Diana's rental house is not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, about two streets away. It's a two-story building with a flower shop downstairs, and her studio and apartment upstairs.
This street is famous for its artists' studios, with many painters, sculptors, and spray paint enthusiasts renting spaces here. Most of them follow the model of having a shopfront on the first floor and a studio and accommodation on the second floor. Diana's house is no exception.
However, the difference is that she is not engaged in creating artwork but is an art critic. Also, as the Amazon Princess, her apartment is used to receive people from various circles, making it quite spacious and decorated with a wild Amazonian style.
The entire house is made of raw wood; both the floor and the walls are wooden. The decorative patterns don't use soft vines but rather rough bark textures, lush branches and leaves, and animal furs. The soft furnishings are more natural and primitive, with the sofa being made entirely of bear skin.
As soon as Bruce entered, he threw himself onto the large sofa in the reception room, spread out his hands, and let out a long sigh.
Clark looked at the new artwork on the hallway shelf, while Diana put down her bag and said, "There are drinks and snacks in the fridge, help yourselves. If you're tired, go to the guest room for a nap, but you're absolutely not allowed to go to my study—if my manuscript gets lost, I'll throw you all into the Fire God's furnace!"
Clark yawned and said, "I'm a bit tired. Lex has a lot of Kryptonite stored at his place, and I felt uncomfortable just being there. I'm going for a nap first."
Hearing this, Bruce sat up from the sofa with a start and said, "How long are you going to sleep? I wanted us to have dinner together tonight..."
"Don't worry, I'll just take a short nap." Clark checked his watch, "It's only two in the afternoon." Then he said, "About two and a half hours, we'll head out at 4:30, avoiding the evening rush."
"There won't be any evening rush." Diana said, "Didn't you see the news just now? The city government has announced a state of emergency, and all roads are under control. Cars can't get into the few streets nearby."
She tidied her hair and sighed, "I still have two articles to finish; I probably won't be done until after five. You might as well watch some TV or go buy a pizza."
"We'll buy it." Bruce immediately said, "Do you have any alcohol at home, or should we get some?"
"I have red wine and ice wine, but you probably won't like them. However, I did stock up on some fruits when the emergency notice was issued. If you buy some base liquor, we can mix our own."
Bruce cheered and went to the kitchen to check the stock. Clark went to nap, and Diana went to work. However, both kept an ear and an eye on Bruce to prevent him from causing too much trouble.
Diana's home boasted a beautiful open kitchen. The cabinets were dark brown lacquered wood, matched with white marble countertops. Amazonian totem weaves hung on the walls. The place originally used for a wine cabinet was filled with various root sculptures.
Bruce picked up a few root sculptures and examined them—they were oddly shaped but nothing special—then he began to check the supplies.
Diana had hoarded lots of lemons, fresh fruits like grapes and melons. Besides that, there were also seasonal raspberry jam and sour plum sauce. Bruce quickly thought of a way to mix something.
When he had nothing to do previously, Bruce had tried cooking. Unfortunately, he had no talent for it: his control over spices wasn't precise, and he often went with sudden inspirations. The results weren't just unpalatable but also looked horrible—putting it kindly, Aisha would shake her head, and it might summon Brand if placed on the ground.
However, since Selina liked sweets, Bruce had tried baking a few times. He had a bit of talent in this area, mainly because the baking system was well-developed, with precise measurements for all types of ingredients; he just needed to follow the recipes. Wayne Manor was equipped with all sorts of machines, leaving little room for failure.
Of course, his desserts were just barely edible. His true forte in the kitchen, though, was bartending.
In America, this was not a niche hobby, and it wasn't just about mixing cocktails in a bar; party drinks were even more popular. If you could handle the drinks at a party, you were definitely the coolest person in the entire school.
Mixing party drinks didn't really require much skill, but because it was simple, making it well wasn't easy: it couldn't be too intoxicating, making people throw up after a few sips, nor too weak, tasting like juice. You had to achieve that subtle tipsy feel. Every party boy and girl knew a skilled bartender.
Why didn't Bruce discover this talent earlier? Because he had no reference—in the whole Multiverse, which Batman would mix party drinks?
Even he discovered this during a school gathering with the Robins; after getting wide praise from his classmates, he unearthed this skill.
After that, Bruce leveraged this advantage, taking over the drink mixing for all his friends' parties. He excelled at fruit wines, especially tropical blends and various plum flavors, which always received positive reviews.
