For the DexCon workshop.
"Go away, she muttered, but her petitioner was neither impressed nor convinced by her request.
Which, she supposed, was something of a refreshing change. She was who she was, and her position held certain amount of ceremony and deference that she had become accustomed to by necessity. *He* wanted something from her, like so many others, but his was a basic and uncomplicated need.
She felt the soft touch on her leg again. Diana, princess of Themyscira, sighed and opened her eyes. The small gray cat--kitten, really--butted his head against her thigh one more time and then, seeing her awake, added a mournful mew to his plea.
Two dozen souls working at the embassy in one capacity or another, and their newest, still-nameless resident had adopted *her.* And despite all the assumptions about her various abilities, she couldn't actually speak to him and ask him why. Then again, it didn't require even a measure of Bruce's detective skills to discern what her supplicant wanted.
Diana sighed again, swinging out of bed and floating rather than walking once the carpet turned to bathroom tile. Even Amazon feet weren't immune to morning chill. The rest was a simple ritual, in which he had trained her well: refill the water dish, open a can and scoop the contents in the dish on the floor, and stand back. In return, she received no more acknowledgment for her service than his gluttonous attention to his breakfast.
"You're welcome," she told his oblivious ears, obliquely gratified by the touch of uncomplicated normalcy in her Wonder Woman's schedule.