#Duke- Eyelash Viper

[puppetmaster13u]

Thinkin of naga batfam, and as it's a prompt there's legitimately no canon for what they are, but here's my takes on which sneks each of them would be based off of, if they are in fact based off of snakes from earth. And not like, the realm of the dead or another planet or something lol.

Bruce- Rinkhals Spitting Cobra

Barbara- Purple-Glossed Snake

Dick- Bluestripe Garter

Cass- Banded Krait

Jason- Blood Python

Steph- Taipan

Tim- Coral Snake

Duke- Eyelash Viper

Damian- Boomslang

Helena- Black Mamba

Terry- Red Keelback

Matt- Bush Viper 

What would Danny be? Good question. Some ideas include puff adder, hognose snake (the ones that play dead), anaconda or calabar python

[sabraeal]

Hakizana dancing! Public and or private. Do either of them even like dancing? are they very good or just self conscious?

(Intended to fit after this prompt)

The dessert course is about to arrive when one of the footmen bends to her ear, informing her that Her Majesty requests her presence. A half dozen protests rise to her lips – it would be immeasurably rude to her conversation partner, it would make the table uneven, she knew for a fact that the dessert was her favorite custard, she was hosting this party – but there was no use making her excuses to a domestic. Tendering royal forgiveness was far above his pay grade.

Haki drips sapphires as she walks, the precious beading on her gown scintillating in the low light of the lamps. The halls between the dining room to the queen’s seem interminably long, as if they have stretches in the night to inconvenience her personally. Ah, what she would not give to not be beholden to another, forced to come whenever they call.

She shakes herself. There are worse mistresses than the queen of Clarines. A moth with ripped wings fills her vision, stretching across years, and she shudders. Far worse.

The doors open before she can give her name, but it’s only to be expected – she is Mistress of Lyrias now, but once she was just a handmaiden to Her Majesty. There is not a member of the queen’s staff that does not know her face.

“Your Majesty.” Haki bows her head as she enters. “I apologize, I was –”

Her words reign up short, tamping at the cliff of her expectations. It is not Queen Haruto who stands behind the divan. “Your Highness.”

She hardly recognizes him; he is no longer the long-limbed boy that had sat so smugly and called her a viper. A man stands before her, the heft of his fur-lined tunic unable to cover the lean strength that clings to his slender frame. The sharpness of his face in adolescence has deepened into a strong jaw, belying the almost feminine arch of his cheeks, the soft set of his mouth.

Oh spirits, he is handsome. If ever someone didn’t deserve it, it is him. Her knees are weak just looking at him.

“Mistress Haki,” he says, his voice no longer cloyingly reedy but pleasant and deep, a man’s voice. Ah, this is not fair. “I have taken you away from your party.”

Yes, you have. “It is no matter.” How she hates this, the bowing and scraping. “I am ever the crown’s servant. You may –” her eyes drop to his clothes – “whatever are you wearing?”

He, by all the spirits, laughs. It changes the entirety of his face, makes him almost seem the young man he is instead of ageless statue. Oh, how she likes the look of mortality on him.

“Ah, this old thing?” he drawls, brushing a hand over the lapel of his coat. She’s relieved to see he’s wearing it properly this time, even if it looks like the cheap things lesser lords’ sons wear at the university. “I find sometimes humility is the best policy.”

“I…see.” She does not, but there is something about him in those clothes, his hair tied back as if he is accustomed to benchwork, that intrigues her not a little.

“But I did not come here to discuss my sartorial choices, Mistress.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you not?”

“No.” His mouth curves in an almost soft smile. “I am here to discuss the conditions of our betrothal.”

Air leaves her lungs as suddenly as the blood leaves her face. “I…” Think of something. “I am supposed to be with my guests. The dessert course –”

He chuckles, deep blue peering at her from under fine eyelashes. “Of course,” he says, “I have interrupted your evening. This can all be discussed later.”

She nods, hoping it does not seem too eager. “Yes, thank you. I –”

“I will be there shortly,” he tells her. She does not let her expression crumple in panic, but it is a near thing. “I need only a few moments to change into something more…acceptable. I would hate to miss the dancing.”

Her hands shake as she stands from the table, her custard untouched. Curse that bastard for turning her stomach.

The dancing is about to begin, and he still has not arrived. Protocol dictates that she should wait – everyone is a servant to a prince, save the king. But if she does not, then she will dance with Lord Akihito instead of His Highness; after all, protocol dictates that the highest ranking lord in attendance, and if the prince does not deign to arrive, well…that’s no fault of hers.

“Shall we?” Akihito asks her, eyes crinkling kindly at their corners. Most see him as forbidding, as a monolith of the North, but not to her. “I think the others are eager for us to open the floor.”

“Of course, my lord.” She takes his hand, letting a soft smile pass over her lips. “I would hate to disappoint.”

It is only when she has laid her hand on Duke Rodatrad’s arms and the strings begin to keen the opening chords of a mazurka that the doors fly open, ans heralds announce the glorious entry of His Highness, Prince Izana.

Rodatrad’s fingers tighten on her sleeves. She does not think he means them to.

“I hate to interrupt,” the princes says, not anywhere in the realm of sincere.

“Not at all, Your Highness.” Rodatrad steps woodenly back. “The floor is yours. For now.”

She does not miss his flinch. She doubts very much that Rodatrad did either.

The prince’s hand comes to her waist, the other sending a brief signal to the orchestra before enfolding her hand in his own. Instead of a lively mazurka, a violin begins the first measure with a sentimental warble.

“A waltz.” Her eyebrows raise. “How forward of you.”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “I have been told it is best to be bold in love and business.”

She wishes her heart would not pound so. She knows better; the prince is an ass, and though she will not turn her nose up at the power he dangles in front of it, she should not be sweating either. “And which of these am I to believe you have come for?”

His lips split in a flash of teeth as he guides her into a turn. Oh, he must have found that quite amusing. “Can it not be both?”

“Am I supposed to have forgotten the last time we spoke?” she asks archly, easily following his lead. It’s hard to hold a conversation with him so close, his chest so near her mouth. She can feel the cording of his muscles, even under his jacket.

“Perhaps I like a wife who could hold her own,” he says, so lightly. “Even against an entitled, arrogant child.”

It takes everything in her not to wither under the press of her own hasty words. She is glad he is such a strong lead; the dance would have faltered otherwise with how little her attention is on it.

“Am I to take this as a decline of my proposal?” he asks, and his tone is – strange. Not as removed as she would expect. His hand shifts just slightly on her waist.

“No.” She has little choice, if the rumors from Bergatt lands are true. She must protect her family. “I will have you.”

His hand tightens around hers. “Ah,” he sighs dramatically. “What a happy day for us both.”

The piece finishes, and he leans into a deeper bow than her position deserves. “I will look forward to dancing with you again, my lady.”

It is not until it is over that she realizes just how easy it had been. “We do make a good match.”

He lifts his head, mouth curved to one side in a soft smirk. “That is what I’m hoping.”