》The Ugliest Trait (Bat Boys • Reader)《

2: A Night To Remember (pt 2)

Alfred didn't want to admit it, but he felt the same way. Everything was a little too subtle, and calm, and going their way for it to be another day in Gotham. In the pit of his stomach, he felt like a change was going to happen that  night, and it wasn't going to be something small. Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, Alfred frowned deeply and kept a piece of his mind to himself.

No more words were exchanged between the two, as there was nothing else to be said. Bruce tilted his head back against the seat and rested his eyes as he listened to the somewhat soothing sound of friction between the road and the car's four tires.

~

"Ay, ay!"

Your father cursed beneath his breath after pulling up to the old mattress warehouse at the docks. Bonfires littered the area, along with whores and thugs that stood in large groups either gambling, exchanging greatly exaggerated experiences in the past week, or passing around a blunt. Your dad didn't want to be here, not anymore, but he had to or else you and your mother's lives would be on the line. He stepped out of the car and began to approach the tall man that stood just outside of the warehouse.

"Marcel," he hollered back, grasping the tattered shoebox that he kept hidden.

"F/N! My boy, I haven't seen ya in a minute," the dark skinned male greeted as he met your father halfway. "How's M/N and Y/N?"

"Um, they're--"

"Cool, cool!" Roughly patting his back, he forced him to start heading inside. Marcel draped an arm around his shoulders and gave a nod to one of the women loitering along the building. She nodded in return and pushed herself off of the wall, strutting away with determination in her eyes.

On the inside, there was nothing but clouds of marijuana and Newports amongst stoned people of all ages from teens to aged adults. There was a couple of dirtied mattresses against the walls, some even on the ground with half dressed women slumped upon them. Some plastic chairs were flipped and missing legs here and there. Tables were filled with shady looking men as they played dominoes, slamming the pieces on the surface. But what really stood out was the man blinged out to the max, surrounded by armed women that passed a colorful glass pipe.

He sat perched on a platform that came from when the second floor used to exist, hanging above all of activities, his legs dangling with the latest Jordan's on his feet. His pale skin was littered with tattoos of sayings in mostly Chinese and random scriptures from Bible. He had dark eyes that were hidden by the NY baseball cap and low cut curly hair. This man watched Marcel and your father walk right up to the center of the warehouse and look up at him expectantly.

He loomed over them silently for what seemed like forever before smiling a yellow toothy grin. "I'm glad you could make it, F/N," he called out through laughter. "I was thinkin' I was  gonna have to pull up to your crib, fam. Put a hole your girl, ya know?"

Your father didn't acknowledge his words, and set the shoebox on the dirty floor. "Look, Jamal," he sighed a bit shakily. "I got all of it in the box. I don't want to be apart of this anymore, man."

Jamal rolled his eyes and held his hand up. A red haired woman no older than 23 removed the cigarette from between her cherry red lips and gave it over to him. He quickly brought it to his mouth and sucked on it a couple of times, just to exhale smoke through his nostrils. When he was done, he threw it down without even caring where it landed. "So you just leaving us like that?"

"Just like that. I've done everything you asked, I've been loyal to... this, and I'm tired."

"Oh, you tired?"

"I am."

"You tired, boss?"

"Hell yeah, man. M/N is tired of it, too. She knows what I'm doing and has been getting on me about it. We have a little girl we need to take care off, Jamal. I don't want her exposed to this lifestyle."