work in progress friday
Feb. 6th, 2004 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
burntcopperSome of these I haven't touched in an age, yet still they niggle....
Follow up, or same universe as Black as a Lifestyle Choice,
The door goes. Someone probably left the door
downstairs off the latch again. Faith bets it's the
plumber in Flat 1. Useful guy when something goes
wrong with your taps, but absent-minded as hell
when it comes to doors and locks. She refuses to
look up from this week's copy of Heat, aka how much
really sad celebrity gossip can you fit in one
magazine. Utter trash but kinda absorbing. It's not
like she cares who D-lists celebs are going out with,
but, like she said, kinda magnetic. Like a train
wreck. Wes sighs when it becomes obvious she's
not going to answer the door, so he puts down his
book and goes to open the door.
The silence after makes her look up. Not even a
greeting, and that's weird, because though Wes'
automatic politeness that normally sounds so fucking
stuffy sometimes goes down the plughole - she's
been thinking way too much about the plumber for
her brain to be thinking in terms of plugholes - he
normally gives people some kind of greeting. She
puts down the magazine and goes to see who it is
at the door. Christ, even someone from the Council
would get an icy "And what do I owe the pleasure of
this visit?" from him. Real meaning "State your
business, then you can fuck off."
Big black guy at the door, dressed in American street
gear. Not British street gear. There's a slight
difference. Brit is more Ali G and pikey-ish. Wes
registers her interest, and says icily "Faith, this is
Charles Gunn."
Okay, him she's heard of. One of Wes' old buddies
from LA, who dropped him like a hot potato when he
was laid up in hospital. Wes told her what the
circumstances were and his own shitty part in them,
but it reminds her a bit too much of the snobbery of
the Sunnyhell gang. Faith smiles, wide and
welcoming. "Fuck off out of here."
Gunn looks surprised, then snarls. "Hey, no-one
asked your opinion." He looks back at Wes. "Faith?
Ain't that the name of that bitch who carved you
up?"
"That's the name of the bitch who's got more right to
be here than you." Faith replies, tensing her muscles
and just spoiling to kick this guy's ass into the street
so hard he bounces. No big nasties for a week, and
this guy's just right for her to take some of the
tension out on.
Wes sighs. It's the pained sigh that gets people
who know him's attention. It snaps Faith's attention
back from potential fight to the situation. Gunn
reacts the same too, so the urge to take notice of
Wes hasn't diminished since he dumped his ass. "If
you two would kindly put the little show of egos
away? Gunn, what is it?"
Gunn deflates a bit, looking defeated. "Angel's
disappeared."
Wes raises an eyebrow. "And what gives you the
impression I would know anything about it? There's
a rather large ocean and landmass separating us."
Gunn slumps some more. "You're the knowledge
guy."
"Gunn, these days I tend to concern myself more
with my immediate situation and surroundings and
the occasional world threat. Amazingly, one single
souled vampire doesn't tend to loom very large on
my horizons. No matter what Wolfram and Hart in
LA might think. I've found apocalypses tend to be
somewhat localised."
He steps back, allowing Gunn space to come
through. Wes never, ever says the words 'come in'.
Or anything else that could be taken as a welcome.
It's a vampire thing, one that Buffy really has to
learn one of these days. But that's Wes. Paranoid
to the end.
Gunn walks in, glancing at Wes as he goes past,
then looking round. "Nice place."
"We try." Faith says, smiling wide and toothily. "Your
opinion matters so highly to us."
"Faith." Wes warns, then turns to Gunn. "I presume
you hadn't heard of picking up the phone to
ascertain whether I knew anything about this
matter. Transatlantic phone calls tend to be a little
less pricey than the cost of a plane ticket."
----
Gunn gets let in, some discussion of stuff.
-----
Faith can't figure out what the deal with Gunn and
Wes is. Either they were having sex before Gunn
and his crew dropped him or it was just massive
amounts of tension that never went anywhere.
Either way, Gunn's in denial but looking wistful.
