot adjacent the barn, and got out. Unlike the night before he had abandoned the casual t-shirt for a charcoal overcoat, a blue polo shirt and light grey slacks. The look was somewhat unique, blending old world charm with young professional.
Well loved leather shoes crunched against the gravel drive, and then ascended the faded wooden stairs to the wrap-around porch. Keen blue eyes surveyed the property, wondering if this would suit his needs for the time he was going to spend here in Kansas. The house nearly backed up against a small forest, the front grounds had a few trees, shrubberies, and a spattering of flowerbeds along the side of the house. On the porch were a few rocking chairs, and a mangy orange cat that meowed up at Bruce wildly.
“Hey there,” he smiled a little, leaning down to scratch the tabby behind the ears.
Bruce silently counted in his head as he rapidly performed push-ups. Alfred had arrived late the previous evening, and was now standing over him with a glass of orange juice and a copy of the morning paper.
“When you’ve finished Sir, might I remind you that the realtor Mr. Adele will be at the property in less than an hour?”
‘95…96…97…’ Bruce’s reply was strained, but not breathy.
“Thank you Alfred, I won’t be long.”
Arms pumped the last few in his set ‘98…99…100’ before he found his footing and stood up straight.
Dark hair wet with perspiration fell across his vision, his breath was hard, but even and controlled. He took the glass, drinking hard and fast. It had been fortified with vitamins; one of Alfred’s old tricks. It tasted ‘off’ but something easily ignored. Alfred meant well, and if he was going to pursue this newfound quest, a bit of give and take with the surrogate father figure was important.
“Alfred, would you do me a favor? – Have a thank you arrangement sent over to Chloe Sullivan’s office, something tasteful but not overly...”
Bruce gestured with his hands, looking for the right way to say: ‘yes I like this girl, so don’t let me screw this up.’
“I believe I understand what you mean Sir.”
“Oh!” Bruce’s face lit up a little as he remembered, “Get me a meeting with Dr. Swann.”
25 minutes later, Bruce was showered and dressed and driving up the stone littered driveway of the moderate, but private estate. From the look of the place it was obvious that it served as a horse farm. The fence was wide-slatted, and it hugged a good portion of the grounds. The house looked in good order, definitely a place that had a few miles on it, so naturally Bruce liked it already. He parked the silver Lamborghini Murciélago Roadster in the side lot adjacent the barn, and got out. Unlike the night before he had abandoned the casual t-shirt for a charcoal overcoat, a blue polo shirt and light grey slacks. The look was somewhat unique, blending old world charm with young professional.
Well loved leather shoes crunched against the gravel drive, and then ascended the faded wooden stairs to the wrap-around porch. Keen blue eyes surveyed the property, wondering if this would suit his needs for the time he was going to spend here in Kansas. The house nearly backed up against a small forest, the front grounds had a few trees, shrubberies, and a spattering of flowerbeds along the side of the house. On the porch were a few rocking chairs, and a mangy orange cat that meowed up at Bruce wildly.
“Hey there,” he smiled a little, leaning down to scratch the tabby behind the ears.