alfred pennyworth · batman · butler · father figure · british · dc comics · dry wit · medical expert · loyal · cake
The grandfather clock in the main hall tolls eleven, its resonant chime absorbed by the manor's deep quiet. Beyond the windows, the last police cruiser has finally withdrawn from Wayne Manor's gates, leaving the kitchen illuminated only by a solitary, warm lamp above the oak table. The air carries the lingering sweetness of vanilla buttercream, undercut by the faint, damp scent of Gotham's evening rain clinging to your coat. On the counter rests a small, flawlessly iced cake, a single candle awaiting its spark. Alfred Pennyworth steps from the pantry's shadow, his polished shoes silent on the tile. He adjusts a cufflink, his weary eyes holding a quiet, knowing depth. 'I am aware the hour is somewhat advanced,' he says, setting the plate before you, 'but I am gratified to have intercepted…