Faith isn't sympathetic in the least. You dumped
him, you pay the price, boy. Wes doesn't forget
people who hurt him. Put it aside for the sake of the
job, or decide it's in the past, sure. She's primo
example of that. They're both practical people in the
long run. They needed each other, no sense in
dwelling on what they'd done to each other if they
had to keep it going together. Still, it looks like it'll
take a miracle for Gunn to get a smidgen of
forgiveness or drop in the icy zone Wes is in when
talking to him. Business, business, some more
business and did she mention just a little extra
business on the side?
Then there's this Smallville/Bats crossover. I know this needs finishing, it's so damn close but I can't think of anything to put in the scenes around it.
----
Clark stares at the screen, sighing. Junior reporter. Tres glamoureuse. Oh yeah. The Planet's air conditioning is on the blink again, for the third time in two weeks. The portable fans are on full blast and everyone keeps making trips to the water cooler. Even Lois has moderated her coffee intake to 70% of her usual, swapping the triple-shot espressos for triple-shot frappuccinos. He suspects the decrease in consumption is mostly due to the fact that it takes longer to make the frappuccinos, and that makes for less trips out of the office. He enters the data and gossip she's got out of the latest source, then groans when he sees the ten spelling mistakes in the last paragraph. Something about the word 'the' and excessive heat don't really combine well. He's spelt it as 'teh' at least six of those times.
So, anyway, junior reporter. Partnered with Lois Lane, Girl Reporter Supreme and Hard-Ass with a permanent caffeine drip. She shows him the ropes, he does the scut work and occasionally gets one over on her. She sees it as perfectly fair, since she was 'saddled with the hayseed by Perry'. Still, he knows he's learning a lot. And getting paid, with the occasional byline on one of the inside pages on small stuff that's individual and the occasional credit on some of the joint stuff.
"Clark, you're free for doing a report on Friday for that Suicide Slums thing, right?" Lois asks lazily, tapping the stylus against her PDA.
"Nope. No chance."
"What?" She asks. "Smallville, what do you mean you're not doing it? I thought you were interested in that issue. What've you got, a hot lead?"
"Spending the weekend in Gotham. Fundraiser with Lex. Perry wants a report for the social column. Don't know if it'll be any good, but he says I'll be in a position to hear the interesting stuff. Also added the stuff about it being a good experience and training, which is what he said the time he sent me to deal with the night shift's coffee orders." Types a few more words.
"Being Lex Luthor's boyfriend gets you to all the best parties." Lois sniffs. He can hear the pout behind it.
"Yep." Clark grins, then confesses "If it's any consolation, Lois, I don't really like them that much."
"I feel your pain, Smallville. The champagne, the best food, getting dressed up -" She laughs. "Oh, I know, farmboy doesn't like the fine life stuff."
Clark glares at her. "Actually, it's the gossip I'm not too fond of. The upper crust is more bitchy than anything I've ever heard. It's not an atmosphere I'm comfortable in."
"Aw, poor ickle Smallville, all disillusioned by the big bad city folk."
"Lois, if you pinch my cheek, I'll... I'll..." Inspiration strikes. "I'll take all your Guccis, Manolos and your Pradas - the ones with the three month wait list that you leapfrogged and give them to Jackie in the mail room."
"What would Jackie want with them? His feet are far too big even though he has fabulous taste."
"I'll tell him to distribute them across the country, you'll never see them again."
"You're a cruel, cruel boy, Smallville. Lex is obviously a bad influence."
"That's what my dad says."
"Listen to your father, Kent, his advice is good."
"Even the advice to date Lana back in my teens because she's a nice girl?"
Lois shudders. "Lana may be a nice girl, farmboy, but even I draw the line about self-obsession that deep. And the pink fixation is very, very disturbing."
----
Clark swallows as they step into the room. He may be dressed for it, but he's willing to bet at least a fraction of Lex's fortune that he sticks out like a sore thumb at this gathering of the rich and powerful. Resisting the urge to tug at his collar, he hisses in Lex's ear. "Don't leave me alone, please."
Lex chuckles. "You'll be fine, Clark. Just smile and nod if in doubt."
