It is truly a blessed thing to be in an RP where posts keep rolling in before I get caught up.
Lord Wraith
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Thunderbringer
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Bio
Reluctantly retired roleplayer.
Except when I'm not.
Why are you here when you should be writing posts?
You can edit a bad draft, but you cannot edit a blank page.
Except when I'm not.
Why are you here when you should be writing posts?
You can edit a bad draft, but you cannot edit a blank page.
Most Recent Posts
Once was a man who lived a life so mundane, it could only be true.
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Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
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_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
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_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
LOCATION: MILK STREET - POINTE BORDEAUX | URBAN GOTHIC #1.02: THE HAUNT |
INTERACTIONS: NONE | PREVIOUSLY: HARDIWCK |
| By six forty-five, Archie had already found himself passing back and forth in front of the 'Haunt'. Everyone in Pointe Bordeaux knew of the Haunt; it wasn't an entirely unfamiliar place to him, though Archie himself had never been inside its doors. He had heard chatter around the office before; it was a regular spot for a cheeky pint after work, but the general consensus always came back to 'it was cool before it became popular'. Still, that didn't stop the bodies from lining the sidewalk in front of the Milk Street club, cigarette smoke hung in the air in both directions from several groups huddled against the brick wall, while the faint thump of the subwoofers rattled the thinly paned glass windows that were basked in crimson and copper glows. While uptown had the likes of 'The Velvet Room', out here in the Peninsula, it was 'The Haunt' that drew people in. Formerly a bottling facility, like much of Milk Street, the industrial facility had been transformed into something more consumer-friendly. The size of the space even allowed 'The Haunt' to operate a microbrewery, putting out its signature sour beer, 'Schwarzwald', named for the Black Forest in Germany and the sour cherries used to give the beer its distinctive colour and flavour. But scarcely anyone was coming to the Haunt for beer; it was the deals made in dark booths and on the corners of the dancefloor that drew most of the crowd in. It was hardly a secret that Pointe Bordeaux constantly laundered money for the cartel, and local gangs acted as distributors for some of the most potent highs and their fathomless lows. Archie had worked a summer stint in the district attorney's office. It had been eye-opening just how many trafficking cases the city handled in a summer. It had been gut-wrenching how many were settled in backroom deals or thrown out altogether. He had neither the stomach nor the spine for that line of work and was much happier at Pendelton & Hawking performing contract law. To his understanding, it paid better too. Criminal law was a thankless line of work. Continuing to pace back and forth in front of the club, Archie glanced at his watch again before catching his own reflection in one of the aforementioned vibrating windows. He cupped a hand to his mouth, blowing into it before taking a deep whiff. It was still minty fresh, just like it had been a minute ago and the minute before that. Nonetheless, he couldn't be too safe as he pulled a wrapper from his pocket, depositing the barely broken-in piece of gum between the wax paper and exchanging it for a fresh one. He stretched his legs, shaking out his weak knees before airing his sweaty palms out. A blast of wintermint overwhelmed his nasal cavities. Looking at himself in the window, Archie studied his outfit up and down, second, no third, perhaps even fourth-guessing his choice in wardrobe. What did one wear out for drinks? He had a jacket with him, though he didn't need it; everything he had ever seen told him that Harri wouldn't dress for the weather, and when she found herself cold, Archie would have a jacket to offer her. Should he have worn a tie? Archie fastened the top button of his shirt under the loosely fitted V-necked sweater before unbuttoning it again. He felt naked without the silk sash tied around his neck. "Ya look nervous, sweetheart," A voice called from nearby, breaking Archie from his train of thought. He turned towards the source of the voice, his eyes glazing over at the sheer number of people around him. With the municipal holidays, 'The Days of Remembrance,' and the funeral for 'The Mountain', there were more people on the streets than usual, making the growing throng quite overwhelming. "Over here, pretty boy," The voice said again, this time followed by a waved hand as Archie's eyes landed on the grungy-looking young man. Jeans ripped open at the knees hung loosely from his waist, leaving the man's boxer puffed over the top, barely tucked under the second skin-like tank top that looked held in place by a layer of sweat. A layered plaid hung off his shoulders, exposing a dragon tattoo that started at the base of his jaw and travelled down his right arm. A green hoodie was tight around his waist, emblazoned with a familiar logo that Archie recognized from his time with the D.A.'s office. American Dragons The Dragons were pill pushers for the cartel; it made Milk Street a rather appealing turf for them. If it was an upper, they were peddling it. A lot of alleged Gray-related crime in the Pointe was falsely reported due to experimental drugs coming in from South America, replicating Gray-like abilities temporarily, leading partiers to have wilder nights than they signed up for. There were numerous speculations as to what the cartel had gotten their hands on to make such a pill. Archie had heard everything from an ancient flower to a super soldier program to even the trafficking and mutilation of other Grays. "Uh, no." Archie replied, meekly raising a hand, "No, no thank you." "Hey, hey, let's not be too hasty, no need to be rude about." The Dragon said, taking a step off the wall he was leaning against and moving towards Archie. Behind him, several others suddenly stood up, causing Archie to swallow hard before taking a step back. His eyes darted down to his watch. Seven Thirty? Where are you, Harri? "C'mon now, look, I'm just trying to help you. Ya seem like a nervous wreck, I've got just the thing. It'll get ya laid, you'll be able ta go all night. You'll feel amazing, sweetheart, guaranteed and just for you, it's on me tonight." Yeah, okay buddy, there's no power in the 'verse that's going to get me laid. "L-l-look," Archie stammered, "I'm a luh, lawyer." He managed. Sometimes it would be nice if his inside voice and his outside voice could switch for a few minutes. Especially in circumstances like this. "And?" The Dragon scoffed, "You think the lawyers at the Velvet Room are rolling sober? That level of stress, you need what I go. Look at you, clawin' at your neck, looking for the noose that monkey suit comes with. Pretty Boy, I am beggin' ya ta let me help ya out." Yeah sure, just let me get that high, finally have the swagger to tell Harri how I feel and then we'll go all the way in a dingy club bathroom stall. Boy, you sure are selling the romance out here on the street corner. "I, I don't think I need your help." Archie replied, taking a step back before the Dragon suddenly lurched forward. He caught Archie, wrapping his arm around the lithe man and guiding him back towards his fellow gang members. "Look, ya definitely need help, superstar," The Dragon flashed a smile of yellowed teeth, one displayed a predominant chip that had been filled with an obnoxious gold metal. "Just think, if you were a Gray, you could have whatever you want." Archie shook his head, nearly closing his eyes to prevent the other man from seeing them roll into the back of his head. Preaching to the choir there, pal. Tell me something I don't know. "But, I-I'm not Gray." He finally replied, protesting almost a little too loudly. "But you could be, just for tonight," The Dragon said, "C'mon, you can't tell me you never wanted to know what it feels like." You did say 'Gray', right? "You did say 'Gray', right? Archie blurted out. He was met with some raised eyebrows as the other Dragons looked from Archie back to their apparent leader. Archie wanted to run, but his body was frozen, unable to move. $#!%, inside voice got out. Panicking now. "Hah! Pretty Boy's got jokes," The Dragon replied, releasing Archie before standing wide-armed in front of his posse. "But all the pretty fillies on da Milk Street know that Jakey Longo loves them long time." He proudly proclaimed. Proudly, despite calling himself 'Jakey'. Jake suddenly elongated his torse, increasing in size before drawing close to Archie. Archie could only watch as Jake manipulated his body like a piece of taffy, clearly showing off what exactly made all the 'pretty fillies' love 'Jakey' for a long time. And of course, he is actually Gray. Thanks oh, universal power for giving this guy powers but y'know, forgetting about ol'Archie. I would have been a great Gray. "Archie!" Harri's voice suddenly shouted over the crowd as Archie turned to see her approaching. Oh, thank #%@&, you do care. He looked skyward again with mock sincerity before returning his attention to Harri's approach. Jake clocked Archie's gaze, immediately following it to Harri before rubbing his hands together eagerly and licking his lips like a lion about to take down a gazelle. "Oi, this must be your limp dick over here, I've been trying to get him to loosen up, give you a night ya won't get but he's just not buying what I'm selling." Jake called towards Harri, "I'm sure you're a much more reasonable person, I'll even do a twofer." Why is everyone commenting on my dick today? Is my fly open? "Oh, every night with Archie is unforgettable. He doesn't need any help in that department" Harri replied, firmly grabbing hold of Archie's arm before getting his behind a playful swat. "Come on, Sugar Boogie, you were taking me dancing." Archie could feel his body turning stiff as a board. He turned flushed immediately, his face burning worse than when he accidentally got sunburnt falling asleep at the beach. His ears felt like they would explode at any second with the amount of blood coursing through them as all sound turned into a drum line of his own heartbeat racing. "Eh, forget ya then!" Jake called as Harri hauled Archie away. "Hey, Junior Partner, you might want to start making your no's a bit firmer." Harri scolded Archie, continuing to escort him back towards the door as the pair entered the club. "Y-yea-, yes, you're right." Archie nodded slowly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness before suddenly they were bombarded by a flash of red and orange. |
 ________________________________ | "Can I borrow fifty bucks?" Harri shouted in his ear over the thumping bassline as they moved further into the club. Archie paused, before nodding as he pulled out his wallet. "No!" Harri screamed, playfully swatting Archie. "You're supposed to say 'No!', ya dork." She continued to gently swat him to drive her point home. "This is your night, we're here to celebrate you, of course I'm buying." "Right, okay," Archie replied, nodding his head again. This was his first time inside 'The Haunt' and already he felt overwhelmed and disorientated. Between the volume of the music, the strobing of the lights and people constantly bumping into him. He had to admit, he probably would have enjoyed himself more at home pouring in the pages of the newest 'Crestwood' novel. You should get her a drink, "What do you want to drink?" Archie yelled into Harri's ear over the din. Hopefully the gum was still working, he hadn't exactly anticipated having to be this close just to talk. "Vodka Cran, nothing too fancy." Harri replied. Archie held his hand out, awkwardly standing there for a minute while Harri began to feel the music, waving at some people she moved and disappeared into the crowd. |
| I guess I am buying. Archie raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips before exhaling heavily as he made his way through the throng of writhing bodies towards the heavily illuminated bar. He raised his arms, trying to squeeze between bodies as he made his way up to the bar rail. An elbow here, a shoulder there, Archie flinched each time he was hit, touched or shoved aside while person after person failed to see or acknowledge him, coming and going with their drinks. Finally he made his way to the front, approaching a male bartender who immediately turned around and hung up his apron. "Excuse me, Sir?" Archie called before trying again. Sir!?" But it was to no avail as the man left the bar to go for a smoke break. Turning to the next closest bartender, Archie tried to get their attention, but a gaggle of girls butted in front of him and immediately raptured the bartender's attention away from Archie. Letting out a heavy sigh, Archie spun around, trying to flag another bartender before vocally letting out a cry of frustration. "Tough night, gorgeous?" "Tough life." Archie replied without thinking. Turning to the source of the voice, his mouth immediately closed as his face went beat red. The speaker in question looked up at him, batting her long eyelashes that accented the smokey eyes beneath fringe bangs that framed her face. Long, raven hair hung down past her shoulders while perfectly manicured nails tapped on a glass as she prepared to serve him. "I can relate to that," She replied, not even phased. "Vodka cran, right? For your friend?" She gestured with her head towards Harri out on the dancefloor. "And for you..." She paused, looking back at Archie. "You were going to tell me, soda water, but now you're thinking you should just man up and have a drink." Archie's jaw felt like it could fall off. "Problem is, you don't like the taste of beer and frankly don't understand the appeal of hard liquor. You'd order a cider, but you don't want to look wimpy in front of your 'date'. So you figured a soda water with a lime wedge looks enough like a gin and tonic you get a pass. But you won't actually enjoy it." The woman continued before placing the vodka cocktail on the bar rail. She cracked open a can of soda behind the counter before grabbing a square shaped bottle off the shelf behind her. Deftly mixing the pair together she placed the dark coloured cocktail beside the one for Harri. "Coke Zero and Amaretto, it'll taste just like Dr. Pepper and give you enough of a buzz to calm those overactive nerves." "I don't know what to say," Archie replied. "Most people say thank you, but you've already been told that today." The woman smiled, "The rest tip well." She winked at Archie before extending a hand. "Carmilla, you need a refill, you come to me, okay, Archie?" "Am I dead?" Archie asked, shaking Carmilla's hand. "No," She giggled, "Why?" "Just checking," Archie replied, stuffing a fifty in the nearby tip jar before picking up the two glasses. Walking away, he could feel his face doing something funny, like the corners of his mouth were turned upwards. He kind of liked it. Wait, how did she know my name? |
Once was a man who lived a life so mundane, it could only be true.
