And The Winner Is... (Pt. 1)
"Master Wayne, why did I let you talk me into this?" Alfred sighed as he steered the rental car down another country road. Bruce had another pissing match with Clark, and this time it was on whether Ma Kent or Alfred could cook better. Bruce had been bragging about how all of Alfred's culinary training led him to be one of the bests chefs he knew. Clark would not have anyone dis his Ma's cooking.
"Because Alfred, we all know you're the best chef around," the yawned reply echoed from the back of the car. Despite flying in on a private jet, Bruce had still slept terribly, and was properly jet lagged.
"If you say so. But to me, my old nan's country cooking was, and still is, the best I'll ever taste," Alfred sighed as he turned down the last road. He signalled into the Kent's long driveway, up towards the iconic farm house. Stepping out, he opens the door for Bruce, waking him up a little in the process.
"There you are! You two look absolutely starved! I'm sure between myself and Alfred, we can get some meat on yer bones," Ma Kent gushed, enveloping both Bruce and Alfred in a back breaking, country mother hug.
"Yes, yes, Miss Kent. A pleasure to meet you," Bruce curtly replied.
"And apologies for this meeting to be on such awkward terms," Alfred promptly added.
"Nonsense!" Ma Kent laughed, "Just my little Clarkie-kins trying to uphold my honour and dignity again."
"Ma," Clark interrupted, walking out from the parlor, "Could you not call me that in front of Mr. Wayne?"
"Really now, we're all good friends here," Bruce tittered through a smirk, "Right Clarkie-kins?"
Trying to hide the extreme shade of red his face took on, Clark muttered something about the kitchen and waving people into it. The four of them walked through the house, past some childhood pictures of Clark, past a few doors, and into the Kent house's large kitchen.
