#dreamwidth challenge

Kathryn watches the look of panic rise on Tom's face as he analyzes the pool table and she can't help but tease him a little. "I'll tell you what, if you can make this shot, you can have your second pip back."

"Seriously? That shot is nearly impossible! One in a million, at least!"

"I could make it," she declares.

"I'd like to see you try," Tom huffs in response. He knows she's a great pool player, but this shot? There's no way!

"Alright," she agrees confidently. She leans over the table to set up her shot but before taking it, she looks up at the ensign. "What do I get when I make it?"

"Uh… replicator rations?" A raised eyebrow tells Tom that was the wrong answer. "What do you want? My last pip??" Tom groans in frustration.

Kathryn focuses her attention back to the table, lining up the cue just right as she responds. "For the next talent night, Tuvok asked me to read a scene with him from a play he's been writing." She leans over the cue and looks up at Tom. "When I sink this shot, you'll volunteer to read with him instead."

If Tuvok's poetry is any indication, this could be quite the punishment. But Tom looks at the balls on the table again. The eight ball sits directly between the pocket and the last stripe. There's no way to get one in without the other. Tom boldly meets his captain's eyes with a confident, steely gaze. "Deal."

Without even looking back at the table, Kathryn sinks the shot.

Tom's mouth hangs open like a fish while Kathryn orders the computer to reset the table to the previous configuration. "Your move, Ensign," she grins, offering him her stick.

Tom is so flustered that he not only misses the shot but he also rips a hole in the felt with his pool cue.

“TT. Have these bunnies been fed yet? Irresponsible, Richard.”

Dick’s head snaps up and he just knows how wild and panicked his eyes look. He’s had wild bunnies popping out of the woodwork and following him around for two weeks. He’s been getting questions from civilians and coworkers alike. Even when someone else plays with them, they rush to follow Dick as soon as he leaves the room. ‘Stressed’ doesn’t even begin to cover his emotions right now.

He watches in mounting horror as Damian begins to repurpose Bat-Cow’s hay to make bunny nests. It’s an adorable sight. Dick wants to pull out his phone and record this all for posterity.

In his peripheral vision, he finds Tim doing just that from a particularly safe distance away; non-grabbing or sword-swinging distance, specifically. Tim’s holding his laughter behind a gloved hand, already so red in the face, Dick idly wonders how the boy hides anything behind his pallor. 

“Damian,” he starts. He needs to tell his kid brother that these bunnies aren’t staying and that he came here to the Batcave to call for help. Dick needs to contact Zatanna immediately to get rid of his bunny… affliction doesn’t sound right. Issue, let’s go with issue.

This has to be some side effect of that magical mishap last month. He took to being a bunny pretty easily — you kind of need to be able to quickly adapt to your situations as a vigilante — but he was always under the impression that he would return to humanoid form without too much hassle. Zatanna knew the problem and fixed it super easily after all.

The roar of the batmobile does a great job of spurring him out of his thoughts. 

He sees Bruce in all his Batman glory freeze in the safety of his vehicle. Dick can only imagine what’s going through the man’s mind. The manor has doubled as an animal sanctuary at this point. Dick still has nary a clue where Goliath the dragon bat came from. Anyone who knows the origin story treats it as some kind of taboo. Or they just get that thousand-yard stare, and frankly, that concerns him more than anything.

“You will be named Antony,” Damian says to the bunny that’s primarily white with beige coloring over its face and floppy ears. 

“Oh no,” it’s starting. 

The batmobile’s door swings open, and it appears that Bruce realized what just occurred and was likewise spurred into action. The man’s lips form around the kid’s name, and sound comes out of it… this doesn’t stop Damian from naming another three bunnies with various fur patterns.

Dick quickly realizes that each name comes from a historical ruler of some sort. Big names for small, fluffy bunnies.

Tim continues to contain his laughter— trying and failing, that is.

Dick whispers to some kind of god in a prayer for help. There’s an animal or child god somewhere, he’s pretty sure Donna’s told him before.

“We are not keeping bun— more animals in the manor, Damian.” 

Bruce sounds firm, all hidden away in the character that is Batman, the Dark Knight, but Dick watches in slow motion how one pleading look on the kid’s face changes the whole game completely.

Bruce darts a sharp look over at Dick, which hey! This is absolutely not his fault! Then he says with a voice that brokers no retaliation; “You will be informing Alfred about these new developments, Dick.”