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
LOCATION: MILK STREET - POINTE BORDEAUX | URBAN GOTHIC #1.01: HARDWICK |
INTERACTIONS: NONE | PREVIOUSLY: NONE |
His fingers rubbed across his closed eyelids, pushing his glasses atop his forehead while he futily attempted to massage the exhaustion from his tired eyes. Bloodshot green eyes reopened, looking back at the computer screen in front of him, the high-definition monitor somehow managing to look like a Windows '98 resolution as Archibald Hardwick's eyes immediately resumed burning despite his effort. The text began to blur, prompting an exasperated sigh before Archied leaned back and looked towards the ceiling. A stretch from the bottom of his soul came out of his chest and into his shoulders while he laced his fingers behind his head briefly before his right hand began fumbling across the desk towards a small bottle of eye drops.
It was only Tuesday, and the week already felt longer than most. A large patent case had come in, and Archie was put in charge of cross-referencing the plaintiff's design to ensure their client actually had a case. Discovery had started nearly a week ago and worked through the weekend and late every night. It was thankless work, but he knew they would need to be extraordinarily thorough if they wanted to get the defendant's case thrown out before their lawyers found enough to settle.
"Slack off on your own time, stretch." A voice sneered, appearing behind Archie and startling him. Nearly jumping out of his skin, his hand slammed down on the desk, sending the nearby stack of files crashing to the floor before the vial of eye drops fell from his hand and freely rolled away before lodging themselves firmly under a nearby filing cabinet.
"So jumpy," Archie turned to the source of the voice, biting the inside of his cheek while nursing his right hand. Behind Archie was Tiffany, the office administrator, holding a file with a red stamp across the front. Her heavily glossed lips smacked obnoxiously on a matching shade of pink bubble gum before she extended the folder towards Archie.
"Cheryl denied your overtime request," Tiffany said, the corner of her mouth struggling not to upturn into a smirk.
"I submitted it to Robert, I worked those hours, my key card is logged in." Archie protested, looking over the printout of his weekend and evening hours.
"Budget's tight right now, and work has to be done." Tiffany shrugged, "Tough luck, I guess." She clicked her heels, adjusting the pencil skirt that hung like a second skin over her legs.
"Oh, and Cheryl wants to see you in her office. But if I were you, I'd probably just pack your desk up and leave. Or don't, I like watching a good sacking, hun."
"Are you this awful to everyone?"
"No, just scrawny little pencil dicks that think they're too good for everyone."
"I don't-"
"Save it, Cheryl's probably fuming, she said to send you over ASAP, but I waited thirty minutes to relay that message, so you're welcome." Tiffany smiled coldly.
"Seriously?"
"Uh, duh. Now move your pasty little ass, Cheryl's been kept waiting long enough." Tiffany scoffed, "Honestly, I don't know why Harri puts up with you."
Harri. Harriet Lynd, the girl next door. From the corner of his eye, Archie could see Harri from across the office. She had pulled some strings to get him in the door; the pair had been friends since the day Archie's foster parents had brought him home. The girl from across the street, Archie had been smitten from the moment Harri had hit him in the face with a basketball.
Frankly, I don't know either.
Archie's head clouded with thoughts as he stood from his desk; his chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. Was he about to be fired? He needed this job; it was all that set him apart from where he had come from. He wasn't a bad employee; he was never late, never took off early. In fact, Archie had never even taken a vacation or sick day in the five years he had worked at Pendelton & Hawking.
His hand shook as he raised it to knock on Cheryl's door. Should he knock? Archie hesitated. If he were summoned, shouldn't he just go in? He was already invited; what need was there to knock? He put his hand on the door handle, pushing down on it before panicking and taking a step back. Raising a loose fist, Archie meekly knocked on the frosted glass embossed with the 'Cheryl Lockhart, Senior Partner'.
"Enter," Cheryl called from the other side of the door, prompting Archie to take a deep breath and turn the handle. Gingerly pushing the door open, he watched Cheryl take a seat at her desk before the pair briefly stared at one another as Archie froze in the doorway.
"Archibald, are you planning on coming in?" Cheryl asked, "You look like you're debating between slamming the door or jumping through my window." She stated, turning in her chair to look at the skyline behind her. "It's a beautiful view, isn't it? Almost uncommon to see the sky as empty as it is today."
She spun back around, a soft smile crossing her lips before she beckoned Archie forward.
"Please, take a seat, Archibald."
"Ma'am, I am so sorry-"
"I know Tiffany didn't relay my message." Cheryl interupted, raising a hand, "And I know, you're probably wondering why I denied your overtime."
"No, Ma'am, I completely unders-"
"Cut the bullshit," Cheryl interjected, she placed her hands in front of herself on the desk that separated her from Archie. "Look, I know you think the work you do around her goes unnoticed, but it doesn't. You've been with us for a while, Archibald and never moved past associate."
Archie nodded as Cheryl paused.
"Five years, that's a long time to remain an associate." She commented before opening a file on her desk. "I see that you studied locally, joined directly out of school. Lynd put in a word for you, you know, she made junior partner in under a year."
"Everyone has always thought highly of Harriet."
"Why do you think that is?" Cheryl asked, leaning back in her chair as Archie stared at her like a deer in headlights. His mind went blank. Normally, he could list off a dozen reasons why Harri was great, but suddenly, now in front of one of the senior partners, none of those reasons felt relevant.
C'mon, you're a lawyer, damnit. Act like one.
"She's confident in everything she does," Archie answered. He wanted to be sick; his heart was trying to escape through his ribcage, while he felt like the pits of his shirt had to be a different colour from the rest of it at this point due to perspiration.
"Confidence is a key attribute in this line of work, one that you're certainly lacking," Cheryl replied, her lips pursed together. "However, you're not without your merits, Archibald. You are, without a doubt, the most thorough of my associates, and I've been looking through your preliminary work on the Hawthorne case, and even I must say it's exemplary."
"Then why are you letting me go?" Archie blurted out. His eyes widened at his own words before he covered his mouth.
"Letting you go?" Cheryl raised an eyebrow before gently massaging her forehead. "Ah, Tiffany..." She shook her head.
"No, Archibald. I am not letting you go. I want to give you an opportunity." Cheryl explained. "I want you to personally handle the Hawthorne case and, if you win, I'd like to extend an offer to you as Junior Partner, with your work on the Hawthorne case retroactively paid at your new rate." She smiled, extending a hand towards Archie.
"That's why I denied your paperwork."
"I, I don't know what to say." He answered, weakly gripping her hand before she squeezed and gave his arm a good shake.
"Most people start with thank you, you might want to start by working on your handshake." Cheryl replied, "That said, Archibald, I will warn you that the consequences will be dire should you not win this case for us. We would have to reconsider your time at this firm if you can't win a case after five years. Think of this as your big break, though, with your talents and attention to detail, if you apply yourself and push outside of your comfort zone, I think you could catch up to your peers."
"Thank you, thank you so much," Archie nodded, "I won't let you down."
"I'm counting on it, Archibald." Cheryl replied, motioning towards the door. "You're dismissed. Oh, and I should mention, I want this settled by next week."
