Alfred Pennyworth

"My word," Alfred muttered in complete disbelief as he saw the absolute chaos the kitchen at Wayne Manor was in.

Pots everywhere, flour on the countertops, broken eggs on the floor, utensils that he'd never seen before and most certainly didn't feature in his collection, mysterious thick liquid dripping down the oven, and...was that a live chicken? That was a live chicken. The fowl lay quietly in a corner, as if in a quandary, possibly questioning whatever life choices had led it here.

He could not blame the kitchen's new avian resident for its existential crisis. In fact, Alfred himself was faced with one as he took in the absolute chaos that his sanctuary had become. In his many decades of service, he had never seen anything of this magnitude. For a moment, he wondered if the universe was sentient, and specifically had it out for him tonight.

A glob of thick batter sploshed down from the ceiling onto the butler's head, slowly dripping down the side of his face. "I believe an explanation is in order," he said in the eerily calm tone reserved for situations in which he needed to instill the fear of god's wrath unto his charges. "What, pray tell, happened here? Where did these cooking implements come from? And," he continued, gesturing at the chicken, "I believe I made it clear that I would like to be notified in advance about guests."