milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is an Alfred sat at the bar.

He's enjoying a full English breakfast.

[OOC: Hey, I'm back! Here, have a post-canon Alfred]

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The corner of Alfred's mouth just might have twitched upwards. Maybe.

"I am, enjoying the Riviera. It has much to favour it, compared to Gotham."

"Ah, the Riviera. I was there often when I was younger. I am glad that it has recovered from the war. But I do not know this Gotham." Not even as a literary reference to the Wise Men of Gotham.

"It seems not to exist in some worlds, even as other places and events map nicely. It's an American East coast city. Not much to recommend it at all, really. But, it was home to a number of old families, ah, old by American standards, at least."

He takes in the idea that there are cities that do not exist in some realities, but does not truly understand. And puts it aside.

"Yes, that is America. A nation of noveau riche. Forever trying to make the rest of the world think it has been there for centuries. Not that I did not appreciate the aid and the soldiers when they were needed. But they are much different, and I do not envy you spending your time there."

That gets a small grin from Alfred. Noveau riche would describe Alfred well, these days.

"Didn't we just, though I was only very young then. Thomas Wayne was one of the finest men I ever met. Far too few Americans were like him though."

"And he was your master all those years?" Poirot can do the math - this butler is from a good deal of years into the future.

"I served Thomas for 12, 15 years, I guess. And then his son for 30."

Which surely says something about the family. And probably Alfred too.

"Such devotion. George, he was only with me perhaps 15 years. Though at first I did not wish a butler." He only took one as time took its toll. "The son, he must have been like family?" He saw such things on occasion.

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