The Bat Cave Restaurant isn't really a high-end restaurant in the true sense of the word. It doesn't have a Michelin star, and the ratings on various websites and food critic columns are, at best, mediocre. Yet it's incredibly popular because it's more accessible to the average person.
There's no complicated and intricate reservation process. The phone number for reservations and inquiries is right on the door, and you don't need a referral from anyone. You don't have to wait half a year for a chance to try a dish, and you certainly don't need to dress up. You can walk straight in wearing sandals or flip-flops right after playing on the beach.
This means that the style of the patrons matches the restaurant's natural vibe. You won't find the comical sight of Wall Street elites in suits and ties sitting in a natural cavern-like setting for their meal.
The restaurant's child and elderly-friendly policies create a warm and cozy atmosphere. Families often gather around stone or wooden tables, enjoying the view while chatting and laughing together.
Alfred was in charge of the children's clothes. To keep things informal, he chose more of an English countryside style for the boys.
The younger boys, such as Jason, Tim, and Little Barry, who was accompanied by Victor, wore shirts with suspenders, shorts, and round-toed leather shoes. Jason wore a light camel plaid shirt, Tim had a dark brown polka-dot shirt, and Barry wore a light cashmere sweater. From a distance, they appeared to wear a harmonious color palette, as if they had stepped right out of the Welsh countryside.
Dick was already in high school and had outgrown children's clothes for his coming-of-age. He began wearing shirts and dress pants like an adult on many occasions, but this time, he donned a faux two-piece that was very school-uniform-like, with a black hair cardigan featuring a tiny, white houndstooth pattern over a white shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers.
Harley was developing faster than her peers, and because girls her age often mature earlier than boys, she already looked like a young lady. She had a natural flair for makeup which made her look even more mature after applying it.
Unfortunately, her height wasn't quite there yet, so she couldn't wear those beautiful slim long dresses. Instead, she wore a pure white, shell-collared knee-length dress and had even stuck on a pair of white false lashes, making her resemble a walking Barbie doll.
The adults dressed even more casually. Shiller had secured a reservation from Bruce and was looking forward to coming to work after arrogantly leaving his day job. His private wardrobe was nothing to write home about: shirts for warmer weather, and sweatshirts or sweaters with various prints for the cold. Today, he wore a grey long-sleeved sweater with a tiny blue tulip pattern on the top left.
Victor and his wife were dressed in typical American vacation styles. Victor wore a white short-sleeved shirt, a floral jacket with sunflowers, loose shorts with waves and sailboat patterns, and flip-flops, while Mrs. Friss wore an orange horizontal-striped short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and a chunky cowhide belt.
All in all, this group of people blended seamlessly with the restaurant's aesthetic; nothing about their presence was jarring. But some of the guests who came in after them seemed a bit more outlandish.
Stark always wore a suit no matter where he went, with shiny shoes and sunglasses, as if he was ready to buy the entire restaurant.
Natasha came straight from the beach instead of going to the opening ceremony, wearing so little that it could be called ragged. Every place that could be revealed was revealed, and had she shown a millimeter less, Lucifer would have had to make a special appearance to censor it manually.
Pamela didn't wear much more than Natasha, and she came in while hooking arms with the newly acquainted Scarlet Witch, Wanda, holding her phone to take photos of Natasha in front of her while not forgetting to gawk at Diana, who wore an Amazon-style swimsuit.
Steve had also skipped the opening ceremony. He came in holding a surfboard, wearing only shorts emblazoned with the American flag motif.
The Prime Universe Batman came dressed in his bat suit, and Arkham Batman was suited up as if he was that American psycho, ready to be enshrined in Mount Rushmore with a presidentially exclusive, old-fashioned broadcloth coat with contrasting lapels.
Peter and the Prime Universe's Barry had just come back from hanging out on the streets, both dressed in the typical American teenager skater style: black T-shirts with English inscriptions, sleeves bunched up at the wrist covering the back of the hand, camel fleece long pants with high-top shoes, sunglasses, baseball caps, and earrings, ready to fit into any rap group at any time.
The rest of the Spider Men were all dressed in a variety of styles, but most were in bright colors, mainly red, blue, and bright orange. The moment they poured in from the door, the place instantly turned into something like a modern art exhibition.
Only after this group of devils and monsters had filled the entire restaurant did Bruce and Joker, Arthur, squeeze in with the last wave of people. They hadn't had time to change, so Arthur was in his classic red suit, and Bruce wore a hoodie.
However, there was a bit of a disagreement between them. Arthur walked ahead with his head down, walking briskly, while Bruce followed him, saying something.
"No, forget it, shit! I'm not going to see another shrink, not even if you dump the shit of destroying the Federal Reserve System on me; I won't do it. I'd rather go to jail," Arthur muttered.
