The stuffed animals are a trap; somehow, still, at nearly 50 years old, Bruce also spends some time observing the wall of them. He picks up an orca one, turns it over, some stray memory about the company that used to manufacture them drifting by his consciousness. "I used to get Richard a million of these," he says, normal, like this is something he talks about at all, "because he grew up with all these exotic animals. He was always trying to get me to buy a ten-foot boa constrictor, or a zebra. The horses were barely a compromise."

Orca goes back on the shelf. Soft and lovey-eyed. Alfred would not like it. (As if he gets Alfred anything the man would actually like.)

"Jason always wanted knives or C4. So he also got stuffed animals."

Parenting. He looks over at the mugs.

"Mm, which is the worst?"