Out Hunting

[Bruce Wayne]

((Apologies for the delay, love.))

Bruce, who couldn’t have cared less whether the outlandish decorator was offended by him or not, grinned openly at Barbara’s reaction to his quip. He was paying the man well enough that any indiscretion on the billionare’s side could easily be brushed off with another few thousand and both of the men privy to the transaction were well aware of the fact. His roguish grin and amused green eyes were turned on the redhead as she finally managed to gain control of her mirth, and he ignored the cocked eyebrow of the decorator and the evidence of disapproval in his tone. At her teasing question, Bruce shot her a warning glance that might have looked sterner than he’d intended before waving a hand at the designer, obviously meaning for him to disregard the query altogether.

“Chop-chop!” he called, holding out a hand with impatiently waving fingers to the pair from his dais on the landing. “We haven’t got all afternoon.”

“Sure we have,” Bruce murmured as they began to climb the stairs. “Anyone would think that he was the one paying me.” Finally gaining the man’s company and quickly being lead through a series of corridors and larger more open galleries, Bruce was unable to help himself from wrinkling his nose at the man’s perfume. It was not cologne, rather something fruity, woodsy and so feminine that the Wayne who was generally tolerant of most things found himself holding his breath. The undercurrent of male pheromones was hitched in the wake of the designer as well, and Bruce found himself suddenly sick to his stomach. Jesus, he thought to himself. He was definitely going to have to make this quick.

Those very select few who had actually seen the master bedroom at Bruce’s penthouse apartment atop Wayne Tower would have been blown away by its sheer minimalistic opulence. The masculine undertones there in the apartment were understandable, even required, but here at Wayne Manor the hand of the late Mrs. Wayne reached out even from beyond the grave to add a feminine flair with drapes or other soft furnishings. The walls were predominantly a creamy white, classical and stately, and when they reached the master bedroom Bruce felt a shock of familiar recognition. His parents’ bed had been burned to nothing but ashes in the fire that had destroyed the home, and he was glad that the destruction had lent him the courage to change things.

The room was large and empty. A heavy walnut king-sized bed took the main stage abutting a wall between two large convex windows that overlooked the front of the estate. The mattress was stripped and mocking; a nun without the familiarity of her habit to keep her safe from judgemental stares. Taking in a deep breath of the stale, un-lived in air, Bruce turned to look at Barbara and see her reaction. “This is one of the few rooms left to redecorate. I hope it’s not too awkward for you. A few colors and fabrics and we’ll be out of here.” He ignored the loud ‘tut’ from his decorator.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara, now fully armed for Bruce’s quips, only showed a grin to his remark about payment. Her hand graced the railing as the trio began climbing the staircase and she briefly glanced to man at her side, wondering what life was like for someone so wealthy. He drove up to the mansion and spoke about it like he was a building a dollhouse for a friend’s kid in his garage. He walked the grounds as if the gardening was the most unnecessary of all, but he had nowhere else to spend the money and this decorator, who obviously did not come by cheap, was dealt with begrudgingly. Bruce seemed all in all uninterested in the life he was rebuilding around him and though Barbara did feel a tinge of jealously for it, she did not hate him for it. He did good things for Gotham when his hand was needed, such as the rebuilt hospital. But still … she couldn’t help but notice how easy all this glitz and glamour came to him.

The worst of it all was when the three were marched into hallways and rooms like a quick tour of someone’s home. Her steps grew slower than the pair in front of her as much began to catch her eye and she naturally felt the urge to gawk. Having never seen the first mansion in its glory, she was quite taken aback by the details of the unfinished home. As her eyes stared into the elaborate detail of a drawn back curtain, her peripheral vision realized how far behind she was. Quickening her pace, she noted the disinterest of the home around them by the two and felt like that child who’s being shown something for the first time while the parents have it memorized.

The girl’s nose wrinkled; whatever, she had no shame in gawking. That’s the reason rich people built homes like this anyway. For their guests to stare.