"Yes, Ma'am," Archie replied, backing out of the room with a bow of his head before continuing backwards into the hallway. Taking another step, her turned and bumped directly into Tiffany, barely stopping himself from toppling face-first into her before an outstretched arm caught the nearby wall, leading to Archie bracing overtop of Tiffany.
He had never realized how good her perfume smelled.
"So, Junior Partner? Congrats, pencil dick, it's about time. You want a quick blow in the closet?" Tiffany offered, her dry tone escaping Archie's notice.
"I, uh-" He stammered awkwardly, looking around as a few of the others began to stare.
"That wasn't a genuine offer, asshole." Tiffany rolled her eyes as Archie just awkwardly stared at her. "Lawyers," She exhaled sharply through her mouth, "I'd need at least five shots of tequila before I'd even consider it." She muttered, "See you around, pencil dick."
"Junior Partner?" Another voice asked from behind Archie. He turned to greet Harri, who threw her arms around Archie, giving him a quick squeeze before pumping her fists excitedly.
"We have to go out and celebrate!" Harri said, reaching up on her tiptoes to tousle Archie's hair. "You've been waiting for this day for so long. It'll be my treat, 'The Haunt' tonight at seven?" She asked. Archie could barely hear her over the sound of his heart pumping blood as it thumped around his ears.
"C'mon, Arch, you never go out and have any fun, it'll be good to blow off some steam. Just you, me and maybe a couple others from work." Harri said, tapping on Archie's tie with a well-manicured finger.
"M-m-maybe just one drink," Archie replied weakly.
"Oh, you're having at least two," Harri replied playfully, "And try to be late, no one is early to their own shindig."
"You know I can't do that," Archie replied, attempting to match Harri's playfulness, full well knowing he was serious.
"I really can't, can I?" He muttered under his breath, turning around. His head was spinning; the events of the afternoon had left him feeling like he had whiplash. Junior Partner and Harri wanted to go out with him? Everything was finally coming up Hardwick.
Where was his desk again?
It was only Tuesday, and the week already felt longer than most. A large patent case had come in, and Archie was put in charge of cross-referencing the plaintiff's design to ensure their client actually had a case. Discovery had started nearly a week ago and worked through the weekend and late every night. It was thankless work, but he knew they would need to be extraordinarily thorough if they wanted to get the defendant's case thrown out before their lawyers found enough to settle.
"Slack off on your own time, stretch." A voice sneered, appearing behind Archie and startling him. Nearly jumping out of his skin, his hand slammed down on the desk, sending the nearby stack of files crashing to the floor before the vial of eye drops fell from his hand and freely rolled away before lodging themselves firmly under a nearby filing cabinet.
"So jumpy," Archie turned to the source of the voice, biting the inside of his cheek while nursing his right hand. Behind Archie was Tiffany, the office administrator, holding a file with a red stamp across the front. Her heavily glossed lips smacked obnoxiously on a matching shade of pink bubble gum before she extended the folder towards Archie.
"Cheryl denied your overtime request," Tiffany said, the corner of her mouth struggling not to upturn into a smirk.
"I submitted it to Robert, I worked those hours, my key card is logged in." Archie protested, looking over the printout of his weekend and evening hours.
"Budget's tight right now, and work has to be done." Tiffany shrugged, "Tough luck, I guess." She clicked her heels, adjusting the pencil skirt that hung like a second skin over her legs.
"Oh, and Cheryl wants to see you in her office. But if I were you, I'd probably just pack your desk up and leave. Or don't, I like watching a good sacking, hun."
"Are you this awful to everyone?"
"No, just scrawny little pencil dicks that think they're too good for everyone."
"I don't-"
"Save it, Cheryl's probably fuming, she said to send you over ASAP, but I waited thirty minutes to relay that message, so you're welcome." Tiffany smiled coldly.
"Seriously?"
"Uh, duh. Now move your pasty little ass, Cheryl's been kept waiting long enough." Tiffany scoffed, "Honestly, I don't know why Harri puts up with you."
Harri. Harriet Lynd, the girl next door. From the corner of his eye, Archie could see Harri from across the office. She had pulled some strings to get him in the door; the pair had been friends since the day Archie's foster parents had brought him home. The girl from across the street, Archie had been smitten from the moment Harri had hit him in the face with a basketball.
Frankly, I don't know either.
Archie's head clouded with thoughts as he stood from his desk; his chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. Was he about to be fired? He needed this job; it was all that set him apart from where he had come from. He wasn't a bad employee; he was never late, never took off early. In fact, Archie had never even taken a vacation or sick day in the five years he had worked at Pendelton & Hawking.
His hand shook as he raised it to knock on Cheryl's door. Should he knock? Archie hesitated. If he were summoned, shouldn't he just go in? He was already invited; what need was there to knock? He put his hand on the door handle, pushing down on it before panicking and taking a step back. Raising a loose fist, Archie meekly knocked on the frosted glass embossed with the 'Cheryl Lockhart, Senior Partner'.
"Enter," Cheryl called from the other side of the door, prompting Archie to take a deep breath and turn the handle. Gingerly pushing the door open, he watched Cheryl take a seat at her desk before the pair briefly stared at one another as Archie froze in the doorway.
"Archibald, are you planning on coming in?" Cheryl asked, "You look like you're debating between slamming the door or jumping through my window." She stated, turning in her chair to look at the skyline behind her. "It's a beautiful view, isn't it? Almost uncommon to see the sky as empty as it is today."
She spun back around, a soft smile crossing her lips before she beckoned Archie forward.
"Please, take a seat, Archibald."
"Ma'am, I am so sorry-"
"I know Tiffany didn't relay my message." Cheryl interupted, raising a hand, "And I know, you're probably wondering why I denied your overtime."
"No, Ma'am, I completely unders-"
"Cut the bullshit," Cheryl interjected, she placed her hands in front of herself on the desk that separated her from Archie. "Look, I know you think the work you do around her goes unnoticed, but it doesn't. You've been with us for a while, Archibald and never moved past associate."
Archie nodded as Cheryl paused.
"Five years, that's a long time to remain an associate." She commented before opening a file on her desk. "I see that you studied locally, joined directly out of school. Lynd put in a word for you, you know, she made junior partner in under a year."
"Everyone has always thought highly of Harriet."
"Why do you think that is?" Cheryl asked, leaning back in her chair as Archie stared at her like a deer in headlights. His mind went blank. Normally, he could list off a dozen reasons why Harri was great, but suddenly, now in front of one of the senior partners, none of those reasons felt relevant.
C'mon, you're a lawyer, damnit. Act like one.
"She's confident in everything she does," Archie answered. He wanted to be sick; his heart was trying to escape through his ribcage, while he felt like the pits of his shirt had to be a different colour from the rest of it at this point due to perspiration.
"Confidence is a key attribute in this line of work, one that you're certainly lacking," Cheryl replied, her lips pursed together. "However, you're not without your merits, Archibald. You are, without a doubt, the most thorough of my associates, and I've been looking through your preliminary work on the Hawthorne case, and even I must say it's exemplary."
"Then why are you letting me go?" Archie blurted out. His eyes widened at his own words before he covered his mouth.
"Letting you go?" Cheryl raised an eyebrow before gently massaging her forehead. "Ah, Tiffany..." She shook her head.
"No, Archibald. I am not letting you go. I want to give you an opportunity." Cheryl explained. "I want you to personally handle the Hawthorne case and, if you win, I'd like to extend an offer to you as Junior Partner, with your work on the Hawthorne case retroactively paid at your new rate." She smiled, extending a hand towards Archie.
"That's why I denied your paperwork."
"I, I don't know what to say." He answered, weakly gripping her hand before she squeezed and gave his arm a good shake.
"Most people start with thank you, you might want to start by working on your handshake." Cheryl replied, "That said, Archibald, I will warn you that the consequences will be dire should you not win this case for us. We would have to reconsider your time at this firm if you can't win a case after five years. Think of this as your big break, though, with your talents and attention to detail, if you apply yourself and push outside of your comfort zone, I think you could catch up to your peers."
"Thank you, thank you so much," Archie nodded, "I won't let you down."
"I'm counting on it, Archibald." Cheryl replied, motioning towards the door. "You're dismissed. Oh, and I should mention, I want this settled by next week."
"Yes, Ma'am," Archie replied, backing out of the room with a bow of his head before continuing backwards into the hallway. Taking another step, her turned and bumped directly into Tiffany, barely stopping himself from toppling face-first into her before an outstretched arm caught the nearby wall, leading to Archie bracing overtop of Tiffany.
He had never realized how good her perfume smelled.
"So, Junior Partner? Congrats, pencil dick, it's about time. You want a quick blow in the closet?" Tiffany offered, her dry tone escaping Archie's notice.
"I, uh-" He stammered awkwardly, looking around as a few of the others began to stare.
"That wasn't a genuine offer, asshole." Tiffany rolled her eyes as Archie just awkwardly stared at her. "Lawyers," She exhaled sharply through her mouth, "I'd need at least five shots of tequila before I'd even consider it." She muttered, "See you around, pencil dick."
"Junior Partner?" Another voice asked from behind Archie. He turned to greet Harri, who threw her arms around Archie, giving him a quick squeeze before pumping her fists excitedly.
"We have to go out and celebrate!" Harri said, reaching up on her tiptoes to tousle Archie's hair. "You've been waiting for this day for so long. It'll be my treat, 'The Haunt' tonight at seven?" She asked. Archie could barely hear her over the sound of his heart pumping blood as it thumped around his ears.
"C'mon, Arch, you never go out and have any fun, it'll be good to blow off some steam. Just you, me and maybe a couple others from work." Harri said, tapping on Archie's tie with a well-manicured finger.
"M-m-maybe just one drink," Archie replied weakly.
"Oh, you're having at least two," Harri replied playfully, "And try to be late, no one is early to their own shindig."
"You know I can't do that," Archie replied, attempting to match Harri's playfulness, full well knowing he was serious.
"I really can't, can I?" He muttered under his breath, turning around. His head was spinning; the events of the afternoon had left him feeling like he had whiplash. Junior Partner and Harri wanted to go out with him? Everything was finally coming up Hardwick.