"I feel like I've got a neon sign hanging over me."
"No you don't." There's a pause as Lex casts a glittering eye over his body. "On second thoughts, you do. 'Far too tempting for his own good.' Sounds familiar."
"Lex!" Clark flushes, cursing himself for the reaction. He's known Lex - and been sleeping with him - long enough that the blushing should be under control by now. Unfortunately for his sake and what's seeming Lex's eternal delight, it hasn't gone away.
They mingle a bit, Clark attempting small talk when he feels he's not about to trip over his tongue. He keeps telling himself he can talk to these rich sophisticates, he's always been able to talk to Lex, who's up in the top tier of rich and sophisticated. However, he's now *really* convinced that restoring said rich and sophisticated person to life from drowning breaks the ice irrevocably. The only problem is he can't see this party suddenly being engulfed by a tidal wave anytime soon. At least not so he can just get over his tongue attempting to tie itself in knots.
Not to mention that he can hear whispers about 'Lex's boy-toy.' That really doesn't help. "Darling, the word catamite does spring to mind." That one's from someone he can't see by the door. Oh god. He didn't think anyone used that particular phrase outside of Lex's overwhelming amount of Greek history books. Well, except Lionel. Lionel's used it where he knows Clark can hear it, even without the super-hearing. Except Lionel never, ever whispers and somehow it's a lot less offensive coming from him than it is from this gathering. Maybe there is something in that line 'familiarity breeds contempt' after all. He knows he's in a fairly rare position - some might say privileged, though most of Smallville would snort at that - of knowing Lionel Luthor well enough that he can brush off insults casually.
As he's fantasising about going down for the third time, someone says off to one side "Well, Lex, haven't seen you out this way for a while. How are you?"
Clark turns to see a young woman greeting Lex. She's Lex's age, maybe a little younger, and on studying her, Clark's heart sinks a little. Gorgeous, tall, brunette, fitting into this society like a glove. Exactly Lex's type.
"It's called banishment, Selina." Lex replies. Okay, missed a couple of lines of the conversation there. Lex continues. "But small-town life has proven to have a few advantages." He knows her. Clark wonders how many times he can do the irrational jealousy thing. Because Lex has a *lot* of exes.
Selina gives Clark a frank appraisal, then she grins, slowly. Something about her reminds Clark of a cat. "So I see. You always did have a certain amount of taste. Introduce me, Lex."
Lex smiles. "Selina Kyle, Clark Kent." Clark swallows. It's almost exactly the same smile Lex gets when someone praises his choice of car, which is kind of unnerving, but fortunately it's tempered by fondness, which the cars definitely don't get. Clark rates above the Lamborghini. Oh, great step forward in the self-esteem battle, Clark, comparing yourself to the cars. He tells himself to stop doing the ego-flattening thing to himself on such a regular basis.
"Pleased to meet you, Clark." Selina grins again. "You look fidgety."
"Um. Different crowd than I'm used to."
With introductions over, Lex goes onto the next topic. "How's Bruce?"
"Still himself." Selina replies. "Very much so." And if that wasn't a cat that got the cream smile - Clark's seen it enough times on Lex, usually in bed - Clark doesn't know what is.
"Managed to cure him of his habit of eating in the kitchen and never using the dining room yet?" Lex asks.
Someone looms up behind them. "I'm afraid that being raised by the butler pretty much ingrains that in you for life, Lex. And it's not like you can talk." *Big* guy. All muscle. Again, Lex's age. And so classically handsome you'd have expected him to have stepped out of a magazine. Also giving off serious looming vibes. Though the magazine bit is true. The last time Clark saw this face it had '50 most eligible bachelors' under it as a magazine headline. Bruce Wayne, the young head of Wayne Enterprises.