Bruce thought for a bit and found that the ingredients at Diana's place weren't very complete, but he could still make plum wine. The taste might not be as good with jam as with fresh fruits, though.
But he still laid out the raw materials on the island platform and began calculating the amounts, preparing the pots and bowls he would need.
He was busy clanging around in the kitchen while Diana was frantically typing in her study. Her work wasn't as easy as it appeared: she had to submit articles to major art magazines and newspapers regularly. She'd already delayed much of her work due to the Justice League matters and had to catch up quickly.
Diana's study was elegantly decorated, still with all wooden furniture. The bookshelves were made of oddly shaped planks nailed together, and the window frames and sills were uneven, looking very interesting.
More importantly, the room was filled with green plants—on the shelves, desk, window sills, and next to the chairs. Many were brought from the Amazon, specifically adapted to the local climate by Pamela, and they were growing lush and green.
Dingling.
Without looking, Diana picked up the phone beside her: "Hello, what's up?"
"Oh, Your Highness. I just read the manuscript you sent over, and there are a few places that need adjustments. That modern artist Jackson made some... let's say, unflattering comments about the Democrats. Our investors are quite unhappy, so we need to tone down the critique a bit..."
Diana on the other end frowned slightly. She switched the phone to her other hand, hesitated as if she wanted to say something, but finally said, "I won't maliciously smear him, but I'll soften my wording some. I'll send you the revised version as soon as I'm done."
She hung up the phone and sighed. Art criticism wasn't as easy as it seemed; she had to constantly adjust her tone according to real-time trends—honesty here wasn't a virtue but rather the noose for a hangman. Even though she was considered an authority in the industry, sometimes she had to bow to reality.
But adjusting was easier said than done. Diana had to maintain as much objectivity as possible while subtly praising him, which tested her wording skills a lot.
She was so focused that she didn't hear Bruce calling her.
"Diana? Diana? Lady Diana? Honorable Amazon Princess? ... Daisy!"
"Shut up!"
Hearing the roar from the study, Bruce helplessly pouted and softly said, "The ice maker in your fridge isn't efficient enough, we have to go out and buy ice. If you don't say anything, I'll take that as your permission to go out..."
With that, he sneakily glanced at the guest room. Clark was apparently already deeply asleep, being chased in his dreams by a pack of Kryptonite-toothed dogs.
Seeing no movement from either of them, Bruce grabbed a shopping bag and went out. It wasn't until he got outside that he realized: he wasn't in prison, so why sneak around?
So, he walked openly down the stairs, looked at the empty street, took out his phone to find the nearest convenience store, and set off in that direction.
Clark slept until five in the afternoon, and when he woke up, it was nearly dark. He stretched lazily and walked out, not seeing Bruce in the living room.
He knocked on the door of Diana's study. Diana responded, and Clark pushed the door open.
Diana was also asleep, slumped over the keyboard, which left keyboard marks all over her face. Clark immediately laughed, and Diana, still groggy, didn't understand what he was laughing at.
After looking in the mirror, Diana laughed too. She rubbed her face, not using her divine power to recover, and stretched. They walked out of the study together.
As soon as they walked out, Diana noticed something was off:
"Where's Bruce?"
"I don't know, I thought he was with you." Clark scratched his head and said, "He probably went out to buy something? He should be back soon."
"Really?" Diana was skeptical. She checked her phone and saw no messages or missed calls, thinking that if something had happened, Bruce would have called them.
Clark took out his phone to order takeout. They studied the menu for a while, ordered the takeout, and Bruce still hadn't come back.
So, they sent Bruce a text, then called him. The text messages weren't read, and the calls didn't go through. That's when they realized something might be wrong.
Clark thought for a moment, then opened the Battleworld interface. Sure enough, his private messages were filled with Bruce's screams:
"I've been kidnapped again, damn it!"
"Come save me, come save me, come save me!"
"He drove a black Honda and stuffed me inside without a word. He has some device that completely blocks my sight—I can't see anything, and I don't know where he's taking me, but based on the time, it shouldn't be far from Metropolis..."
"Did you get my messages? Hurry up and save me. This guy might be one of your compatriots—I feel he's looking at me weirdly..."
"My God, does he not understand human language? ...I said I'm not Batman, I'm not Batman, he insists I am! He wants me to hand over my Kryptonite collection!"
"I swear, building the phone used up all my Kryptonite, Clark, you have to believe me..."
"Damn it, this bastard dared to lay a hand on me! Great, he's successfully angered me, I'll make him pay immediately!"