Chapter Text
You Are Cordially Invited
He read the cursive atop the A4 card, before signing the bottom. It was the twelfth time he had done that, and, thankfully, the last. With a sigh, he placed the last of the invites onto the pile and leaned back onto his leather chair.
“Are they ready to be sent, sir?” His butler said, his gruff Glaswegian accent prominent.
Bruce didn't say anything, just silently pushing the pile towards him.
“Is there any reason you chose this.. particular group of people, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he leaned forward to pick the invites up, though Bruce noticed his subtle glance at the envelope on the desk.
Bruce grabbed the envelope, and emptied its contents onto the rosewood desk; twelve photographs. Well, eleven photographs and one painting. Two pictures were monotone, the paper yellowed.
Bruce looked at them, twelve faces stared back.
“You know why, Alfred,” Bruce finally responded, his own Scottish accent booming.
Alfred obviously held back an eyeroll, but he finally had the invites in his hands, “of course, sir,” he stated. Bruce ignored the sarcasm that laced his words.
The elderly butler left Bruce's office, and Bruce was finally left alone. He sat in silence for a few long moments before realising that wee Dickie was patrolling alone that night. He should check up on him.
He was about to get up off the rather uncomfortable chair, when the light started to flicker. On. Off. On. Off. On...
Off.
The next time the light turned on, Bruce Wayne was slouched over his rosewood desk, his own batarang embedded into his skull.