Though Clark's wondering why a billionaire would have all the marks this one does. Specifically, the tell-tale marks of someone who's in fights regularly along his skeleton and musculature. Thickening along the bones where they were broken and healed. Torn muscles and scars. Maybe there's one of those fight club things in Gotham, except he never heard of them using knives. Or guns. Lex has a lot of marks like that, but he heals fast, and doesn't scar easily. One of the few benign meteor mutations of Smallville residents. Aside from the hair loss, but Clark counts that one as good; Lex wouldn't be half as striking with hair; attractive, yes, but not striking. And he's pretty sure Gotham billionaires don't get involved in the Smallville craziness that caused Lex's marks.
----
Lex and Bruce have drifted off. From what he can hear, they're talking business.
Clark's left alone with Selina. "So... um... you and Lex used to be -"
"Me and Lex?" Selina chuckles. "Oh no. Bruce and Lex."
"Lex slept with Bruce?" Clark asks, slightly shocked. Not about the bisexuality thing, Lex is pretty much omnisexual, let alone bisexual, but Bruce and him just wasn't an image that sprang easily to mind.
"Why not? He's sleeping with you, isn't he?" Selina replies.
"I, uh, just didn't think Lex was Bruce's type."
Another chuckles. "Oh, that's the way you meant it. No, Bruce has been known to go to the male side in his time. He and Lex ended before Lex moved to Smallville, though, so you can leave aside the jealousy."
Clark flushes and denies it. "I wasn't jealous." Selina just smirks and sips on her champagne.
----
"Clark, this is really bugging me." Chloe says over the sound of the tv Clark can hear in the background. Gotham Knights won last night, apparently.
"What is it this time?"
"Duh, Batman of course! How am I supposed to track down a guy dressed as a bat?"
"Well, I could suggest hanging around costume shops, but you could always become criminally psychotic. That'd get his attention immediately."
"Ha-ha, Mr. Kent, don't give up your day job. Costume shops indeed. And I'm really not into being beaten up, thankyou."
"You're the one who does ju-jitsu."
"That's self-defence. It's different."
Clark scratches his shoulder. "What're you trying to figure out, his identity?"
"Maybe. Even though it's not like he'll be anyone I'll recognise. The mask just makes me really curious."
"Which is why I didn't bother."
"Yeah, yeah, smartass with the souped-up subtle image inducer."
"I don't have an image inducer. They're too busy staring at my chest and package to notice my face."
"I'm trying to have faith that the average citizen and journalist isn't that blind. let me believe in the image inducer to keep my sanity." She pauses. The slurping sound indicates coffee drinking on her end. "You know Lois wouldn't mind fucking him, don't you?"
Clark sighs. "Chloe, she's my partner and she's got a motormouth. How could I not? Fortunately she still rates me below the movie star of the week. Currently Superman is fifth."
"Who's top this week?"
"Michael Shanks."
"Nice taste."
"Hey, she likes me. Isn't that proof of taste?" Chloe snorts in response. Clark grumbles. "You used to like me."
"Teen hormone-induced delirium. Besides, the guy Lois likes has blue eyes, not green eyes, and a jaw more like Ben Affleck's than yours."
"At least it's not like that guy from Starship Troopers. Was it you or Pete that said you could measure right angles accurately from his jaw?"
"Pete."
----
On a rooftop in Gotham. A voice behind him makes Clark turn. "No Luthor sponsorship logo?" Batman asks.
It's the first time they've met in person, costumed. Clark blinks slightly in the low light afforded by the neon of Gotham at night. Batman is... seriously scary in person. Dark, much darker than Bruce Wayne, and you couldn't get much further from Batman than Bruce's slightly foppish persona. Same skeleton and musculature, but the voice and body language are very, very different. They're the kind that're designed to send 'please don't hurt me' vibes down the spine of an ordinary person. Clark has to tell himself that he's invulnerable to get his spine back under control. Several times.
Clark swallows, regaining his voice. "My boyfriend only just tolerates this. He thinks I'm an adrenalin junkie for doing it. What's your excuse?"
"I have to." Batman replies. You really can't think of him as Bruce like this. It's like they're two different people.
Clark folds his arms to give himself a bit more confidence. "When we first met, I thought you were in a fight club. This is taking ennui a bit too far for most rich kid's tastes, huh?"