"But you have to listen to what I was saying about him..."
Bruce grabbed Arthur and dragged him over to Shiller, who had arranged the reservation ahead of time, so Shiller had sent all the children to Alfred, leaving himself alone at a double table nearest the glass curtain wall.
You could tell from Arthur's body language that he wanted nothing to do with it, but how could he out-argue Bruce? In that way, he was dragged, somewhat unsteadily, to Shiller.
"Listen, I have no interest in how professional he is or how much he helped you with your near failure to graduate. The point is, I just don't want to see a shrink, I..."
"Do you know how expensive his consultation fee is?" Bruce turned and looked at Arthur.
Arthur instinctively flinched and asked subconsciously, "Uh, how expensive?"
"3 million US dollars an hour, I'll pay,"
Arthur plopped down opposite Shiller, waving Bruce over to bring his previous brain CT scan results as soon as he sat down; he placed his hands on the table and flashed Shiller his trademark smile.
"You know, I've always had great respect for doctors who save lives and aid the injured, and even more so for the professionals among them..."
"Don't listen to his nonsense," Shiller also placed his hands on the table, glanced at Bruce, and said, "It's not this expensive for just anyone, I charge in proportion to wealth."
"White-coated angels!"
Bruce rolled his eyes at the sight of the two men's hands clasped together and then said, "I'm going to check on Tim; he made a mess of his cousin's reading club and got his aunt angry again."
After Bruce left, the two of them sat back in their original places. Arthur tightened his suit button while Shiller stared at the CT image of the brain and said, "I have to introduce to you the person who performed your surgery. His name is Stephen Strange, known in another cosmos as the Hand of God, the best surgeon in the world."
Arthur's mouth hung open—a clear sign that he was not as relaxed and comfortable as he appeared to be, more so riding the high of a successful performance, deeply immersed in playing a successful comedian to speak so eloquently.
But as the excitement coursing through his nerves gradually dissipated, he had always been bad at dealing with doctors, lawyers, and the like. In his own words, society had never given him a chance to interact with such important figures, so how could he be expected to converse with them confidently?
"It's okay, you just need to sit here," Shiller glanced over at the departing Bruce and said, "We can pretend to talk about something, and when the time comes, I'll take the money and leave, and you don't have to strain yourself."
Arthur was slightly surprised, his wide-open eyes causing heavy worry lines to crease his forehead, and his aged eyes darted around restlessly, continually glancing at places where Shiller wasn't.
"Now your physical illness has been completely healed," Shiller looked out at the sea through the window and said, "Of course, as a psychologist, this isn't my area of responsibility, but within my area, you don't really need to be treated for anything."
Arthur clearly didn't believe it; he took it as consolation. However, Shiller followed up with his own viewpoint.
"In the first half of your life, everyone told you that you were sick, they said you were a madman, and that a lunatic must see a psychologist regularly, it's best to also check into a psychiatric ward for an examination, and never come out of the mental hospital."
"But is this really because you were ill? Maybe you were, but it wasn't actually that serious; they only saw you as an unstable element."
"They didn't really care whether you were truly sick or in pain, whether you needed treatment, and what kind of treatment you would need. All their encouragements for you to see a doctor were actually a form of self-comforting prayer."
"It's akin to thinking that although this guy is beyond hope, if the doctor prescribes some tranquilizers, it'll keep him quiet, and even if it doesn't cure him, at least it'll occupy most of his free time, so he won't have the time to go out and stab people."
"They don't care about your health and well-being; they just hope you won't cause them trouble. So, they try their best to label you as a madman to influence the doctor's judgment, just like they've influenced juries countless times."
Arthur's gaze grew solemn—as if he was starting to listen intently. He pursed his lips forcefully, staring at Shiller and said, "You're saying things I like to hear."
"Don't think so lowly of yourself, I'm not just humoring you," Shiller looked down at the tabletop and said, "I've seen many patients who are uncertain whether they are sick, whether they should see a doctor, only doing so because their environment expects it, and the only thing confirming their madness is the increasingly extreme views of others."
"In reality, this is society's bullying of the weak. If you're poor enough, weak enough, with no one to rely on, others can define everything about you with their own words, even your mental state. Eventually, even you might start to doubt yourself, leading you to sit in front of a psychologist."
Shiller looked at Arthur seriously and said, "What were you thinking the first time you went to see a psychologist?"
Faced with such a question, Arthur was visibly uncomfortable and after a long pause, said, "I just wanted her to cure my laughing disorder, and I was having some insomnia, maybe she could prescribe some sleeping pills."
"Is that what you told her?"
"Yes, and then she told me that everything would pass."
"Did she prescribe you any medication?"
"She wasn't able to prescribe any, she had no authority to do so."
Shiller sighed inwardly.