Now, this is one story I never *ever* in my wildest
dreams thought I would write much less post. I am
*not* a fan of Lana Lang. Not in the least. KK, I like
but not Lana. *shakes head firmly* Not a bit...
But....
Well...I blame it on Bruce. That muse is devious and I
am *sure* he's hiding a Lana muse in my head somewhere
because this surprised me last week and I still don't
know where it came from. LOL
"Mistress of the Manor"
Author: Medie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: PG
Keywords: Lana pov, crossover, Bruce Wayne, Batman,
fairytale princess
Category: Crossover (with Batman universe), Alternate
Universe
Pairing: Lana/Other
Series: none as of yet.
Spoilers: none
Disclaimers: None of them are mine.
Summary: Lana would do anything to protect the man she
loves, even pretend to be the very thing she's always
hated.
Note: No real beta. Just me. So all mistakes I've
missed, please forgive. :-)
Thank you Julie and Debbie for encouraging me to post this.
(and *maybe* I will write more. LOL)
"Mistress of the Manor"
It's Halloween.
A night for parties and costume balls and a night for
masks and pretending. I'm familiar with all of these.
Walking into the master suite, I smile amusedly when I
see the costume waiting in the hands of my personal
maid. My husband is a man with a great sense of irony
and, seeing the gown of a Fairytale Princess awaiting
me, I am reminded of that fact. The attendants waiting
to help me dress have no understanding of my
amusement, not really, they believe it's because of
the fact I am a modern day princess, living in a manor
house with a kinglike husband at my side with all the
world holding me up as the epitome of elegance and
beauty.
"A modern day Princess Grace," the papers call me.
I laugh softly at the thought and out of the corner of
my eye, I see the maid smile as well.
If they only knew. But none of them know.
All my life I've been cast as the fairytale princess
and that has not changed. Now they call me the
'Mistress of the Manor' and see me as the gracious
host, beautiful wife, and society diva. I am all of
those things, I know, but there are layers to my
existence that none of them can ever understand.
I may be Mistress of the Manor, but no longer am I the
little girl wearing that fairy princess costume,
granting wishes. My life is many things, but a
fairytale is not one of them and the true irony is?
None of them will ever know that.
They look at me now and they see Mrs. Lana Wayne, wife
of billionaire industrialist, society darling, and
half of the marriage that is wildly being proclaimed
the new American royalty. They see a woman who is
active in many charities, attends dozens of parties a
year on her husband's arm, dripping in expensive
jewelry and wearing the one-of-a-kind creation of
whichever designer won the advertising blitz to get my
attention. They see a woman living the life that is
every woman's dream; wife to a handsome billionaire
who worships the ground she walks on.
If they only knew...
Oh Bruce does love me. More than anything. I know that
and I revel in it, but our life is not a dream. Not
all the time. Half the time it is the opposite. It's a
nightmare.
You see, I may be Mrs. Bruce Wayne, but technically, I
am also Mrs. Batman. On one hand, I spend some nights
dancing, laughing, drinking wildly expensive
champagne, but on the other? On the other hand, I
spend almost as many nights sitting in the kitchen
with Alfred, drinking tea, and praying my husband will
come home alive. That this won't be the night his luck
runs out and he's killed.
Some fairytale.
"Mrs. Wayne?" The hairdresser, soon to be the latest
sensation in New York, catches my attention and I pull
myself from my reverie.
"Yes?"
He holds up a mirror, allowing me a fantastic view of
the masterpiece that he's made of my hair.
I smile and nod. "Beautiful, thank you."
He beams, my praise and endorsement carries much
weight in his world and I suspect that, like the last
one, he'll be catapulted into a world where
celebrities ring his phone off the hook clamoring he
give them the 'Lana Wayne Look' and to name his price.
Who would have thought? I have a 'look'.
The makeup artists move in to begin work on my face
and again I drift away into my own thoughts, the only
way I can stand having so many people so close for so
long. I enjoy pampering as much as the next girl but
there is only so much I can take and preparing for
these parties tends to take me to that limit fairly
quickly.
I've learned many techniques over the years to deal
with the downsides of this life, the one I haven't
quite mastered yet, is avoiding the sleepless nights
when Bruce is 'at work'.
