go, dearest Anon! Bruce and Damian father son word prompt #10! Hope you
right, on three. One, two, th–”
Beep, beep, beep.
Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire, glanced down at his phone. He gestured to
his son to step away from the wooden bureau and calmly took the call.
released his grip and shifted. The voice on the line sounded like a Wayne
Industries employee, Sammy or Susie or whatever. He glanced down at his
sneakers. Father was needed at work, he knew. That meant this “rugged male
bonding through placing furniture in the attic” or whatever it was they
were doing would be cut short. Very well. Damian could complete the task by
himself. He’d finish in a timely manner and head to the cave and practice with
the new katanas (of course, Father did not necessarily have to know about that.
The man had been ridiculous about the entire blade affair. Damian did not
understand it, nor did he want to. He had been brought up on daggers and he
certainly didn’t want to lose his edge with them, so to speak. The boy merely
wanted to cut some dummies to shreds without someone going ballistic over the
“safety” of pointed objects without “supervision” because
he could “cut himself and Dick’s near-miss with his thumb was a lesson
learned too well”).