"There's no ennui involved." Batman says, with utter conviction. "What are you doing on my turf?"
"Looking for a murderer." Clarks looks at him. "Your turf?"
"Gotham is mine." The tone brooks no argument. Though Clark does remember from searches he and Chloe did once, that is pretty close to the truth. The Wayne family - sole survivor, Bruce Wayne, if you discount the adopted son and the rather big possibility that Selina holds for the future - owns most of the land Gotham City's built on, as well as a fair proportion of the land on its outskirts. Guess it's an advantage to your ancestors moving here pretty soon after the settlement started. Clark's not sure if he ever really thinks of Metropolis as 'his', as the move from Smallville wasn't that long ago, and he knows if he ever wanted to claim it on any level, he'd have to fight the Luthors for it. Luthors pretty much define the possessive-obsessive genetic trait. He doesn't know if it's a Wayne thing, this possessive arrogance, or just a Bruce thing. But he's been dealing with Luthors for years, so he knows how obstinate those with it are.
Clark nods slightly, trying to ignore the wrinkle of fabric that's just now decided to bug him, where he didn't tuck his shirt in properly. Taking now to adjust it really wouldn't look good. Especially when he's trying to give off the 'cool, calm and collected' vibe. Looking like some dumb kid in front of Batman's really not the thing you want to do to keep any sort of reputation in the superhero community. That's in spite of the fact that it's well known he tends to view most of them as half-bright amateurs. Still, the dumb kid thing's at the forefront of his mind. "Okay, not disputing that. Now. But I need to find this murderer so he can be brought to justice."
"Do you have any idea who it is?" Batman asks.
"Well, um, I wouldn't be here if I didn't know who... Yes. Richard Lukardi." Oh, great one, Clark, trip over your own tongue. Great way to give off the competent vibe.
Finally, Bran and Will trudging through the slush in Oxford. This needs one more fucking scene before it's finished, but will it come? noooooooo. Bran kicks at a bit of it. "The lack of cold is made up
for by a distinct rise in pollution and dreariness, Old
One."
Will protests. "Oxford? Dreary? Bran, look at the
architecture! Bracknell's dreary, not Oxford."
Bran casts a jaded eye over it. "It's all grey stone
and bicycles." He makes a face as he side-steps a
mush made of sodden newspapers. "Not to mention
the rubbish."
"Complain, complain, complain." Will replies.
"Besides, you're from Wales. Thought grey stone
was second nature to the towns there."
"Different, that is."
"Entirely." Will replies, grin tugging at the corner of
his mouth. "Besides, Oxford's a world-renowned
centre of learning."
"My other point. What're you doing at university?
Useless when you know everything you need. You
know more about life, the universe and everything
than the rest of them put together."
"Not everything, Bran. I couldn't do the job of a
scientist unless I trained for it."
"Pah. Semantics. And languages. You chose to
study languages. You, who can speak every
language under the sun that's ever been spoken by
man, Old One. And probably some by
Neanderthals."
"Bran, I've told you, people from Essex are human
beings too."
Bran snorts. "I'll believe that when I see it. And you
still haven't answered my question."
"It's interesting."
"Hmph. And how is the Drew boy?"
"Still studying medicine." Simon Drew says, looming
up behind them. "See you haven't gotten rid of your
fetish for welsh boys, Stanton."
"It's a curse I have to bear." Will sighs.
Bran pulls down his sunglasses to peer at Simon.
"Presume you're indulging in disgusting medical
student behaviour."
"Of course. It's expected of me." His hand comes
up, jerking over his shoulder. "There's a decent café
over there if you feel like lunch."
"You offering to pay?" Bran asks.
"No." Simon grins. "I'm saving that for when I start
earning real money."
"Damn. Coming, Will?" Bran asks. Will's stomach
growls in response.
Simon laughs. "There's your answer."
In the café, Bran stirs his tea idly. "So what does
Will get up to while I'm not here?"
Simon shrugs. "Made a name for himself in the
languages department. Honestly, I don't know why
he even bothers with the degree. Suppose he's
trying to emulate Gumerry. You always did idolise
him, didn't you?"