The makeup artist timidly asks me to close my eyes so
she can begin work on them and I obey the request with
a soft smile. Imagine that, someone afraid to speak to
me. I suppose that fear is justified in a way, if I am
displeased and it gets back to her employers even
through a third party, her job is done for. Just the
same, I find that funny.
Someone afraid of little Lana Lang, it's so funny as
to be absurd. One thing no one ever was, in
Smallville, was afraid of me. The predominant emotion
I seemed to generate in my hometown is that of pity or
some twisted sort of deification. Put up on a pedestal
for everyone to admire and adore.
Pretty much what happens to me now as Lana Wayne. At
least, now, I'm spared the pity. Being the wife of
Bruce Wayne certainly has its advantages, one of which
being a quiet word to the press in the city ensures
that few reporters dare intrude into my past
tragedies. They cannot not risk tempting the anger of
my husband. Bruce works very hard to keep his public
persona as far as he possibly can from the dark and
dangerous aura that Batman exudes but one thing he
does not hide is his protectiveness of me. They can
paint me as the perfect socialite wife all they want
but they dare not poke their journalistic noses into
any part of my life that he has deemed private, he
very well may have them cut off if they do.
Ironically enough, that protective streak has only
served to enhance the public's view of me as the Lady
of Wayne Manor. Sometimes I feel as if they think that
the Manor is stuck in the Renaissance and I prance
about the house in a massive gown, serving tea,
entertaining guests and posing for Da Vinci in my
spare time while my beloved Prince conquers a few
countries and reinvents the wheel.
They may not go that far with it, but I'm still the
fairytale princess, just reborn in a new guise.
The makeup artist steps back and smiles at me.
"Finished."
Another mirror is held before me and I dispense more
glowing compliments to another ecstatic person before
dismissing them all. Time to get dressed.
My maid, hand chosen for me by Alfred upon my marriage
to Bruce, steps forward with an empathetic smile.
Noreen knows how much I detest the process to get
ready for a party and they're bad enough when it's
just a regular party, but a costume ball? That's even
worse. Much more preparation. "Another night." I sigh.
"Another dress." She answers with a grin and I move
behind the screen, sliding out of my dress and
underwear and then into the underclothing that comes
with the gown.
When I walk out from behind the screen, I find Noreen
waiting with the gown and I step into it. It laces up
in the back and I turn to let her at them. She takes
longer than usual and when hands finally do grasp the
laces, they are distinctly masculine. The cold of a
ring, a wedding ring, brushes against my back and I
shiver.
"Noreen," I tease. "You've changed."
My hair has been done in an up-sweep that leaves my
neck bare and I see dark hair out of the corner of my
eye as Bruce leans in to nip at my earlobe. "You look
beautiful." He murmurs into my ear, voice low and
husky. It reminds me of how he sounds when he's in
'the suit' but I resolutely push the comparison from
my mind.
"Thank you." Turning, I look up at him with my amused
smile back in place. "Fairy tale princess?"
He chuckles, bringing my hand up to his lips, kissing
the palm. "To hear Nell talk, you qualify."
Ah yes, Nell. Bless her heart. She, like everyone
else, thinks I live the perfect, storybook life. In
some ways, she, like everyone else, couldn't be more
wrong but, looking up into the loving gaze of my
husband, on the other hand, she couldn't be more
right.
Bruce has asked me to share a fantastically heavy
burden with him, asked me to live in the shadow of a
Bat and lie to everyone I know, but it's a life I
like. A life I love. He risks his life every night,
pushes himself, punishes himself, but I know, at the
end of it, he'll do everything in his power to come
home alive . . . to me.
In his eyes, I'm not a fairytale princess, and he
isn't a prince, but in mine, he is a knight, the Dark
Knight, and I am his Lady.
Mistress of the Manor.
For once, it's a persona I want to assume.
I live a lie to protect my husband, I let people see
me as a fairytale princess, believe me to be the
epitome of what high society has to offer, I let them
cast me in a role like the one I played for so many
years in Smallville. But now, now I have a reason to
play that role and I'll play it so well, I'll out act
any starlet Hollywood has to offer.
Bruce sees the look in my eyes but, typically, he
doesn't question it. Instead, he kisses me once more
then turns me around once more, working on lacing me
up. We both have our roles in this grand melodrama we
call our life and we'll act our hearts out. His life,
and by extension mine, quite literally depends on it.
