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"Welcome Officers, please refrain from parking on the grass. It's freshly mown."
With that the intercom goes silent and the grate starts to slowly open, the Gilded W splitting down the center, Hawthorne grunts a response and slowly you take the winding road to the front of Wayne manor.
"Holt shit. You weren't lying, this place is huge and I don't just mean the house." You say as you stare out the window. "Is that a graveyard? Are those gargoyles?"
"Yep. Martha Wayne had a flair for the gothic. As for the graveyard, Imagine people this rich wouldn't wanna be buried next to any of the poor people." Hawthorne mumbles.
"The Wayne's were philanthropists." You counter. "They were good people."
Hawthorne scoffs.
"They were rich. Spent money to be good people while the rest of us do it the hard way, give a hospital a hundred grand out of your billions and it's philanthropy. Give someone half of a sandwich you spent your last five bucks on and they ain't got a fancy word for it. It's easy for people like Bruce Wayne to be a good person. Harder for the rest of us who actually gotta worry about the real world."
"I thought you warmed up to him after the museum attack?"
"I realized he's not as big a prick as I thought, doesn't mean I like him. But I took a bullet for him and I'd take another if I had to, cause that's the job."
"I think you do like him." You say teasingly as the car parks. "You just can't see past his money and admit it."
"He's the one who stacked it." Hawthorne replies as he cuts the engine and opens the door. "Come on, let's get inside."
You both head for the front door, a set of steps leading to the massive dark wood with glinting brass handles. As Hawthorne lifts his hand to knock the doors swing open and before you stands a tall man with a pencil thin moustache and silver hair. He raises a brow at the both of you before giving a shallow bow and stepping aside.
"Please remove your shoes." He asks simply.
"I don't really feel like walking around bare-" Hawthorne begins but is cut off by a silk covered finger pointing to a small rack by the door filled with various sizes of white tennis shoe.
"Your size should be on the rack, but in the event it is not I have additional footwear in one of the linen closets. These floors are freshly waxed and I'd prefer to not need to clean them again."
"Sorry, but I'm not here to keep the house clean. I'm here to make sure the guy who signs your checks doesn't have anything happen to him." Hawthorne grumbles, standing at his full height.