Once entering the master bedroom, her eyes attempted to measure the size and compare to her own. That idea in itself caused a slight grin on her face, but mixed with mostly shock. The bed in itself was ‘unfinished’ by lacking sheets, but between the two large windows it looked glorious. Waking up to this room, even in its bare glory, would cause anyone to feel like royalty. Turning to look at Bruce as he glanced to her, she just then decided this would never be the life she wanted. If the excess money caused people to not see the value of certain things, such as loving your home for being home and not just a stately place to live, then she would gladly deny any riches. While she would love a raise at her job or a better paying one, she smiled briefly to herself, happy that Bruce was the one burdened with his wealth. He seemed to take it well.

“Oh, not at all,” she scoffed, waving her hand as she took the time to stare around the room without having to keep up with the two. “My room is a cream colored disaster, so this feels like home to me.” She strut herself a little further away from her host to glance up and down the walls, trying to ignore the little subtle nuances of the decorator (was that smell him?). “Plus I get to see the famous Bruce Wayne’s decorating tastes –“ she started with a laugh, turning to briefly glance at the decorator. “Well … sort of.”

[Bruce Wayne]

The decorator looked less than pleased with the pair, but Bruce could have cared less. He smirked at Barbara’s comments before allowing her to wander as she pleased, feeling a leetle bit like a jerk for having dragged her here (but not really or he would have had to put up with the frightening man on his right all on his lonesome!). Whilst he was more than happy to humour Alfred in being more involved with the rebuilding of the Manor, he wasn’t about to be completely dictated to. He looked around the room, considering the size, the shape, lighting and of course his own personality. He loathed waking up in bright rooms. “Charcoal grey,” he mandated with a definite tone of finality. “All four walls. “Walnut finishes to match the bed – all of the other furniture should be walnut too, of course. “

“Don’t you think that will be a little bit drab?” the decorator asked, his face painted with concern. “You know. Dark on dark?”

Bruce smiled sardonically. “You have no idea.” He nodded. “Dark on dark it is.”

“Well,” the decorator said in a tone that clearly denoted he was not yet ready to give up entirely, “Can I add a splash of lemon?” Seeing the look on Bruce’s face, he rescinded. “Okay, sky blue?” Getting nowhere fast in the approval department, he sighed. “Okay, pale grey. My final offer. And...” he added with the interruption of a cautionary finger, “There will be gilt frames.”

Shrugging, Bruce abandoned the decorator and began to wander back to where Barbara was standing. He had more or less decided on some form of (non-girly) lighter color anyway. Whatever.

He paused next to the girl, wondering how he could entertain her now that they were all the way out of the city and had made the oh-so-important decisions he had come here to make. He rolled his eyes as the decorator gestured helplessly behind his back; Bruce catching the man’s reflection in a waiting-to-hang mirror. “I hope you don’t have a big, hulking jealous boyfriend that you were supposed to have lunch with,” he teased her. “Because I’d hate to get beaten up. It would ruin my image.”

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara’s eyes began to wander over the bare room, imagining the endless possibilities with Mister Wayne’s endless pocketbook. Though she enjoyed imagining wild posts made of pure gold and a diamond armoire, her ears pulled her out of an imaginary land of certain impossibilities to hear the infamous heir ask for nothing particularly special. Her eyebrows lifted up slightly in surprised, which also coincided with her coming across a window and a fabulous view of the green that barely existed within Gotham’s skyscrapers. Her arms crossed over her body in a comfortable manner and she paused, staring at the window and imagined waking up to this view every morning … not the wonderful view kindly bestowed on her growing up: a brick wall and a fire escape with rusting spots that would surely displease any safety inspector. Her finger reached out to press against the glass, pushing against it slightly to test its sturdiness (though she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done had it not been properly set … he was a big guy – she could out run him).

