Bruce glanced down to see what Terry held out to him. Of course he remembered something that he and Lucius had designed. An entire kit of them rested down in the Batcave, near his suit. Recognition reflected on his face at the sign of the tiny Bat weapons that felt more at home in his hand than the coldness of a gun. "I'm not a fan of games," he said, although a bit absently. It was clear he didn't understand what was unravelling between them. But he knew, for a fact, that he was neither old nor Alfred-less. He knew that the day he was, the latter rather than the former, would be the day he broke into pieces.
With his hands in his pockets, perhaps not a smart thing to do, Bruce decided that the one thing that always proved a burden in his life was now a blessing. "I'll show you," he said, and with that, he turned. He did glance behind him to see if Terry was following. If this kid was so intent on telling him who he was, there was no way he'd pass up the chance to shout in his face that he was wrong about who he was when shown the proof.
It wasn't a long walk. He guided them to a room with a table, something similar to a dining room, where a few magazines and bits of paper were laid out along it. A piano that had a few alterations made to it sat to the side in front of a bookshelf. It looked lived in, but it probably lacked the warm air of a house that was properly lived in. The state of the table showed he wasn't expecting company, as this table would've been immaculate and bare if he was. "I've never had to prove who I was before, but -" He grabbed a magazine from the table, one that had been lying faced down, and he flipped it over as he held it out for Terry to see. It wasn't the best proof one could show, but it was something. A connection between the name and the face. "If I'm not Bruce Wayne, then I'm afraid I can't answer your 'Who am I?' question."
cold day in gotham in the bat cave chilling;
With his hands in his pockets, perhaps not a smart thing to do, Bruce decided that the one thing that always proved a burden in his life was now a blessing. "I'll show you," he said, and with that, he turned. He did glance behind him to see if Terry was following. If this kid was so intent on telling him who he was, there was no way he'd pass up the chance to shout in his face that he was wrong about who he was when shown the proof.
It wasn't a long walk. He guided them to a room with a table, something similar to a dining room, where a few magazines and bits of paper were laid out along it. A piano that had a few alterations made to it sat to the side in front of a bookshelf. It looked lived in, but it probably lacked the warm air of a house that was properly lived in. The state of the table showed he wasn't expecting company, as this table would've been immaculate and bare if he was. "I've never had to prove who I was before, but -" He grabbed a magazine from the table, one that had been lying faced down, and he flipped it over as he held it out for Terry to see. It wasn't the best proof one could show, but it was something. A connection between the name and the face. "If I'm not Bruce Wayne, then I'm afraid I can't answer your 'Who am I?' question."