Never underestimate the power breakfast has on your mood.
Damien was always an early riser. Even with his nightly escapades and his schooling. He never needed much sleep, anyway. His body was honed for such things. The only person within the household that was awake before him was the butler, Alfred. His school was out on holiday, and he was given the night off by his father, so today he slept in. He would have gladly slept til the late hour of of six, but a high pitched beeping roused him. Looking out his third story bedroom window, a large white delivery truck was backing up to the backdoor of the manor, where the servants corridor lied. The winter sun had yet to rise, so the red lights of the truck cast a ghoulish look on the snow. Curious, he began to dress. As he made his way down the stairs, he could hear voices wafting through the halls. He could here Alfred's voice instructing where to place whatever delivery had come in, the shuffle of feet, and the grunts. He was about to dismiss whatever was going on until he heard a woman speak, a voice he had committed to memory.
"Finally gave up on your son handling delivery, Andre?" It was Lady Alexandera, her low voice strained with what seemed to be a yawn. Damien stood just beyond the doorway to the kitchen, keeping out of sight as he observed the scene. A hulking mass of a man leaned down to gently place down a box of what looked like small gourds. Three more men, Lady Alexanderas' employees, were bustling around, placing the food where Alfred designated, while the Lady herself carried a smaller box of fruit under one arm, an old thermos in the other. The giant of a man stood with a grunt, before responding.
"Like hell I'd send my son to delivery to you, you'd bite his head off for fucking your order last time he dropped by." Andre smiled, revealing missing teeth, "Besides, I had to see it for myself. Our very own Alex, schmoosing it up with the Waynes!" Andre gave playful punch to Alexandera's arm, causing her to spill what looked to be coffee onto the ground. Damien's gaze narrowed at the act. That was no way to treat a Lady, let alone your superior. He was glad to see Lady Alexandera scoff, scolding him for the action.
"Dude, not the coffee arm." the Chef, placed her own box down, grabbing a towel from her ever present apron, and cleaning up the spill.
"Sorry, Girly." Andre did not sound the least bit sorry, leaving Damien nonplussed. Such rudeness. Alexandera stood once more, tossing the towel at Andre.
"Sure you are, Andre, sure you are. How much more you got?" the Chef sipped her coffee, staring at the boxes around her as her boys went to pick them up.
"One more run. That'll be the meats, but my sister should be done dressing them by noon."
"That late?"
"Her new baby has been keeping her busy."
"Oh yeah, she popped out a crotch goblin. Tell her she has my condolences." Damien's eyes widen at the remark, as Andre laughed.
"I'll tell her you said that after she puts her cleaver up." With that, he handed Alexandera a clipboard, which she signed. They shook hands and the lumbering man ducked out the door. Damien wanted to keep watching from the shadows, why he wasn't sure, but his plans were preemptively foiled by Alfred.
"Good morning, Young Master. Would you like something to eat this morning." Damien straightened his vest as he walked in, trying not to show any inkling of his spying. Though it seemed Alfred always seemed to know when he was around.
"Good morning Alfred. No, I'm not hungry this morning." Damien turned to the Lady, and inclined his head in greeting. "Good morning, Lady Chef." It was always a delight to see her scowl at the name.
"Still ain't a lady, Kid." Was the standard retort. "Why're you up so early, Smokebomb?" Damien sat in a chair near the corner, where a nearly unused breakfast nook stood.
"Whatever do you mean?" The chef scowled at his prim tone, rolling her eyes.
"Don't kids your age sleep in? I know schools out, you should be dead to the world right now." Damien accepted the mug of tea Alfred silently placed infront of him.
"That would be a waste of my time. I have many things to do in a day, too much to lie around." Damien inhaled the scent of his tea, cardamon. It reminded him briefly of home.
"Why am I not surprised by that." The Chef shook her head, while she took a seat next to the boy. "Well what are your plans, Kid?"
"I am no child, and my plans are my own." Damien savoured his first sip, warmth flooding his body. He smirked into his cup as he watched the Lady snort in irritation. "Are you going to be cooking today?" Alexandera sighed, leaning back dangerous far in her chair, two of its feet leaving the ground.
"Not too much, lots of prep and some baking. Most of it going to be cooked tomorrow." The Chef ran a hand through her hair, a custom Damien observed her do often, though at the moment her hair was not in its custom pony tail, nor haphazard bun. It was odd to see it down, but not uncomely. "You should eat breakfast though. You're young, you'll need the energy."
Alfred gave a hum from his place behind the kitchen island, generously pouring coffee for the chefs' men. "Good luck with that battle, Miss Fox. He rarely eats breakfast."
"Kid, you need to eat breakfast." There wasn't worry in her tone, nor was it a plea. It sounded like a statement, an order.
"I am rarely hungry in the mornings, and with my schedule, I find it a waste of time to force myself eat." Damien took another sip from his mug.
