12346/Good Help is Hard to Find - and then there's Alfred.

Good Help is Hard to Find - and then there's Alfred.
Date of Scene:	08 August 2022
Location:	Second Floor Landing - Wayne Manor
Synopsis:	Phoebe is observing her love of liminal spaces again as she haunts the empty ballroom's second floor landing with Idu. Alfred is taking matters into his own hands regarding a boar. IDU WANTS TO HELP HUNT! Idu is absolutely the best boy. Phoebe can't lie to Alfred when it comes to anything -- it's safe to assume that the Bat knows everything that goes on in Gotham, but Alfred Pennyworth knows *everything* that goes on in the household.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Alfred Pennyworth

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Out over the ballroom, the strings of a well-tuned guitar float over the empty room from the second floor landing that overlooks the room, the fingers picking out the chords to Bridge Over Troubled Water as they meander their way over the empty room, hanging like invisible spider webs.

    Phoebe sat beneath a purple and pink blanket, strumming an amber-colored acoustic guitar, with hand-written chords in front of her. The red-and-white sight hound was splooted long-ways nearby her, enjoying the cool of the wood floor on his stomach.

    Phoebe's head still has her close shorn hair, though it looks like she's tried to lighten it. Her calloused fingers wander strings and frets, concentrating on the guitar frets rather than the frets outside of her mind.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Emerging from the family wing, Alfred is uncharacteristically and noticably grumpy as he muttered to himself under his breath along the lines of doing something himself. A broken down shotgun hung under one arm, the muzzle draped over his wrist, while a pristine looking leather case was tucked under the opposite.

    Phoebe's presence and the soft chords pulled him from whatever seemed to be bothering him as his countenance softened slightly and he cleared his thought politely after listening to her for an interlude. "Miss Beacon, good evening. I didn't mean to intrude - is everything well?" he inquired as he glided the short distance to stand beside her. "I could have a pot of tea drawn up, if you'd like."

    There was another beat as he glanced down at the arms and case in the pits of his arms and pursed his lips, "Perhaps something with lavender or the like?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    -Good evening Alfred- Phoebe signs, sitting up as she stiffens, as if caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The magician takes a deep breath, and she shakes her head, holding up a hand. She definitely appreciated the thought though, the smile that Alfred is favored with afterwards definitely shows how much the teen likes him -- though she tries to not cause him in particular any trouble.

    She looks to the firearm, and her eyebrows rise up as she points to the rifle, and then adds a shrug, raised eyebrows, wondering what it was about. After all, it was... actually weird to see firearms around any of the Batfam.

    Except Jason. Kate. Carrie. There was a list. She accepted it was a thing.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Taking a brief moment of thought, Alfred crouched down to offer the hound a moment of attention before taking a seat beside the impromptu blanket nest and letting out an exasperated sigh as he offered the young lady a smile. "No, I suppose it's not as wonderful a cure all as i'd like to hope at times, hm?" he acknowledged as he set the case down between the two of them and rest the shotgun in his lap, pointing safely down the hall despite it's broken down nature.

    "You know, good help is so hard to find these days. Would you believe, a boar has broken onto the grounds somewhere?" he explained, letting out a dry laugh. "We had someone about today and they cited it might take a week - paid, mind you - to track it down and deal with it," he continued, patting the firearm. "I figured i'd take a leaf from all of your books and handle it myself."

    There was another beat as he considered his words, turning to squint at Phoebe in his paternal fashion. "Perhaps i'll find my step again and join you all leaping about rooftops. But - until then, there's never really anything wrong with making use of the manor for it's true purpose - a home."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe lets down some of the blanket, showing the broken skin of her left shoulder -- incident that landed her in Thompkin's care. Her eyes go between the rifle and the butler as she raised her eyebrows again, listening to him talk about hunting down a boar.

    Idu, at the sound of any sort of hunt, rolls from getting scritches to paying attention, his long ears drawing up and blue eyes focusing on Alfred's words, his curled-over tail giving just the slightest of wags.

    Phoebe takes up her notes and pulls a pencil from her bag, and she writes on the back.

    Good help = hard to find (with a big check mark, that gets circled).

    Think Bruce would have a heart attack if you started fighting crime. Might be forced to a vacation.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    A quick - if practiced - cursory glance over the exposed injury is Alfred's only reaction at first, searching for any signs of worsening. It isn't his first and unfortunately not likely to be his last time seeing a member of the family injured. His head listed to the side as he watched Phoebe writing and then broke into laughter while rolling his eyes.

    "True. Very true... I think I could have given Master Bruce a run back in my day though. This boar though, likely just my speed - maybe make an outing of it, hm?" he replied, offering a nod to the hound's curiosity before turning back to the teenage magician.

    "Sometimes people need a little more help getting better, Miss Beacon. If not physically than otherwise, and you know that's nothing to be ashamed of, right? There's no reason to take after the lot of them in -that- regard," he offered a little more seriously. "How have you been sleeping?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe leans back, fingers idly picking notes as Alfred speaks. The hound seems very keen on hunting, and reaches up with a white paw to brush against Alfred's knee and give a warbling, yodeling complaint instead of a bark, and then a huff as he settles down. His tail still wags though, happily. Hunting and protecting people, just the dog for the job!

    Phoebe pauses her strumming a moment, and then she slides the guitar to the side a moment as she draws up a knee.

