"Did you injure yourself?" asks Alfred from the door. Eva peeks around him curiously.
Dick looked up, then stamped his foot down and shoved at the broom again.
"No," he grumbled, leaving small droplets of blood in his wake as he swept the china away.
"The carpet begs to differ, Master Dick," notes the butler calmly, ignoring the inquisitive pseudo-teen behind him.
"I'm cleaning up the mess I made," Dick sneered. "Besides, this stupid place could use some color. Bruce didn't care at all and his place was cheerier than this dump."
In two strides the elderly man was across the room and hauling the boy up by the back of his shirt to thump him soundly down into a chair.
"That will be quite enough!" he said sternly. "You've no need to be so miserable and petty."
Dick let out and "oof" and then blinked, a little taken off.
Then he bowed his head and scowled slightly.
"Brenda's miserable when that stupid cop isn't around," he grumbled.
"That's none of your concern, I'm sure. Now let's see that foot."
"It's a little poke," he said, picking up his foot and looking at it grumpily. "Stupid china."
"I've seen little pokes turn to gangrene." Alfred asks Eva to fetch the first aid kit. "And we've better things to do than deal with your flesh sloughing away from the bone."
Dick glared, then sighed and held up his foot, showing a small, deep cut that was bleeding softly.
"It's not bad."
"As I said." He takes the box from Eva, then swiftly treats and wraps the wounded extremity.
Dick frowned at him, then looked up.
"I'm sorry I got blood on the carpet," he said softly. It seemed a little ridiculous to apologize for a few spots on the carpet when the walls and furnisihings were decimated, but he still wasn't sorry for the rest of it.
"Very good, Master Dick." Alfred gives the box back to Eva and tells her to put it in its proper place, then bends down carefully and picks up a bit of porcelain that sports a pair of swallows flying together.
"Master Thomas gave this to Miss Martha the day they were married," he remembers, turning it over in his hands.
Then he shakes his head and points to the broom, surreptitiously slipping the shard into his pocket as he does so.
Dick frowned and got down, trying out his foot and then going, ducking his head. He couldn't remember going from the china collection displays to the memorial cabinets, but he supposed he'd wrecked everything.
He looked around again, then got back to work, making sure to get all the porcaline then.
"Sorry I wrecked it," he said, almost choking on his words. He half meant them, which was an improvement from his complete scorn earlier on.
"It was not mine." Alfred tears away a hanging flap of wallpaper, then turns and walks from the room.
"You still feel bad about it. You put it in your pocket," Dick said, finishing sweeping and starting to shovel the porcaline into a tin trashcan.
There's a whisper of movement behind him, and then Dämmerung steps from the shadows and perks her ears, her colour-streaked face as impassive as ever as she surveys the damage.
He blinked, then frowned.
"You," he said, scowling. "What do you want?"
She ignores him, noting only: "Brenda's parents loved these things, she says."
"Come here to guilt trip me? Not gonna work," Dick said defensively.
"No. Because obviously the vorld revolves around you, und no vone else matters." She turns and vanishes again.
"Bitter old hag," Dick grumbled to himself.
"The only bitter individual that I see here is you," says Alfred crisply as he returns from calling the people who will put up new wallpaper and redecorate the room.
Dick's face went void of emotion as he turned and finished up with a dustpan.
"Where do I dump it?" he grunted.
"She's quite right, you know. There are other people in the world. And as you're totally unwilling to accept assistance with your own problems there's really no point in your constantly calling others' attention to them."
"Maybe it makes me feel better," Dick said, scowling. "Where do I dump the garbage?"
"I have it." Alfred took the handle on the can and wheeled it out of the room.
Dick watched him go uneasily, then turned, ripping at the wallpaper mercilessly.