Feb 03, 2011 17:19
[Have a fifty-five year old Bruce Wayne, sprawled out on the bed next to you, not nearly as decent as he should be, and passed out. But not for long, he's a light sleeper, even when hungover and recovering from a night of binge drinking (He'll deny it ever happened if asked about later)]
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"Um ... hello?"
A boy of about ten, dressed in dinosaur pajama pants and a red t shirt is crouched next to him, wound in the blankets, looking confused.
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He blinked a few times and questioned himself for a moment if he was still asleep.
It was that or all that drinking and he stole someone's child in the ventures that came with it.
"Uh... hi?" It wasn't leaving and he was sure he was awake.
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"What's wrong with you?" he asked, bluntly, but concerned as he looked Bruce's face over, frowning.
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Bruce's brows knitted together in slight annoyed. "None of your business," he countered, feeling oddly chidlish saying it to the boy. He shook his head, moving to sit up. "How did you get here?"
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