Where was his desk again?
<Snipped quote by DocTachyon>
Wonder how many colour tags a single post could handle...
Wonder how many colour tags a single post could handle...
Better not let Sep read it. He might find some new formatting in there and break the site again.
In all fairness, it was the originator of the dreaded table bomb.
Phew, finally finished my CS.
GMs, you can go ahead and accept me now.
GMs, you can go ahead and accept me now.
“This fortress contains all the known knowledge of the universe. In particular, the history of Krypton and your ancestors. The technology provided by this crystal creates a place of solitude where you may seek reprieve from this world. A replication of your homeworld, you’ll find the environment and atmosphere within the fortress to be much harsher than that of your adoptive planet.” The voice boomed.
“The very air is heavier here; Krypton’s atmosphere is nearly ten times denser than that of Earth’s. Its gravitational pull is exponentially stronger, challenging even your already immense strength. You will be able to use the resources here not only to enhance your knowledge of the universe, but also to train your abilities beyond civilian saves. Only then will you be prepared to face the destiny that lies ahead.”
“Who are you?” Clark replied, yelling into the vaulted crystalline ceilings.
“An ally,” The disembodied voice replied. A subtle shift in the crystals revealed a transparent column containing what appeared to be a mannequin inside.
“A gift from your Uncle. This fortress showcases his engineering expertise and the ability to tailor it to your specific needs. Kelex-” The voice commanded as a robotic figure appeared.
“Please help fit the son of Jor-El with his armour.”
“You must have a name,” Clark bellowed, looking around the fortress as the robot approached, handing Clark the suit. The fabric felt almost alive as it wrapped itself around Clark’s arm and slowly spread across his body. It changed from blue to black as Clark suddenly felt the light of the yellow sun concentrated upon his body, restoring his depleted cells.
“Your travels have left you weakened. Zor-El’s suit will accelerate your recovery. Kelex was a loyal servant of your father’s; he will be able to function as an extension of your suit and will grant the sunstone that makes up the armour autonomy to help you in your battles.” The voice explained. “As for my name,”
The voice paused as the silver crest of the House of El appeared on Clark’s chest.
“You may call me Zod.”
“The very air is heavier here; Krypton’s atmosphere is nearly ten times denser than that of Earth’s. Its gravitational pull is exponentially stronger, challenging even your already immense strength. You will be able to use the resources here not only to enhance your knowledge of the universe, but also to train your abilities beyond civilian saves. Only then will you be prepared to face the destiny that lies ahead.”
“Who are you?” Clark replied, yelling into the vaulted crystalline ceilings.
“An ally,” The disembodied voice replied. A subtle shift in the crystals revealed a transparent column containing what appeared to be a mannequin inside.
“A gift from your Uncle. This fortress showcases his engineering expertise and the ability to tailor it to your specific needs. Kelex-” The voice commanded as a robotic figure appeared.
“Please help fit the son of Jor-El with his armour.”
“You must have a name,” Clark bellowed, looking around the fortress as the robot approached, handing Clark the suit. The fabric felt almost alive as it wrapped itself around Clark’s arm and slowly spread across his body. It changed from blue to black as Clark suddenly felt the light of the yellow sun concentrated upon his body, restoring his depleted cells.
“Your travels have left you weakened. Zor-El’s suit will accelerate your recovery. Kelex was a loyal servant of your father’s; he will be able to function as an extension of your suit and will grant the sunstone that makes up the armour autonomy to help you in your battles.” The voice explained. “As for my name,”
The voice paused as the silver crest of the House of El appeared on Clark’s chest.
“You may call me Zod.”
“What happened to my sister, Lex?”
“Cara!” The surprise was evident in Lex’s voice, “I didn’t know you were in town.” He continued, embracing his sister-in-law as she approached. She reluctantly returned the gesture, her body tense and impatient while Lex found the words to answer Cara properly.
“She’s severely dehydrated, severe to moderate burns across her entire body.” Lex’s voice wavered, a raised hand against the glass of the observation window. “Initial analysis says it’s a metahuman attack, but I’m not as convinced. Scans of the area only show residuals of the woman they had in custody. Her partner-” He paused, “I’m led to believe she has a human partner, perhaps augmented. Equally dangerous none the less.”
Lex paused, turning towards Carol.
“How did you get here so quickly?”
“I was on the phone with Lexa when it happened,” Carol answered, moving beside Lex as her brow furrowed. Her eyes intently staring at her sister hooked up to wires and fluids as the doctors worked to help Lexa regain consciousness.
“I convinced an airman to fly me out the moment I was disconnected.”
“Lexa knew the risks when she joined the D.E.O.-”
“How can you be so cold?” Carol interjected, turning towards Lex as she the petite powerhouse jabbed a finger into his chest. The blonde woman looked up into Lex’s seemingly emotionless eyes.
“That’s your wife lying there fighting for her life. My sister and you’re here spouting theories about what happened to her instead of finding a way to help her.”
“I already have the best specialists in Metropolis here, Cara. I assure you, under my watch you will not lose your sister.” Lex replied, a firm hand gently removing Carol’s accusatory finger.
“Nor will I be losing my wife. Lexa’s life is in the best possible hands money could buy. There’s no one more suited to saving her.”
“Good,” Carol replied, “I knew I always liked you,”
“You didn’t,” Lex chided, “But that’s kind of you to say.” He replied with a smile. “You’re welcome to stay at the penthouse tonight, Cara.”
“Thanks, bro,” Carol responded before playfully slugging Lex in the arm. “But I’ve got other business to attend to.”
“Cara-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Lex.” Carol snapped, “If that was your sister-”
“I’d let the proper authorities handle it.”
“Just like Club Zero?”
Lex faltered.
“How do you?”
“I checked up on you before you married Lexa.” Carol replied, “You’ve got your own fair share of skeletons in your closet.”
“Then I suggest you learn from my mistakes and not rush headstrong into repeating them.” Lex replied firmly, grabbing Carol’s arm before she quickly shook him off.
“Leave it alone, Lex. You’re my brother-in-law, but you sure as hell ain’t family.” Cara growled.
Lex held up his hands, watching as Cara stormed out of the hospital. Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, he dialed quickly before holding it up to his ear.
“Hey, you’re on scene right? Look, Clark, I have a favour to ask.”
“Cara!” The surprise was evident in Lex’s voice, “I didn’t know you were in town.” He continued, embracing his sister-in-law as she approached. She reluctantly returned the gesture, her body tense and impatient while Lex found the words to answer Cara properly.
“She’s severely dehydrated, severe to moderate burns across her entire body.” Lex’s voice wavered, a raised hand against the glass of the observation window. “Initial analysis says it’s a metahuman attack, but I’m not as convinced. Scans of the area only show residuals of the woman they had in custody. Her partner-” He paused, “I’m led to believe she has a human partner, perhaps augmented. Equally dangerous none the less.”
Lex paused, turning towards Carol.
“How did you get here so quickly?”
“I was on the phone with Lexa when it happened,” Carol answered, moving beside Lex as her brow furrowed. Her eyes intently staring at her sister hooked up to wires and fluids as the doctors worked to help Lexa regain consciousness.
“I convinced an airman to fly me out the moment I was disconnected.”
“Lexa knew the risks when she joined the D.E.O.-”
“How can you be so cold?” Carol interjected, turning towards Lex as she the petite powerhouse jabbed a finger into his chest. The blonde woman looked up into Lex’s seemingly emotionless eyes.
“That’s your wife lying there fighting for her life. My sister and you’re here spouting theories about what happened to her instead of finding a way to help her.”
“I already have the best specialists in Metropolis here, Cara. I assure you, under my watch you will not lose your sister.” Lex replied, a firm hand gently removing Carol’s accusatory finger.
“Nor will I be losing my wife. Lexa’s life is in the best possible hands money could buy. There’s no one more suited to saving her.”
“Good,” Carol replied, “I knew I always liked you,”
“You didn’t,” Lex chided, “But that’s kind of you to say.” He replied with a smile. “You’re welcome to stay at the penthouse tonight, Cara.”
“Thanks, bro,” Carol responded before playfully slugging Lex in the arm. “But I’ve got other business to attend to.”
“Cara-”
“I don’t want to hear it, Lex.” Carol snapped, “If that was your sister-”
“I’d let the proper authorities handle it.”
“Just like Club Zero?”
Lex faltered.
“How do you?”
“I checked up on you before you married Lexa.” Carol replied, “You’ve got your own fair share of skeletons in your closet.”
“Then I suggest you learn from my mistakes and not rush headstrong into repeating them.” Lex replied firmly, grabbing Carol’s arm before she quickly shook him off.
“Leave it alone, Lex. You’re my brother-in-law, but you sure as hell ain’t family.” Cara growled.
Lex held up his hands, watching as Cara stormed out of the hospital. Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, he dialed quickly before holding it up to his ear.
“Hey, you’re on scene right? Look, Clark, I have a favour to ask.”
The sound of the billiard balls breaking echoed through the large den as the seventeen year old entered to see a young man with a clean shaven head playing pool alongside a beautiful woman. The security escort waved him through the glass paned doors as Clark was taken aback by both the size of the Luthor Mansion and its sheer elegance. Hand carved wood adorned much of the wall paneling and trim. A massive mantel drew his attention across the room while book cases upon book cases framed the far wall, broken up by exquisite stained glass windows.
Clark suddenly found himself feeling very out of place and underdressed as he hastily wiped his hands on his jeans, tugging at his flannel shirt to straighten it before he took an uncertain step forward.
“Mr. Luthor, I’m-”
“Please,” The young man looked up, flashing a cocky smile at Clark. “Mr. Luthor is my father,” He interrupted, winking towards the nearby woman.
“You must be Clark Kent,” He continued, “Lex,” Lex offered, extending a hand.
“I hear I have you to thank for saving my father.”
“I just did what anyone would do,” Clark replied with a shrug, “That’s actually why I’m here, about the truck-” He added, stopping as Lex rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess, you wanted one in a different colour? Or maybe a higher trim package.”