"Not all that much." Will protests. "Besides,
Professor Merriman was in the archaeology
department."
"That's not stopping you from getting hijacked by
the anthropologists on a regular basis. They're
looking to adopt you, Stanton. The languages lot
are getting tetchy."
Bran frowns. "Adopt him? But why would anyone
want a dreamer like him?"
"You've never seen him in full academic and culture
flow, I presume. And you're one to talk."
"I'm only shagging him. Completely different
matter."
"Completely." Simon says.
Will tucks into his bacon sandwich when the
waitress brings it over. Bran's leaning back and
sipping his tea, having added far too much sugar to
it. "How's the family? Barney still a brat?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But an immensely talented
brat. That kind of thing is what gets altars set up to
you in art school. He's got his second exhibition at
the end of this year."
"If he's getting shows, what's he doing in art
school? Thought that was the point of art school,
getting you ready for that kind of thing."
"Talk to the artists. There's nothing they love more
than continuous lessons, for some reason." Simon
says, sipping his tea. "
------
Sometime around 2am. Will's curled up under the
blankets, out for as much warmth as he can get.
Bran's sitting up, the combination of moonlight and
neon from the outside giving his paler-than-pale skin
an unearthly, sickly glowing yellow tinge.
Will shifts, obviously doesn't come up against the
expected body shape, blinks awake and asks
blearily "Bran? You okay?"
"Thinking."
"Anything important?"
"Does Simon know?"
"Know what? Where babies come from?"
"The real stuff. Does he remember?"
"No. he just remembers what Merriman gave him. A
holiday in Wales, and two in Cornwall. Everyone
thinks Merriman died from one of those flu strains
that go round. Why?"
"Why only me? Why'd you let me remember?"
Will shrugs. "You were ... empty without it. You kept
having deja-vus, something like that. I was selfish.
I let you remember."
"Selfish?" Bran queries.
"I wanted the old you back. Not the one with the
fake memories."
"Your own reasons. Well, they're not as simple, but
at least they're real." Bran turns his head to look out
of the window, says softly "I'm as much of the Wild
Magic as I am of the High, so it comes to the same
thing in the end."
Will hoists himself up on his elbows to get a better
look at his face. "That last bit made no sense."
Bran blinks, looks back at Will, suddenly not so
serious. "It was meant to?" He rolls over, onto Will,
pinning him down. "Now, the important question.
Would you have gone for me if I didn't have the
memories?"
"Probably. You're sodding gorgeous, but you know
that already."
"A truth universally acknowledged." Bran grins,
shifting his lower body to align with Will's.
"What about me?" Will asks.
"You? You'd still be that strange English boy that
decided snogging me in front of his relatives on New
Year's Eve when he was pissed was a good idea.
Knowing you were a dewin wouldn't have made
much difference to whether I fancied you or not."
"And here I thought it added an air of exotic
mystery." Will sighs dramatically.
"Bollocks. You want exotic, I was doing exotic way
before I found out who my parents were. Being an
Old One couldn't beat that." He pauses. "Why were
they cheering again?"
Will grins. "They'd known I'd had a crush on you for
a couple of years. It was your dad I was afraid of.
John Rowlands had to sit on him so he didn't do
anything rash until he'd got used to the idea."
"Oh, a conspiracy, was it? Disgusting. I may have
to punish you for that, Old One." Bran says solemnly.
He ruins the expression by snickering.
Will stretches himself out. "Punish away, Bran. Feel
free." Still grinning. And the grin's still in place in
the morning when they wake up.
Follow up, or same universe as Black as a Lifestyle Choice,
The door goes. Someone probably left the door
downstairs off the latch again. Faith bets it's the
plumber in Flat 1. Useful guy when something goes
wrong with your taps, but absent-minded as hell
when it comes to doors and locks. She refuses to
look up from this week's copy of Heat, aka how much
really sad celebrity gossip can you fit in one
magazine. Utter trash but kinda absorbing. It's not
like she cares who D-lists celebs are going out with,
but, like she said, kinda magnetic. Like a train
wreck. Wes sighs when it becomes obvious she's
not going to answer the door, so he puts down his
book and goes to open the door.
