Jason raised an eyebrow as Alfred adjusted the hair clippers and chose a guard.
“Since when do butlers cut hair?” he asked warily, leaning his thin, 12 year old frame back in the kitchen chair. His hair hung in his eyes when he bent forward but that didn’t mean he was gonna let just anyone chop it off.
“Since Master Bruce developed a paranoid nature,” Alfred replied easily, plugging the clippers in. “Since I tried to take him to a barbershop at age fourteen and he said, and I quote, ‘If you think I’m going to let some stranger near my head with scissors, I’ll throw myself out of the car and shave my head myself.’”
“That sounds dramatic,” Jason said, feeling oddly reassured.
“As is our way of life in the Manor,” Alfred said, sounding a little forlorn. “Come. I won’t nick your ears.”
“What if you do?”
“I shall fling myself from the rooftop in recompense,” Alfred said, turning the clippers on.
“And you wonder where he gets it,” Jason muttered.
“What was that?”