“No, no!” Clark protested, holding out the keys to Lex. “Nothing like that at all, I’m afraid I just can’t accept it.”
Lex blinked twice as Clark extended the keys to the free vehicle in front of him.
“Oh, I get it, you’re young. You probably wanted a sportscar. Sorry, Bo, I’ll be sure to let my father know to send a Charger out to the Kent farm.” Lex stated dryly, snatching the keys from Clark’s outstretched hand.
“Lex, I don’t think you understand.”
“No, Clark, I do understand. You’re yet another local hick who got lucky and is using that luck to shake down my father. If I’m being honest, you’re lucky my father isn’t pursuing charges against you.”
“Lex, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, but it’s not the truck.” Clark replied, “It’s the idea of a gift. I don’t need a gift for doing the right thing. I didn’t pull your father from the river in hopes of being rewarded. I did it because if I were in his place, I’d want someone to save me.”
“I’m sorry,” Lex did a double take at the younger man, “Are you telling me, you did the right thing with no ulterior motive? You saved one of the most powerful men in the world and you have no interest in being repaid.”
Clark had to fight to control himself from laughing.
“Yes, Lex.” He nodded, “I’m not looking for fame or glory.”
“Clark, I don’t think you have any idea how rare that is.” Lex replied before extending a hand towards Clark. “I apologize for the hostility. Generally when someone shows up after receiving a gift from a Luthor it’s a shakedown.”
“I’m just here to see you get your Dad gets his money back,” Clark said as he shook Lex’s hand.
“My father hardly needs it, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.” Lex stated, returning to the pool table before taking his shot. The ball sunk into the corner pocket as Lex moved to line up his next shot.
“There is one thing that interests me though,” Lex continued. “How does someone get struck by a car at sixty miles per hour, plunge off a bridge and remain conscious enough to pull two men out of a sinking car?”
Clark shrugged, flashing a disarming smile.
“Just lucky I guess.”
“Lucky?” Lex smiled, nodding towards his female companion. “Victoria, pass Clark your cue, I want to see how Mr. Kent’s luck holds up on the pool table.” He looked from Victoria back towards Clark.
“You have played before haven’t you?”
“I can’t say I have,” Clark replied, accepting the pool cue from Victoria with an appreciative nod.
“Victoria can help you line up your first shot. You hit the eight ball into either solids or stripes, call the pocket you intend to sink it in. You sink your shot, you go again.”
“There’s a bit more to it, but that’s the jist of it, luv.” Victoria smiled before placing her hands on Clark’s shoulders.
“You really ought to wear something more fitted. Quite a bit of muscle under there, Mr. Kent.”
Clark felt his cheeks flush.
“One hand here,” Victoria instructed, moving Clark’s hand down the cue, “And the other here,” She guided.
“Keep it level, pull back and a quick tap.”
“So, Clark,” Lex smiled. “What’s your call?”
Clark eyed the table up, quickly taking stock of where each ball was located. A quick mental count and a calculation easily sized up the best shot.
“Number Nine, corner pocket,” Clark called before striking the eight ball. It missed the stripe ball, hitting a solid that ricocheted several others. True to his call though, the nine ball sunk in the corner pocket.
“Fifteen, side pocket.” Clark stated as fifteen too landed in a pocket.
“Twelve, far pocket.” He continued as a third ball sank. Victoria squealed with excitement as Lex stared at the table.
“Are you hustling me?”
“Honestly,” Clark replied, “I’ve never played.”
Lex let out a chuckle before passing the rack to Victoria.
“Darling, if you wouldn’t mind racking a new game, this just got interesting.” Lex stated.
“Clark, I think this is the beginning of a very interesting friendship.”
Clark suddenly found himself feeling very out of place and underdressed as he hastily wiped his hands on his jeans, tugging at his flannel shirt to straighten it before he took an uncertain step forward.
“Mr. Luthor, I’m-”
“Please,” The young man looked up, flashing a cocky smile at Clark. “Mr. Luthor is my father,” He interrupted, winking towards the nearby woman.
“You must be Clark Kent,” He continued, “Lex,” Lex offered, extending a hand.
“I hear I have you to thank for saving my father.”
“I just did what anyone would do,” Clark replied with a shrug, “That’s actually why I’m here, about the truck-” He added, stopping as Lex rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess, you wanted one in a different colour? Or maybe a higher trim package.”
“No, no!” Clark protested, holding out the keys to Lex. “Nothing like that at all, I’m afraid I just can’t accept it.”
Lex blinked twice as Clark extended the keys to the free vehicle in front of him.
“Oh, I get it, you’re young. You probably wanted a sportscar. Sorry, Bo, I’ll be sure to let my father know to send a Charger out to the Kent farm.” Lex stated dryly, snatching the keys from Clark’s outstretched hand.
“Lex, I don’t think you understand.”
“No, Clark, I do understand. You’re yet another local hick who got lucky and is using that luck to shake down my father. If I’m being honest, you’re lucky my father isn’t pursuing charges against you.”
“Lex, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, but it’s not the truck.” Clark replied, “It’s the idea of a gift. I don’t need a gift for doing the right thing. I didn’t pull your father from the river in hopes of being rewarded. I did it because if I were in his place, I’d want someone to save me.”
“I’m sorry,” Lex did a double take at the younger man, “Are you telling me, you did the right thing with no ulterior motive? You saved one of the most powerful men in the world and you have no interest in being repaid.”
Clark had to fight to control himself from laughing.
“Yes, Lex.” He nodded, “I’m not looking for fame or glory.”
“Clark, I don’t think you have any idea how rare that is.” Lex replied before extending a hand towards Clark. “I apologize for the hostility. Generally when someone shows up after receiving a gift from a Luthor it’s a shakedown.”
“I’m just here to see you get your Dad gets his money back,” Clark said as he shook Lex’s hand.
“My father hardly needs it, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.” Lex stated, returning to the pool table before taking his shot. The ball sunk into the corner pocket as Lex moved to line up his next shot.
“There is one thing that interests me though,” Lex continued. “How does someone get struck by a car at sixty miles per hour, plunge off a bridge and remain conscious enough to pull two men out of a sinking car?”
Clark shrugged, flashing a disarming smile.
“Just lucky I guess.”
“Lucky?” Lex smiled, nodding towards his female companion. “Victoria, pass Clark your cue, I want to see how Mr. Kent’s luck holds up on the pool table.” He looked from Victoria back towards Clark.
“You have played before haven’t you?”
“I can’t say I have,” Clark replied, accepting the pool cue from Victoria with an appreciative nod.
“Victoria can help you line up your first shot. You hit the eight ball into either solids or stripes, call the pocket you intend to sink it in. You sink your shot, you go again.”
“There’s a bit more to it, but that’s the jist of it, luv.” Victoria smiled before placing her hands on Clark’s shoulders.
“You really ought to wear something more fitted. Quite a bit of muscle under there, Mr. Kent.”
Clark felt his cheeks flush.
“One hand here,” Victoria instructed, moving Clark’s hand down the cue, “And the other here,” She guided.
“Keep it level, pull back and a quick tap.”
“So, Clark,” Lex smiled. “What’s your call?”
Clark eyed the table up, quickly taking stock of where each ball was located. A quick mental count and a calculation easily sized up the best shot.
“Number Nine, corner pocket,” Clark called before striking the eight ball. It missed the stripe ball, hitting a solid that ricocheted several others. True to his call though, the nine ball sunk in the corner pocket.
“Fifteen, side pocket.” Clark stated as fifteen too landed in a pocket.
“Twelve, far pocket.” He continued as a third ball sank. Victoria squealed with excitement as Lex stared at the table.
“Are you hustling me?”
“Honestly,” Clark replied, “I’ve never played.”
Lex let out a chuckle before passing the rack to Victoria.
“Darling, if you wouldn’t mind racking a new game, this just got interesting.” Lex stated.
“Clark, I think this is the beginning of a very interesting friendship.”
“And the record-breaking crime wave continues across the Metropolis as a young mutant woman was apprehended after attempting to rob-”
“Breaking News, although initially apprehended, the young mutant appears to now be at large. Sources are now saying she has an accomplic-”
“Lane! Olsen! Why the hell aren’t we the ‘sources’?” Perry White’s voice boomed from the balcony overlooking the bullpen. “And where the hell is Kent? I don’t like getting my news from the news.”
“Kent’s off chasing his own leads,” Lois barked back, “Shame he has the instincts and self preservation of a quokka.” She muttered under his breath before spinning towards Jimmy.
“I guess that leaves you and me, you got a new memory card in that thing?” She asked, gesturing towards his camera with her chin.
“Same one from this morning, should be plenty of room.”
“Get your head out of your ass, Jimmy.” Lois snapped, “You’re not some cub reporter, you know how many pictures we’re going to need of a car literally melted into the road.” She added.
“Little firebugs may as well have stood for a photo op. Bet we could even find a trail.”
“Damn, Lane, you certainly filled out,” A male voice called from the top of the stairs as Lois froze, before looking out of the bullpen towards the familiar face.
“Corben.” She smiled weakly. He looked different with his hair grown out, but the smirk was the same, accented by the scar from where she had split his lip.
“Sergeant John Corben, you got old.” Lois continued, calling towards the older man.
“Honourably discharged John Corben,” he replied, turning to the side and awkwardly stepping down the stairs. Lois was only just now noticing the limp in his walk and the cane he was leaning on.
“Figured, I’d drop in on the most beautiful Pulitzer Winner and pay her a visit.”
“Helen Branswell is here?” Lois asked, her tone dismissive while she mockingly looked around only for Perry to poke his head out of his office again.
“Great Caesar’s Ghost, Lane, you’re still here?” White roared, “Get a move on!”
“Sorry, John, this will have to wait.” Lois said apologetically, tapping the man on the shoulder.
“Our usual booth at the Ace O'Clubs, say eight tonight?”
“I’ll be there,”
“See you then, John-Boy,” Lois winked, giving the former soldier a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out of the bullpen.
“Move it, Olsen!”
