Damian: You stand accused of betraying your own family as the Red Hood, Todd. How do you plead?
Jason: I plead you to shut up.
~ · ~ · ~ · ~ · ~ · ~
Would you at least let him finish eating his breakfast first, Dami?
Tag: mornings at the manor
Mornings at the Manor…
Terry [visiting from the future]: Bruce made me breakfast.
Jason: That monster!
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jay, your jealous is showing.
Well, will ya look at that. Here’s what I found after Googling Terry’s name to make sure I spelled McGinnis right.
Mornings at the Manor…
Tim: I’m losing my mind, guys. I sometimes touch the frayed part of the power cord just to feel something.
Alfred: *swiftly takes a step to the side to hide a frayed wire jutting from the kitchen wall*
Jason: *carefully pries the mug of espresso off Tim’s pale, trembling fingers*
Damian: *stealthily moves the butter knife away from Tim’s grasp*
Dick: *grabs Tim’s face and buries it on his chest in a tight hug*
Bruce: *closes the Gotham Gazette, stands up, then fireman-carries his heavily sleep-deprived son up to his room*
Damian: Drake.
Tim: Brat. The bet ends today. Are you ready?
Damian: I was born ready.
Tim: To lose? The whole question was, “Are you ready to lose?” and you said you were born that way.
Damian: Twist my words all you want.
Tim: Okay.
Damian: I’m winning this bet.
Jason: What bet? What’re you guys talking about?
Dick: Seriously? The bet? They’ve been keeping score all year. It comes up all the time. What are you doin’ all day?
Jason: Nothin’. Why, you wanna hang out?
Bruce being suspiciously… relaxed…
Dick: *watches as Alfred heads back to the kitchen carrying an empty softdrink bottle* What’s going on?
Dick: *spots Bruce sitting on a loveseat by the fireplace* Aha! What are you doing?
Bruce: Nothing. *pops the bottle cap off with just his index finger* Just enjoying a taste of my favorite beverage, the soda pop.
Jason: *feigns shock* Really? I have never seen you enjoy soda pop before.
Bruce: Hn.
Tim: *narrows his eyes* Have some now.
Bruce: *takes a sip* Ah, it’s delicious.
Damian: I don’t buy it, Father! You’re making the same face you made when you found Alfred’s chocolate chip cookie bits in your trail mix.
Dick: Something’s up. I’m patting you down. *proceeds to do just that, Officer Grayson-style*
Dick: Darn it, nothing but a non-surprisingly toned set of abs.
It’s 10 AM on a Sunday, kids. Give your father a break.
Mornings at the Manor…
Dick: Pretty hungover?
Jason: Shhhhh… Turn off your mouth siren…
Mornings at the Manor…
Tim: *typing away on his laptop, working on a case*
Jason: *enters the kitchen, sweaty from his morning jog*
Tim: You got a delivery while you were out. I signed for it, so I hope it’s nothing illegal.
Mornings at the Manor…
Tim: *screams from the kitchen* OH, NO!!!
Dick: *bursts out of his room* Oh, no, what???
Tim: *with crumbs all over his face* I did it again. I was sleep-eating. That explains that dream.
Mornings at the Manor…
Damian: *walks into the kitchen and sees Tim splayed on the kitchen counter, bruised and bloodied, and in a singed Red Robin uniform*
Damian: Pennyworth, do we have to put the trash on the counter? I take my afternoon tea here.
Mornings at the Manor…
Tim: *wakes up, yawns, stretches, sees “3:30” on his phone clock*
Tim: …
Tim: Uh. What are you doing here?
Roy: *bruised, bloodied, in a tattered Arsenal uniform, and perched on the window sill*
Roy: Your brother’s gonna wake up mad at me. When he does, be sure to remind him who his best friend is.
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