Finis
dreams thought I would write much less post. I am
*not* a fan of Lana Lang. Not in the least. KK, I like
but not Lana. *shakes head firmly* Not a bit...
But....
Well...I blame it on Bruce. That muse is devious and I
am *sure* he's hiding a Lana muse in my head somewhere
because this surprised me last week and I still don't
know where it came from. LOL
"Mistress of the Manor"
Author: Medie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: PG
Keywords: Lana pov, crossover, Bruce Wayne, Batman,
fairytale princess
Category: Crossover (with Batman universe), Alternate
Universe
Pairing: Lana/Other
Series: none as of yet.
Spoilers: none
Disclaimers: None of them are mine.
Summary: Lana would do anything to protect the man she
loves, even pretend to be the very thing she's always
hated.
Note: No real beta. Just me. So all mistakes I've
missed, please forgive. :-)
Thank you Julie and Debbie for encouraging me to post this.
(and *maybe* I will write more. LOL)
"Mistress of the Manor"
It's Halloween.
A night for parties and costume balls and a night for
masks and pretending. I'm familiar with all of these.
Walking into the master suite, I smile amusedly when I
see the costume waiting in the hands of my personal
maid. My husband is a man with a great sense of irony
and, seeing the gown of a Fairytale Princess awaiting
me, I am reminded of that fact. The attendants waiting
to help me dress have no understanding of my
amusement, not really, they believe it's because of
the fact I am a modern day princess, living in a manor
house with a kinglike husband at my side with all the
world holding me up as the epitome of elegance and
beauty.
"A modern day Princess Grace," the papers call me.
I laugh softly at the thought and out of the corner of
my eye, I see the maid smile as well.
If they only knew. But none of them know.
All my life I've been cast as the fairytale princess
and that has not changed. Now they call me the
'Mistress of the Manor' and see me as the gracious
host, beautiful wife, and society diva. I am all of
those things, I know, but there are layers to my
existence that none of them can ever understand.
I may be Mistress of the Manor, but no longer am I the
little girl wearing that fairy princess costume,
granting wishes. My life is many things, but a
fairytale is not one of them and the true irony is?
None of them will ever know that.
They look at me now and they see Mrs. Lana Wayne, wife
of billionaire industrialist, society darling, and
half of the marriage that is wildly being proclaimed
the new American royalty. They see a woman who is
active in many charities, attends dozens of parties a
year on her husband's arm, dripping in expensive
jewelry and wearing the one-of-a-kind creation of
whichever designer won the advertising blitz to get my
attention. They see a woman living the life that is
every woman's dream; wife to a handsome billionaire
who worships the ground she walks on.
If they only knew...
Oh Bruce does love me. More than anything. I know that
and I revel in it, but our life is not a dream. Not
all the time. Half the time it is the opposite. It's a
nightmare.
You see, I may be Mrs. Bruce Wayne, but technically, I
am also Mrs. Batman. On one hand, I spend some nights
dancing, laughing, drinking wildly expensive
champagne, but on the other? On the other hand, I
spend almost as many nights sitting in the kitchen
with Alfred, drinking tea, and praying my husband will
come home alive. That this won't be the night his luck
runs out and he's killed.
Some fairytale.
"Mrs. Wayne?" The hairdresser, soon to be the latest
sensation in New York, catches my attention and I pull
myself from my reverie.
"Yes?"
He holds up a mirror, allowing me a fantastic view of
the masterpiece that he's made of my hair.
I smile and nod. "Beautiful, thank you."
He beams, my praise and endorsement carries much
weight in his world and I suspect that, like the last
one, he'll be catapulted into a world where
celebrities ring his phone off the hook clamoring he
give them the 'Lana Wayne Look' and to name his price.
Who would have thought? I have a 'look'.
The makeup artists move in to begin work on my face
and again I drift away into my own thoughts, the only
way I can stand having so many people so close for so
long. I enjoy pampering as much as the next girl but
there is only so much I can take and preparing for
these parties tends to take me to that limit fairly
quickly.
I've learned many techniques over the years to deal
with the downsides of this life, the one I haven't
quite mastered yet, is avoiding the sleepless nights
when Bruce is 'at work'.