“Breaking News, although initially apprehended, the young mutant appears to now be at large. Sources are now saying she has an accomplic-”
“Lane! Olsen! Why the hell aren’t we the ‘sources’?” Perry White’s voice boomed from the balcony overlooking the bullpen. “And where the hell is Kent? I don’t like getting my news from the news.”
“Kent’s off chasing his own leads,” Lois barked back, “Shame he has the instincts and self preservation of a quokka.” She muttered under his breath before spinning towards Jimmy.
“I guess that leaves you and me, you got a new memory card in that thing?” She asked, gesturing towards his camera with her chin.
“Same one from this morning, should be plenty of room.”
“Get your head out of your ass, Jimmy.” Lois snapped, “You’re not some cub reporter, you know how many pictures we’re going to need of a car literally melted into the road.” She added.
“Little firebugs may as well have stood for a photo op. Bet we could even find a trail.”
“Damn, Lane, you certainly filled out,” A male voice called from the top of the stairs as Lois froze, before looking out of the bullpen towards the familiar face.
“Corben.” She smiled weakly. He looked different with his hair grown out, but the smirk was the same, accented by the scar from where she had split his lip.
“Sergeant John Corben, you got old.” Lois continued, calling towards the older man.
“Honourably discharged John Corben,” he replied, turning to the side and awkwardly stepping down the stairs. Lois was only just now noticing the limp in his walk and the cane he was leaning on.
“Figured, I’d drop in on the most beautiful Pulitzer Winner and pay her a visit.”
“Helen Branswell is here?” Lois asked, her tone dismissive while she mockingly looked around only for Perry to poke his head out of his office again.
“Great Caesar’s Ghost, Lane, you’re still here?” White roared, “Get a move on!”
“Sorry, John, this will have to wait.” Lois said apologetically, tapping the man on the shoulder.
“Our usual booth at the Ace O'Clubs, say eight tonight?”
“I’ll be there,”
“See you then, John-Boy,” Lois winked, giving the former soldier a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out of the bullpen.
“Move it, Olsen!”
Clark walked along the side of Main Street, the only road, leaving Smallville towards Miller’s Field, hands shoved into his pockets, an old MP3 player clutched in his right hand, while headphones that had definitely seen better days sat under his hood on top of his thick head of hair.
The steady thump of the backbeat kept Clark nodding along with the music. A smile crossed his face as his empty hand withdrew from the pocket of his denim jacket, running a thumb over his lips where Lana Lang had kissed him not even half an hour earlier.
Finding himself suddenly swept up in the music, Clark began to dance as he continued along the roughly paved road. Jumping into the air, he felt lighter tonight, clicking his heels together before gently landing on solid ground again. If he didn’t know any better, Clark would have sworn he could fly.
Stopping along the Loeb Bridge, Clark leaned against the railing, watching the Elbow River lazily flow beneath, reflecting the light of the stars above. Stars that shone almost as brightly as Lana’s eyes. He could still see her coy smile just before she kissed him. The taste of her cherry lip gloss and the smell of her cupcake-scented perfume sent his head spinning again.
The next track on his MP3 player rang out, echoing Clark’s own thoughts as a dumb smile was plastered across his face. Turning the volume up, he stretched his arms out, spinning around while dancing, only to suddenly find himself staring into a pair of headlights.
Frozen in that moment, Clark couldn’t think as the car was suddenly on top of him. The screeching of tires and twisting of metal drowned out the music. Headphones were ripped from his ears as the full weight of the American-made sedan collided with his chest. Metal and concrete broke against Clark’s back, the ground going out from under him, before suddenly the night air was replaced by the freezing waters of the Elbow River.
Pulled along by the current, Clark narrowly missed having the black Towncar land on top of him while he frantically checked himself for any sign of injury. Surfacing, he gasped for air but, beyond shock, couldn’t find any injury on himself.
“What the h-” Clark muttered to himself before his eyes darted back to the ruined bridge and the glowing taillights beneath the surface.
The driver!
Stripping off the heavy denim jacket, Clark dove back beneath the surface. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out why he was still alive. His parents had always been protective, but Clark had been sickly when he was younger. In his adolescence, that had gone away, and he was the picture of health.
Taking hold of the windshield, Clark pried it from the car with ease. Pulling the unconscious man from the front seat before noticing another passenger in the car. Pushing himself, he delivered the driver to shore before plunging back in.
His lungs should have been burning by now. But Clark barely felt winded. He chalked it up to adrenaline before the roof of the car in his hands suddenly peeled back like the top of a can of beans. Clark barely had time to register what he had done before he pulled the man from the wreckage.
Dressed in a suit finer than anything Clark had seen in Smallville. The man had a magnificent mane of hair that spilled over his shoulders. Pulling him ashore, Clark felt the hands of another begin to help as the first man had regained consciousness.
“Sir!” He yelled, “Mr. Luthor, Sir!” He yelled again before pushing Clark aside and beginning to try to resuscitate the man who must have been his boss. Flashes of red and blue refracted from the bridge above as the Sheriff’s department made its way on the scene.
A cough brought Clark’s attention back to the man he had pulled from the water. The older man spat out a mouthful of water before the driver helped him to sit up.
“Is-” Clark started, his eyes wide as the situation all began to sink in. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Young man,” The driver replied, “He is, thanks to you.” He said with a relieved smile.
“Not every day a teenager saves one of the most powerful men in the world.”
A tug on the driver’s sleeve directed his attention back to his employer as the man croaked a request.
“I’d like to shake the hand of the one who saved me.”
Clark stood, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him.
“Clark, Sir, Clark Kent.” Clark offered a hand as he spoke.
“Young man, I owe you a great debt of gratitude.” The man replied, taking Clark’s outstretched hand. He gave it a firm squeeze before placing his other hand over top of Clark’s.
“My name is Lionel, Lionel Luthor.”
♫ Sometimes we never get started
No one will give you a wake-up call
Sometimes the hours are wasted
No one will give you a wake-up call ♫
No one will give you a wake-up call
Sometimes the hours are wasted
No one will give you a wake-up call ♫
The steady thump of the backbeat kept Clark nodding along with the music. A smile crossed his face as his empty hand withdrew from the pocket of his denim jacket, running a thumb over his lips where Lana Lang had kissed him not even half an hour earlier.
Finding himself suddenly swept up in the music, Clark began to dance as he continued along the roughly paved road. Jumping into the air, he felt lighter tonight, clicking his heels together before gently landing on solid ground again. If he didn’t know any better, Clark would have sworn he could fly.
Stopping along the Loeb Bridge, Clark leaned against the railing, watching the Elbow River lazily flow beneath, reflecting the light of the stars above. Stars that shone almost as brightly as Lana’s eyes. He could still see her coy smile just before she kissed him. The taste of her cherry lip gloss and the smell of her cupcake-scented perfume sent his head spinning again.
♫ Candy, she's sweet like candy in my veins
Baby, I'm dying for another taste ♫
Baby, I'm dying for another taste ♫
The next track on his MP3 player rang out, echoing Clark’s own thoughts as a dumb smile was plastered across his face. Turning the volume up, he stretched his arms out, spinning around while dancing, only to suddenly find himself staring into a pair of headlights.
Frozen in that moment, Clark couldn’t think as the car was suddenly on top of him. The screeching of tires and twisting of metal drowned out the music. Headphones were ripped from his ears as the full weight of the American-made sedan collided with his chest. Metal and concrete broke against Clark’s back, the ground going out from under him, before suddenly the night air was replaced by the freezing waters of the Elbow River.
Pulled along by the current, Clark narrowly missed having the black Towncar land on top of him while he frantically checked himself for any sign of injury. Surfacing, he gasped for air but, beyond shock, couldn’t find any injury on himself.
“What the h-” Clark muttered to himself before his eyes darted back to the ruined bridge and the glowing taillights beneath the surface.
The driver!
Stripping off the heavy denim jacket, Clark dove back beneath the surface. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out why he was still alive. His parents had always been protective, but Clark had been sickly when he was younger. In his adolescence, that had gone away, and he was the picture of health.
Taking hold of the windshield, Clark pried it from the car with ease. Pulling the unconscious man from the front seat before noticing another passenger in the car. Pushing himself, he delivered the driver to shore before plunging back in.
His lungs should have been burning by now. But Clark barely felt winded. He chalked it up to adrenaline before the roof of the car in his hands suddenly peeled back like the top of a can of beans. Clark barely had time to register what he had done before he pulled the man from the wreckage.
Dressed in a suit finer than anything Clark had seen in Smallville. The man had a magnificent mane of hair that spilled over his shoulders. Pulling him ashore, Clark felt the hands of another begin to help as the first man had regained consciousness.
“Sir!” He yelled, “Mr. Luthor, Sir!” He yelled again before pushing Clark aside and beginning to try to resuscitate the man who must have been his boss. Flashes of red and blue refracted from the bridge above as the Sheriff’s department made its way on the scene.
A cough brought Clark’s attention back to the man he had pulled from the water. The older man spat out a mouthful of water before the driver helped him to sit up.
“Is-” Clark started, his eyes wide as the situation all began to sink in. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Young man,” The driver replied, “He is, thanks to you.” He said with a relieved smile.
“Not every day a teenager saves one of the most powerful men in the world.”
A tug on the driver’s sleeve directed his attention back to his employer as the man croaked a request.
“I’d like to shake the hand of the one who saved me.”
Clark stood, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him.
“Clark, Sir, Clark Kent.” Clark offered a hand as he spoke.
“Young man, I owe you a great debt of gratitude.” The man replied, taking Clark’s outstretched hand. He gave it a firm squeeze before placing his other hand over top of Clark’s.
“My name is Lionel, Lionel Luthor.”
“Clark!”
Lex called out jovially as Clark entered the den of the younger Luthor’s home. He embraced Clark with a quick hug before holding up a glass.
“Can I offer you a drink? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the wedding, and I must admit that night was a blur.”
“A fifty-year-old Scotch will do that,” Clark replied with a smirk of his own.