    She drops her gaze to the floor, but even trying to lie to Alfred while mute would be tough - not just for his skill, but also... he cared.

    She shakes her head, and scribbles down:

    -Poorly
    -Coughing up blood from throat injury
    -Don't tell Tim. He worries.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Idly scratching at the hound's paw, Alfred frowns during the nigh-silence after the guitar was set aside. It was obvious he was making an effort to not follow the scratching of the pencil as his alarm was raised slightly and his studious gaze went back to searching up and down Phoebe's frame for something he might have missed.

    As soon as he caught the entirety of the missive his eyes widened slightly. "What of your breathing?" he asked quickly, patting himself down and huffing to himself as whatever he was looking for was apparently in his other jacket. "Tim -is- worried, young lady. We all are, and it's not going to do you any good trying to put on a facade for us all," he admonished as he rose up on one knee to lean in closer.

    "Is it physical discomfort keeping you up? Having to favor one side or another? Or something up here?" he asked as he immediately softened while tapping his head. "I can help with both, but one is going to be a little easier than the other and only if you quit trying to handle it yourself," he continued before pausing and the weak and wry smile returned. "Which I realize is contrary to what we were just talking about - but I promise i've been doing this long enough to vaguely qualify as 'good help.'"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe lets her shoulders slack, the teen withdrawing slightly before she takes a breath, and her weight shifts. It's already difficult to get out without trying to thin things, but instead she leans her head back, she considers a moment, and she looks over to Alfred, and she closes her eyes a moment, her head bowing forward.

    <Nightmares.> she writes. <I try to scream. The vocal chords haven't grown back. 6 mos. maybe. It irritates everything and I asperate. Like my lungs are trying to flush the curse out.>

    She pauses. <I failed. But I am the only one who got hurt. I still won.>

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Alfred nods as his brow furrows in understanding. Reaching out, he pats the top of Phoebe's hand before gingerly giving her a squeeze and then sitting back on the heel of his foot. "You didn't -fail- at anything, miss. Where do you all get these crazy ideas?" he asked, abandoning his weak attempts at disarming the situation with humor as his voice dropped.

    "We're all learning - even in these defeats, and we all pick ourselves up one way or another. The only way you can fail, young lady, is to give up," he continued as he clasped his hands atop his knee and rest his chin atop them in thought.

    "I'm familiar with the nightmares. I assure you they pass. I spent some time, it was '78 or '79, on the -other- side of the wall in Germany. There was a young girl who lived near where I was 'living.' To make a short story of it, she was... hurt, playing with some unexploded ordnance, and I saw it happen - tried to stop her, even. I woke up falling out of bed for almost a year, trying to get to her in my sleep. But it -did- pass, miss. They all pass, with the right kind of support."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She turns, and looks up to Alfred. Everyone knows that Alfred 'used to be' a badass. It was common knowledge. The man had Skills beyond their meager ken and still chooses to support all of them, and she looks up to Alfred. She closes her eyes, imagining that sort of pain. She presses her lips together, and then something that does not happen particularly often, she just very lightly leans against him. Phoebe, who is historically touch-avoidant, leaning against Alfred with the shielding of the pink and purple blanket.

    -I'm sorry- she signs with one hand, her lips pursing a moment, her fingers brushing against the front of her throat, where gauze was hiding her unhealing injury.

    She reaches down for the pencil, and writes down:

    <What helped?>

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    Allowing himself to be used as a literal support, Alfred lifted a hand to offer her a pat on her forearm to pointedly avoid her shoulders. "No need to apologize, miss - it was my job. Just like what you all deal with every night and every night i'm reminded of what a privilege it is to be a part of your efforts," he responded quickly; perhaps too quickly, as he was taken slightly aback.

    "I suppose just... handling the next task at hand. Exercise. I made a point of leaving some treats for the family: chocolates, and the like. She had a younger brother, you see, and things were tight on that side of the wall," he finally explained in response to the question. "When your own light is a little weaker, I found it helps to try and brighten the existence of others to make the world less dark."

    "The important thing is to keep going. If that means I have to spend nights up with you on a list of people to worry about while you do your thing, than so be it. I don't think you're quite ready to become a homebody, even if you aren't feeling it yourself just yet."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    -That requires having a home instead of someone's house I crash in- Phoebe signs, and she lifts herself up. Awkward teens are awkward. She stretches her arms upward a little, and she frowns, and settles back down. Idu wiggles his butt. Hunt?

    She reaches to scritch against Idu's ears, and gives a smile as she takes a deep breath.

    -You have enough people to worry about. No one else heals their bumps and bruises like I do.- she signs with a rueful smile towards the butler, and then gives another sign of 'thank you'.

Alfred Pennyworth has posed:
    There's a moment of thought as he deciphered the signing, nodding to himself for a moment as he mouthed to himself and then shook his head dismissively. "As I recall, it's all quite official, hm? As much your home as it is anyone elses," he replied with a quiet laugh. "Or do you plan on coming up with some other excuse to avoid it, miss?" he teased as he slid back to a seated position to give the girl her space as she stretched.

    "Besides - you probably leave the least to pick up after. Though if you'd like some pointers in getting out certain stains, especially from bathrom hardware, i'd be happy to help," Alfred offered tellingly, shrugging in a helpless fashion.

    The last string of signing required just as much concentration, eliciting a roll of his eyes. "Yes, of course - like you do. You're certainly a Wayne, young lady, in spirit if not in blood."