Displeased seems to be the word that comes to mind with it. Trying to ascertain the particular reason for his displeasure was more difficult to unearth, however. Or in Alfred's words: powered by sheer refusal and stubbornness of the facts. Facts he personally considered to be furthest from the truth.
He’d probably just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. The coffee tasted wrong. And his chair seemed to squeak and creak from every little movement. And the Batmobile was making a noise every time he’d turned on the engine.
There was just something frightfully amiss and he couldn’t even figure it out. An impossible itch he can’t seem to scratch. All while his thoughts wandered towards and away from her. He didn’t seem to like that either which only put his already dower disposition more sullen as he picked up the tool box and demanded the rest of his day be cleared so he could focus on what seemed to sound like a nail being caught between gears. Disassembling some of the larger parts that held the engine in place before stepping back to get a hook into it and pulling it out.
Stilling when he sees something to his peripheral and gritting his teeth when he recognizes her shape.
“ Are you even really here? “
@pndorawrites .