“Ah, yes, well, if a man intends to only get married once, he should make it a night to remember.” The bald man replied with a genuine grin.
“I’m pretty sure you spent more on that bottle of Scotch than I’ll make in a year at the Planet.” Clark retorted dryly.
It was Lex’s turn to smirk.
“You didn’t exactly pick a lucrative career. My father would have happily helped you gain admission to any school of your choice. But as I recall, you turned him down.” Lex replied, holding up the class again as Clark politely declined.
“Sorry, I’m on the clock,” He answered, shaking his head.
“Ah, so this social call is actually a work call,” Lex stated coolly.
“I like to think of a social call within work hours,” Clark retorted, “Did you see the news regarding the metahuman attack at the bank in Midtown?”
“Hard to keep track of during the record crime wave Metropolis is currently experiencing, but I believe I did,” Lex said dismissively, pouring himself another drink.
“Luthorcorp has contacts with facilities that could help these people, don’t they?”
“Clark, you are aware my wife was the responding agent on that scene today.” Lex countered, “Well, I’m sure your intentions are good, but I don’t have much of a desire to live in a house divided by overstepping my wife’s jurisdiction.” Lex rubbed the top of his head, stopping at the base of his skull before massaging his neck.
“Lex, these people don’t deserve to be locked up, they need someone to help them find a place in this world where they can use their abilities for good.”
“Like Superman?” The other man countered.
Clark paused for a second.
“No-”
“See, Clark, that’s the problem. The media has turned Superman into some kind of an idol to be worshiped, and for what? For breaking the law. Last I checked, vigilantism was still illegal in America. But no one stops Superman, so why wouldn’t every other meta or mutant think they couldn’t take advantage of their powers too?” Lex argued, his voice firm, leaving little room for argument.
But Clark wasn’t about to back down.
“Lex, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison. They’re not looking to be treated differently. Most metas are an average everyman. Just someone looking for a place to belong. The majority of whom would sooner give up their abilities if it meant a normal life.”
“And what would you have Luthorcorp do?”
“This,” Clark replied, handing Lex a folder from within the satchel slung over his shoulder.
“I found this through the Planet’s archives. ‘Project Everyone’, a Luthorcorp incentive program that would give a purpose to metahumans, a fulfilling life where they could use their abilities to make a difference in exchange for a stable life.”
Lex took the folder, slowly flipping through the documents inside. His face looked as though he had seen a ghost.
“This was one of my mother’s ideas,” Lex explained. His tone softened.
“I know,” Clark replied with a small smile.
“That’s a low blow, Clark.”
“I know,” Clark repeated with a wider smile. “But it’s something to think about. I did some further digging, and I think you might be able to broker a deal with Frost-”
“Mr. Luthor!”
The two men turned to where the third had entered the den.
“It’s your wife, Sir, she’s just been admitted to Metropolis General.”
Lex called out jovially as Clark entered the den of the younger Luthor’s home. He embraced Clark with a quick hug before holding up a glass.
“Can I offer you a drink? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the wedding, and I must admit that night was a blur.”
“A fifty-year-old Scotch will do that,” Clark replied with a smirk of his own.
“Ah, yes, well, if a man intends to only get married once, he should make it a night to remember.” The bald man replied with a genuine grin.
“I’m pretty sure you spent more on that bottle of Scotch than I’ll make in a year at the Planet.” Clark retorted dryly.
It was Lex’s turn to smirk.
“You didn’t exactly pick a lucrative career. My father would have happily helped you gain admission to any school of your choice. But as I recall, you turned him down.” Lex replied, holding up the class again as Clark politely declined.
“Sorry, I’m on the clock,” He answered, shaking his head.
“Ah, so this social call is actually a work call,” Lex stated coolly.
“I like to think of a social call within work hours,” Clark retorted, “Did you see the news regarding the metahuman attack at the bank in Midtown?”
“Hard to keep track of during the record crime wave Metropolis is currently experiencing, but I believe I did,” Lex said dismissively, pouring himself another drink.
“Luthorcorp has contacts with facilities that could help these people, don’t they?”
“Clark, you are aware my wife was the responding agent on that scene today.” Lex countered, “Well, I’m sure your intentions are good, but I don’t have much of a desire to live in a house divided by overstepping my wife’s jurisdiction.” Lex rubbed the top of his head, stopping at the base of his skull before massaging his neck.
“Lex, these people don’t deserve to be locked up, they need someone to help them find a place in this world where they can use their abilities for good.”
“Like Superman?” The other man countered.
Clark paused for a second.
“No-”
“See, Clark, that’s the problem. The media has turned Superman into some kind of an idol to be worshiped, and for what? For breaking the law. Last I checked, vigilantism was still illegal in America. But no one stops Superman, so why wouldn’t every other meta or mutant think they couldn’t take advantage of their powers too?” Lex argued, his voice firm, leaving little room for argument.
But Clark wasn’t about to back down.
“Lex, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison. They’re not looking to be treated differently. Most metas are an average everyman. Just someone looking for a place to belong. The majority of whom would sooner give up their abilities if it meant a normal life.”
“And what would you have Luthorcorp do?”
“This,” Clark replied, handing Lex a folder from within the satchel slung over his shoulder.
“I found this through the Planet’s archives. ‘Project Everyone’, a Luthorcorp incentive program that would give a purpose to metahumans, a fulfilling life where they could use their abilities to make a difference in exchange for a stable life.”
Lex took the folder, slowly flipping through the documents inside. His face looked as though he had seen a ghost.
“This was one of my mother’s ideas,” Lex explained. His tone softened.
“I know,” Clark replied with a small smile.
“That’s a low blow, Clark.”
“I know,” Clark repeated with a wider smile. “But it’s something to think about. I did some further digging, and I think you might be able to broker a deal with Frost-”
“Mr. Luthor!”
The two men turned to where the third had entered the den.
“It’s your wife, Sir, she’s just been admitted to Metropolis General.”
“How’s my favourite sister doing?”
Alexandra Luthor rolled her eyes at the voice on the other side of the phone, a playful smile forming on her lips before she shifted her body away from the transport driver.
“I’m your only sister, Carol.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not my favourite.” Carol teased, eliciting a slight upturn at the corner of Lexa’s mouth.
“What’s the trick to marrying rich, Sis?”
Lexa scoffed at the question.
“You say that like I’m sitting around a mansion drinking Domaine de la Romanée-Conti all day while lying lazily by the pool.”
“I don’t know why you’re not.” Came the reply of disbelief through the phone.
“The same reason you’re off risking your life flying whatever death trap S.W.O.R.D. has you strapped in.”
“Oooh, daddy issues.”
“Carol!”
“You know it as much as I do, Dad was navy brass, and if your name wasn’t Stephen or Joe Jr., he didn’t have time for you. Why else do you think I joined the Air Force and you signed up with S.W.O.R.D.? Hell, I bet you even push ol’Richie Rich around.”
“I do not push my husband around; I challenge him to be a better man.”
“Spoken exactly like Joseph Danvers Sr.” Carol retorted, her playful laugh stung against Lexa’s cheek. Her baby sister had always been the more rebellious of the four of them. Joey was the rule follower, their parents' firstborn, then came Alexandra, who was expected to act every bit the lady her mother was. Stephen was the third born and the apple of his father’s eye, while Carol was the baby.
She used to be a sweet baby, too, before she became the strong-willed brat on the other end of the line. Little baby ‘Cara’, cute as a button, as destructive as a big red one.
“Is there a reason for this phone call?” Lexa replied unamused.
“Do I need a reason to call my big sis? Maybe I just missed you, bitch.”
Suddenly, the vehicle dropped, lurching forward one more time before the sound of spinning tires and splattering liquid asphalt echoed from around the cab.
“Carol, I’ll call you back.” Lexa snapped, clicking the phone off before turning to the agent driving.
“I thought you put the power dampeners on her.”
“I did, this ain’t her.”
“Then who-”
Lexa was cut off as flames erupted across the windshield. The temperature of the cabin began to rise rapidly, and the vehicle was unable to free itself from the tar-like trap in which it was lodged. Reaching for the door, Lexa’s hand recoiled almost immediately, the handle nearly leaving a second-degree burn on the palm of her hand. She spun around, raising her heels towards the door and landing a strike before the other agent pulled her away.
“Are you crazy? You’ll create a vacuum.”
“I’d rather risk that than die broiled.” Lexa retorted, shaking her coworker off before preparing another strike. Her head was pounding, eyes growing heavier with each second. She felt her legs lash out weakly. Trying once, twice, thrice before finding herself struggling to breathe, gasping for breath before her eyelids closed.
And darkness took over.
Alexandra Luthor rolled her eyes at the voice on the other side of the phone, a playful smile forming on her lips before she shifted her body away from the transport driver.
“I’m your only sister, Carol.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not my favourite.” Carol teased, eliciting a slight upturn at the corner of Lexa’s mouth.
“What’s the trick to marrying rich, Sis?”
Lexa scoffed at the question.
“You say that like I’m sitting around a mansion drinking Domaine de la Romanée-Conti all day while lying lazily by the pool.”
“I don’t know why you’re not.” Came the reply of disbelief through the phone.
“The same reason you’re off risking your life flying whatever death trap S.W.O.R.D. has you strapped in.”
“Oooh, daddy issues.”
“Carol!”
“You know it as much as I do, Dad was navy brass, and if your name wasn’t Stephen or Joe Jr., he didn’t have time for you. Why else do you think I joined the Air Force and you signed up with S.W.O.R.D.? Hell, I bet you even push ol’Richie Rich around.”
“I do not push my husband around; I challenge him to be a better man.”
“Spoken exactly like Joseph Danvers Sr.” Carol retorted, her playful laugh stung against Lexa’s cheek. Her baby sister had always been the more rebellious of the four of them. Joey was the rule follower, their parents' firstborn, then came Alexandra, who was expected to act every bit the lady her mother was. Stephen was the third born and the apple of his father’s eye, while Carol was the baby.
She used to be a sweet baby, too, before she became the strong-willed brat on the other end of the line. Little baby ‘Cara’, cute as a button, as destructive as a big red one.
