A light rain was still falling outside. A cold morning mist drifted over the Gotham River, and the dark green leaves in the shrubs beside the walkway resembled gentlemen's cravats, holding on to the raindrops that had lingered with them through the night.
When Alfred opened the front door, everyone in the living room instinctively drew a breath. Yet what came in from outside was not coldness, but a fresh, slightly damp air. As the moist breeze brushed past their temples, it left everyone feeling invigorated.
This manor, which had stood here for decades, had never been as lively as it was today. At the long dining table laid with an azure striped tablecloth and silk runner, Thomas Wayne sat at the head, Bruce in the first seat to his right, with Damian seated opposite him.
Everyone else sat facing their other selves, and their movements were remarkably alike. The two Dicks sat upright with their hands on their laps, staring at the plates before them, though their heads drooped with sleepiness.
The two Jasons each propped up their heads with one hand while idly playing with the cutlery before them with the other. From time to time, they glanced around at the people beside them, then looked back at the food on their plates.
Both Tims held newspapers with furrowed brows, trying to find some potentially useful information in the morning news.
Barbara sat at the very end, holding a white notebook and sketching away with a pen, seemingly designing a concert poster.
Alfred stood behind Thomas and placed a goblet before him. Thomas picked up his spoon and lightly tapped the rim of the glass. He set down the spoon, raised his glass, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin."
In silent unison, everyone picked up their