"But you have time for tea? Too busy for breakfast, my ass." There was a clack when the chairs two feet hit the floor. Alexandera, swiftly stood, grabbing something from the box she had been carrying. Damien caught an orange tossed in his direction, not bothering to look when he did so.
"You could of hit me, throwing such a thing at me." The Chef snorted, grumbling back.
"Good. Might knock some sense into you. Eat." A definitive order. One Damien decided to follow, if only to appease the woman. He peeled the orange, making a show of biting into the first slice, as if silently mocking the Lady. Alfred ever the silent audience, smiled as he gathered the silver tray with Master Waynes' breakfast. It was nice to see the Young Master getting along with his friend.
Bruce Wayne was used to rising early, despite his night job, though it was always a struggle with how sore he usually was. A soft clink alerted him of his faithful butler placing his customary breakfast on the bedside table.
"Good morning, Bruce. Eggs benedict, melon, coffee, and the paper. I believe you are on page three, pertaining to your event tomorrow night. The media is in a frenzy with you holding the dinner at the manor." A small paper cup was offered, holding aspirin, which Bruce grabbed tiredly. Washing down the pills with a swig of coffee. Bruce pushed himself up before he began to eat. "Miss Fox is also here, she and her employees will be working to prepare for tomorrow. Damien is currently downstairs with her." Bruce swallowed the sweet fruit, streching as he asked,
"Has she roped him into working again?"
"No Sir, But she was able to get him to eat an orange as breakfast, though I've no doubt she will try to get him to eat more." Bruce's brow raised, getting Damien to eat breakfast was an impressive feat.
"Will you be working in the office?" Alfred asked blandly, making it clear that he would prefer Bruce to stay above ground.
"Yes, Lucius sent me a few email regarding some deals over at the Tower. I can't ignore those." Alfred smiled, knowing that Bruce would be busy doing something safe.
"I'll go get the car ready then, Sir."
"Fuck." A snap was heard, causing Alexandera to to drop her hands from her hair, searching the ground for her now broken hair tie. Damien looked up from the table, watching as the Lady bent to pick up the forlorn string.
"Are you well?" Damien asked, as the Chef tossed the hair tie in the trash, before inspecting her wrist and pockets.
"Pony tail snapped, and I don't have a spare like I normally do." Damien watched as she grabbed a rubber band from a bundle of celery, face set in frustration. "This'll have to do."
"Why do you seem put off by it?" Damien wondered, standing to put his now empty mug in the sink. Alexandera rolled her eyes, grumbling out in a tone of shame.
"It hurts when I pull it out." The childish reply almost made Damien smile. Almost.
"It cant be that bad." an angry voice shot out.
"You ain't got long hair like mine, besides... I'm tender headed."
"If I recall, you once said that you can stand quite a bit of pain, what with you working in the kitchen." Pride swelled as Damien watched the chef frown, looking away in a huff.
"Yeah, well, that's a different matter." The chef crossed her arms indignantly. "It's also unsafe, and unsanitary to have long hair down when cooking. First rule of fight club, you know?" Damien did not know, but he did understand her wanting to keep her food safe.
"Wait here." Damien used his most authoritative tone, before walking out of the kitchen. There was something she could use... if he could find it. The walk to his room went quickly, and he through his closet door open, turning the light on. Clean pressed shirts hung from the dowel, suit jackets and slacks covered in protective sleeves pressed to one side. A small box was settle high on the shelves but it was no matter to pull it down and open it up. His academy had given these to new students, in an effort to get the to show 'team spirit' if they ever attended sporting events in the their name. Damien had immediently tossed it aside, for he had no plans to attend such frivolities, but now it may just come in handy. An unused Gotham Academy baseball hat lay to one side, its blue and gold embroidery stiff and pronounced. Damien pulled it out and began to walk back, leaving the box on the floor. Alfred would put it back later. As he made his way back down the stairs, he heard the front door close. Most likely his father leaving for his day job. Alexandera was instructing two of her men with orders to chop onions and garlic, while another was weighing flour.
"I believe," he started, garnering the chef's attention, "that this may help." Damien held the hat towards the woman, who grabbed it almost gently.
"I mean, yeah. This could work." She began to loosen the back strap. "You sure I can use this?" Damien nodded and watched as she pulled her hair through the back hole, tightening it to her head. It fit, if only a little tightly, but it suited her in some way.
"This should be an adequate substitute, for the time being." Damien tensed when Alexandera place a hand on his head, ruffling his hair in a familiar manner.
"Thanks, Smokebomb." Damien, in a rare show of emotion, smiled.
"Your welcome, Lady Chef."
Okay, next chapter will be the dinner. I was going to put it in this chapter, but I'm getting tired. What do ya'll think of Damiens relationship with Alexandera?