“Is there a reason for this phone call?” Lexa replied unamused.
“Do I need a reason to call my big sis? Maybe I just missed you, bitch.”
Suddenly, the vehicle dropped, lurching forward one more time before the sound of spinning tires and splattering liquid asphalt echoed from around the cab.
“Carol, I’ll call you back.” Lexa snapped, clicking the phone off before turning to the agent driving.
“I thought you put the power dampeners on her.”
“I did, this ain’t her.”
“Then who-”
Lexa was cut off as flames erupted across the windshield. The temperature of the cabin began to rise rapidly, and the vehicle was unable to free itself from the tar-like trap in which it was lodged. Reaching for the door, Lexa’s hand recoiled almost immediately, the handle nearly leaving a second-degree burn on the palm of her hand. She spun around, raising her heels towards the door and landing a strike before the other agent pulled her away.
“Are you crazy? You’ll create a vacuum.”
“I’d rather risk that than die broiled.” Lexa retorted, shaking her coworker off before preparing another strike. Her head was pounding, eyes growing heavier with each second. She felt her legs lash out weakly. Trying once, twice, thrice before finding herself struggling to breathe, gasping for breath before her eyelids closed.
And darkness took over.
High above the clouds over Metropolis, Clark soared free from the prying eyes of the media, otherwise known as his coworkers. While the woman had acted aggressively, Clark knew it was out of desperation, not malice. He had seen that behaviour before on his own travels. It was like she had been an animal backed into a corner with no way out but to fight.
But attacking a bank during the middle of the day was a risky move, even for someone desperate. Clark wished he had done more to help her, but with the volatile nature of the fire, the lives of those around the bank came first. He did what he had done to minimize damage across the board.
But by doing so, had he further endangered a desperate woman?
It wasn’t that Clark was looking to have Superman run afoul of the Department of Extranormal Operations, let alone A.R.G.U.S. But there were better ways to help metahumans and mutants. People and organizations that actually cared about their well-being.
If Clark hadn’t been so quick to turn the woman over to the police, he could have found her a place that would have put a roof over her head or a meal in front of her. He thought back to their encounter, recalling the room and the woman.
She had been engulfed in the flames, but through the flames, his keen eyes still could make out details. Bruises on the skin, a needle mark at the base of her neck. Her clothing had been torn and tattered, something Clark had initially dismissed as a choice, but in hindsight, perhaps she had escaped from somewhere.
They hadn’t fought in the main vault. No, Clark had discovered the woman in the safe deposit boxes. She had a box in her hand before the fight had started. He focused the image in his mind, attempting to extrapolate the details.
Safe deposit boxes didn’t have names assigned to them. They were numbered. Even if Clark could make out the number, it would take further investigation still to figure out who that box belonged to.
And that was assuming it wasn’t a random box.
9842
That was the number.
“Clark?”
A voice at the door of his apartment called, following a series of three quick knuckle knocks. Clark had barely realized he had made it back to his apartment. His eyes shot wide as he looked around, realizing he had fumbled his way in through the fire escape. Deactivating the suit, he scrambled to his closet for a change of clothes.
“Hey, if you’re in there, handsome, I just wanted to say thanks for the banana bread,” The voice continued before Clark hastily finished dressing and opened the door.
Standing in the hallway of the decrepit apartment building was his neighbour from across the hall. The flickering light of the dying fluorescent bulbs highlighted every shade of red in her hastily tied-up bun, from auburn to copper to strawberry blonde. Even in the dead of winter, she was still wearing a cropped sweater and low-rise jeans that showed off both a toned abdomen and the matching pair of stars tattooed atop either hip.
“Oh, hey, Kansas,” The redheaded woman said with a smirk, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and you didn’t have to get dressed on account of me.” She added with a playful wink.
“Lisa, sorry, I was just about to head out.”
“With your tie uneven and your shirt half buttoned?” Lisa smirked, “C’mon, beefcake, where is she?” The redhead teased, standing up on her tiptoes, trying to look over the taller man’s shoulder.
“Or he,” Lisa added, playfully, “I don’t judge.”
Moving her hands to Clark’s collar, Lisa quickly straightened it out before beginning to fix the buttons on his shirt and adjusting his tie.
“I can-”
“Shush, Kansas, I got this. A feminine touch goes a long way.” Her hands paused on his abdomen. A smile crossed her freshly glossed lips.
“You really ought to wear something more fitted. These feel like abs of steel.”
“I uh, don’t, uh” Clark stammered, gently pulling her hands away, “Thank you?”
“No, thank you,” Lisa replied, her eyes quickly darting down and back up again as she playfully saluted Clark, “At ease, soldier.”
She batted her eyelashes, ocean blue eyes with just a hint of green outlined in a smoky shadow, looking up towards Clark while she continued to speak.
“Anyways, yeah, just wanted to thank you for the banana bread, it made a great pick me up in the middle of the night. I don’t think I would have made it through last night’s shift without it.” She smirked, a finger tracing Clark’s chest again.
“You should visit me at work sometime, I think you’d really enjoy it.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lisa, but y’know, the news, it just doesn’t write itself,” Clark replied, looking at his watch again. “Speaking of which, I’ve, uh, got to go.”
“You can play coy all you want, Clark Kent, but I know you’re dying to have dinner with a ravishing redhead.” Lisa stated, “Look, there’s a showing of one of my favourite movies at the old filmhouse down in Layfatte this Friday, I was thinking you could be my arm candy?”
“I, uh-”
“Great, pick me up at seven and feel free to wear something with deep pockets.” Lisa winked, “It’ll be worth it.”
Clark nodded, inwardly shaking his head before pulling out his cellphone.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end answered.
“Lex, it’s Clark. Could I drop by?”
“Of course, it’s been too long. I always have time for a friend.”
But attacking a bank during the middle of the day was a risky move, even for someone desperate. Clark wished he had done more to help her, but with the volatile nature of the fire, the lives of those around the bank came first. He did what he had done to minimize damage across the board.
But by doing so, had he further endangered a desperate woman?
It wasn’t that Clark was looking to have Superman run afoul of the Department of Extranormal Operations, let alone A.R.G.U.S. But there were better ways to help metahumans and mutants. People and organizations that actually cared about their well-being.
If Clark hadn’t been so quick to turn the woman over to the police, he could have found her a place that would have put a roof over her head or a meal in front of her. He thought back to their encounter, recalling the room and the woman.
She had been engulfed in the flames, but through the flames, his keen eyes still could make out details. Bruises on the skin, a needle mark at the base of her neck. Her clothing had been torn and tattered, something Clark had initially dismissed as a choice, but in hindsight, perhaps she had escaped from somewhere.
They hadn’t fought in the main vault. No, Clark had discovered the woman in the safe deposit boxes. She had a box in her hand before the fight had started. He focused the image in his mind, attempting to extrapolate the details.
Safe deposit boxes didn’t have names assigned to them. They were numbered. Even if Clark could make out the number, it would take further investigation still to figure out who that box belonged to.
And that was assuming it wasn’t a random box.
9842
That was the number.
“Clark?”
A voice at the door of his apartment called, following a series of three quick knuckle knocks. Clark had barely realized he had made it back to his apartment. His eyes shot wide as he looked around, realizing he had fumbled his way in through the fire escape. Deactivating the suit, he scrambled to his closet for a change of clothes.
“Hey, if you’re in there, handsome, I just wanted to say thanks for the banana bread,” The voice continued before Clark hastily finished dressing and opened the door.
Standing in the hallway of the decrepit apartment building was his neighbour from across the hall. The flickering light of the dying fluorescent bulbs highlighted every shade of red in her hastily tied-up bun, from auburn to copper to strawberry blonde. Even in the dead of winter, she was still wearing a cropped sweater and low-rise jeans that showed off both a toned abdomen and the matching pair of stars tattooed atop either hip.
“Oh, hey, Kansas,” The redheaded woman said with a smirk, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and you didn’t have to get dressed on account of me.” She added with a playful wink.
“Lisa, sorry, I was just about to head out.”
“With your tie uneven and your shirt half buttoned?” Lisa smirked, “C’mon, beefcake, where is she?” The redhead teased, standing up on her tiptoes, trying to look over the taller man’s shoulder.
“Or he,” Lisa added, playfully, “I don’t judge.”
Moving her hands to Clark’s collar, Lisa quickly straightened it out before beginning to fix the buttons on his shirt and adjusting his tie.
“I can-”
“Shush, Kansas, I got this. A feminine touch goes a long way.” Her hands paused on his abdomen. A smile crossed her freshly glossed lips.
“You really ought to wear something more fitted. These feel like abs of steel.”
“I uh, don’t, uh” Clark stammered, gently pulling her hands away, “Thank you?”
“No, thank you,” Lisa replied, her eyes quickly darting down and back up again as she playfully saluted Clark, “At ease, soldier.”
She batted her eyelashes, ocean blue eyes with just a hint of green outlined in a smoky shadow, looking up towards Clark while she continued to speak.
“Anyways, yeah, just wanted to thank you for the banana bread, it made a great pick me up in the middle of the night. I don’t think I would have made it through last night’s shift without it.” She smirked, a finger tracing Clark’s chest again.
“You should visit me at work sometime, I think you’d really enjoy it.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lisa, but y’know, the news, it just doesn’t write itself,” Clark replied, looking at his watch again. “Speaking of which, I’ve, uh, got to go.”
“You can play coy all you want, Clark Kent, but I know you’re dying to have dinner with a ravishing redhead.” Lisa stated, “Look, there’s a showing of one of my favourite movies at the old filmhouse down in Layfatte this Friday, I was thinking you could be my arm candy?”
“I, uh-”
“Great, pick me up at seven and feel free to wear something with deep pockets.” Lisa winked, “It’ll be worth it.”
Clark nodded, inwardly shaking his head before pulling out his cellphone.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end answered.
“Lex, it’s Clark. Could I drop by?”
“Of course, it’s been too long. I always have time for a friend.”
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