The makeup artist timidly asks me to close my eyes so
she can begin work on them and I obey the request with
a soft smile. Imagine that, someone afraid to speak to
me. I suppose that fear is justified in a way, if I am
displeased and it gets back to her employers even
through a third party, her job is done for. Just the
same, I find that funny.
Someone afraid of little Lana Lang, it's so funny as
to be absurd. One thing no one ever was, in
Smallville, was afraid of me. The predominant emotion
I seemed to generate in my hometown is that of pity or
some twisted sort of deification. Put up on a pedestal
for everyone to admire and adore.
Pretty much what happens to me now as Lana Wayne. At
least, now, I'm spared the pity. Being the wife of
Bruce Wayne certainly has its advantages, one of which
being a quiet word to the press in the city ensures
that few reporters dare intrude into my past
tragedies. They cannot not risk tempting the anger of
my husband. Bruce works very hard to keep his public
persona as far as he possibly can from the dark and
dangerous aura that Batman exudes but one thing he
does not hide is his protectiveness of me. They can
paint me as the perfect socialite wife all they want
but they dare not poke their journalistic noses into
any part of my life that he has deemed private, he
very well may have them cut off if they do.
Ironically enough, that protective streak has only
served to enhance the public's view of me as the Lady
of Wayne Manor. Sometimes I feel as if they think that
the Manor is stuck in the Renaissance and I prance
about the house in a massive gown, serving tea,
entertaining guests and posing for Da Vinci in my
spare time while my beloved Prince conquers a few
countries and reinvents the wheel.
They may not go that far with it, but I'm still the
fairytale princess, just reborn in a new guise.
The makeup artist steps back and smiles at me.
"Finished."
Another mirror is held before me and I dispense more
glowing compliments to another ecstatic person before
dismissing them all. Time to get dressed.
My maid, hand chosen for me by Alfred upon my marriage
to Bruce, steps forward with an empathetic smile.
Noreen knows how much I detest the process to get
ready for a party and they're bad enough when it's
just a regular party, but a costume ball? That's even
worse. Much more preparation. "Another night." I sigh.
"Another dress." She answers with a grin and I move
behind the screen, sliding out of my dress and
underwear and then into the underclothing that comes
with the gown.
When I walk out from behind the screen, I find Noreen
waiting with the gown and I step into it. It laces up
in the back and I turn to let her at them. She takes
longer than usual and when hands finally do grasp the
laces, they are distinctly masculine. The cold of a
ring, a wedding ring, brushes against my back and I
shiver.
"Noreen," I tease. "You've changed."
My hair has been done in an up-sweep that leaves my
neck bare and I see dark hair out of the corner of my
eye as Bruce leans in to nip at my earlobe. "You look
beautiful." He murmurs into my ear, voice low and
husky. It reminds me of how he sounds when he's in
'the suit' but I resolutely push the comparison from
my mind.
"Thank you." Turning, I look up at him with my amused
smile back in place. "Fairy tale princess?"
He chuckles, bringing my hand up to his lips, kissing
the palm. "To hear Nell talk, you qualify."
Ah yes, Nell. Bless her heart. She, like everyone
else, thinks I live the perfect, storybook life. In
some ways, she, like everyone else, couldn't be more
wrong but, looking up into the loving gaze of my
husband, on the other hand, she couldn't be more
right.
Bruce has asked me to share a fantastically heavy
burden with him, asked me to live in the shadow of a
Bat and lie to everyone I know, but it's a life I
like. A life I love. He risks his life every night,
pushes himself, punishes himself, but I know, at the
end of it, he'll do everything in his power to come
home alive . . . to me.
In his eyes, I'm not a fairytale princess, and he
isn't a prince, but in mine, he is a knight, the Dark
Knight, and I am his Lady.
Mistress of the Manor.
For once, it's a persona I want to assume.
I live a lie to protect my husband, I let people see
me as a fairytale princess, believe me to be the
epitome of what high society has to offer, I let them
cast me in a role like the one I played for so many
years in Smallville. But now, now I have a reason to
play that role and I'll play it so well, I'll out act
any starlet Hollywood has to offer.
Bruce sees the look in my eyes but, typically, he
doesn't question it. Instead, he kisses me once more
then turns me around once more, working on lacing me
up. We both have our roles in this grand melodrama we
call our life and we'll act our hearts out. His life,
and by extension mine, quite literally depends on it.
Finis