Her shoulders tightened slightly as first when she heard his voice directly behind her, but what really caught her off guard was the idea of some big, hulk-like boyfriend beating him up. She clenched her jaw shut but the laugh snorted out her nose and she immediately dropped her head, putting the back of her hand up against her mouth to cover the large grin. Barbara wasn’t exactly sure which was funnier: having a boyfriend at all (her luck with men was astounding) or this imaginary man beating Bruce Wayne up. Turning to face him, she glanced up over her hand which slowly moved down and her opened her mouth, the grin still lingering even as the laugh subsided.

“No, no, you’re fine. No boyfriends here,” she admitted rather loudly but without shame; her single life had been long and proud and she wasn’t about to be ashamed of it because of him. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, her eyebrows rose as she obviously had a further comment. “Though I can’t say your image is exactly safe with me. I haven’t been in any magazines or photoshoots lately …” she grinned slightly, finally feeling she had some sort of upper hand of teasing on him.

“That is your type, right? Models, athletes, bimbos, the elites?” she drew a circle in the air careless, purposefully sandwiching the third between real answers to hide it among the list. 0

[Bruce Wayne]

Unable to keep his eyebrows from raising when she explained that she didn’t have a boyfriend, Bruce followed it up with a soft laugh, dipping his chin to his chest in a bid to hide his amusement. Her comments about his ‘image’ such as it was, was enough to inflame it again and his laugh this time was much louder and to the point. If she only knew... “I’m sure I can make an exception,” he teased her. “After all, youare a redhead and that has to give you at least 10 points. Assuming that it’s your natural hair color.” Smiling at her cheekily, he took her hand and lead her out of the room, leaving the decorator to his ‘thing’ now that Bruce had provided certain directions.

“Is there anything in particular you wanted to see while you’re here?” he continued in his teasing tone. “I mean, you’ve already seen the bedroom.”

((BLAH! Sorry for the craptasticness, hon. ))

[Barbara Gordon]

“Oooh,” she began her long, sarcastic exclamation with a look upwards which turned into a half-roll of the eyes. Certain reactions came naturally to her and ignored (for better or worse) the company she was with; such an audacious flirt was usually greeted with this half callous behavior, which had been her style from the beginning of this up until she realized (more like was told) who he was. But even Bruce Wayne could not sway her from thinking such a line cheesy and over-arrogant, leading to her tone and the raise of her hand, as if to dismiss the rest of the house as useless. Even without the line, however, she would have rejected seeing the rest of the house as she didn’t want to feel like an awe-struck tourist. Even if this meeting had strictly been business she wouldn't have wanted it. “WELL then. I guess I’m done here.”

Turning towards the door and taking a step towards it, there was something in here that burned for him to know who she was, though the reasoning was quite petty. Despite him being used to it, she didn’t like the feeling of being in the presence of someone so ‘great’ with nothing to counter him on. She ironically hated flaunting her father’s job or using it to her advantage and would never offer it up willingly, but it didn’t stop her from imaging her father calling her in this very moment.

Then again, she would be mortified and probably silence it.

(( LOL it's almost been a year. How ridiculous! Sorry for that and the crap-le-ness. ))

[Bruce Wayne]

Raising his brows in latent surprise at her rejection but not entirely checked by it, Bruce simply allowed Barbara to wander ahead of him and out of the door. She was a nice-seeming girl and her lack of interest in a home that any gold-digging young woman would have been chuffed to explore (in the hopes it would one day be her home too) made his regard for her kick up a notch. She was decent, and he appreciated that. In a life where almost everyone knew his daytime self and showered him with deference and simpering and where people regarded his night-time self with a kind of petrified awe it was nice to be put back on the shelf for once.

“Then I could take you where you need to go? I’d hate to keep you from anything more pressing you might have on your agenda,” he said, his offer genuine and his tone completely different from the one he had just used. He strolled down the corridor, pleased in general with what the day was turning out.