The silence after makes her look up. Not even a
greeting, and that's weird, because though Wes'
automatic politeness that normally sounds so fucking
stuffy sometimes goes down the plughole - she's
been thinking way too much about the plumber for
her brain to be thinking in terms of plugholes - he
normally gives people some kind of greeting. She
puts down the magazine and goes to see who it is
at the door. Christ, even someone from the Council
would get an icy "And what do I owe the pleasure of
this visit?" from him. Real meaning "State your
business, then you can fuck off."
Big black guy at the door, dressed in American street
gear. Not British street gear. There's a slight
difference. Brit is more Ali G and pikey-ish. Wes
registers her interest, and says icily "Faith, this is
Charles Gunn."
Okay, him she's heard of. One of Wes' old buddies
from LA, who dropped him like a hot potato when he
was laid up in hospital. Wes told her what the
circumstances were and his own shitty part in them,
but it reminds her a bit too much of the snobbery of
the Sunnyhell gang. Faith smiles, wide and
welcoming. "Fuck off out of here."
Gunn looks surprised, then snarls. "Hey, no-one
asked your opinion." He looks back at Wes. "Faith?
Ain't that the name of that bitch who carved you
up?"
"That's the name of the bitch who's got more right to
be here than you." Faith replies, tensing her muscles
and just spoiling to kick this guy's ass into the street
so hard he bounces. No big nasties for a week, and
this guy's just right for her to take some of the
tension out on.
Wes sighs. It's the pained sigh that gets people
who know him's attention. It snaps Faith's attention
back from potential fight to the situation. Gunn
reacts the same too, so the urge to take notice of
Wes hasn't diminished since he dumped his ass. "If
you two would kindly put the little show of egos
away? Gunn, what is it?"
Gunn deflates a bit, looking defeated. "Angel's
disappeared."
Wes raises an eyebrow. "And what gives you the
impression I would know anything about it? There's
a rather large ocean and landmass separating us."
Gunn slumps some more. "You're the knowledge
guy."
"Gunn, these days I tend to concern myself more
with my immediate situation and surroundings and
the occasional world threat. Amazingly, one single
souled vampire doesn't tend to loom very large on
my horizons. No matter what Wolfram and Hart in
LA might think. I've found apocalypses tend to be
somewhat localised."
He steps back, allowing Gunn space to come
through. Wes never, ever says the words 'come in'.
Or anything else that could be taken as a welcome.
It's a vampire thing, one that Buffy really has to
learn one of these days. But that's Wes. Paranoid
to the end.
Gunn walks in, glancing at Wes as he goes past,
then looking round. "Nice place."
"We try." Faith says, smiling wide and toothily. "Your
opinion matters so highly to us."
"Faith." Wes warns, then turns to Gunn. "I presume
you hadn't heard of picking up the phone to
ascertain whether I knew anything about this
matter. Transatlantic phone calls tend to be a little
less pricey than the cost of a plane ticket."
----
Gunn gets let in, some discussion of stuff.
-----
Faith can't figure out what the deal with Gunn and
Wes is. Either they were having sex before Gunn
and his crew dropped him or it was just massive
amounts of tension that never went anywhere.
Either way, Gunn's in denial but looking wistful.
Faith isn't sympathetic in the least. You dumped
him, you pay the price, boy. Wes doesn't forget
people who hurt him. Put it aside for the sake of the
job, or decide it's in the past, sure. She's primo
example of that. They're both practical people in the
long run. They needed each other, no sense in
dwelling on what they'd done to each other if they
had to keep it going together. Still, it looks like it'll
take a miracle for Gunn to get a smidgen of
forgiveness or drop in the icy zone Wes is in when
talking to him. Business, business, some more
business and did she mention just a little extra
business on the side?
Then there's this Smallville/Bats crossover. I know this needs finishing, it's so damn close but I can't think of anything to put in the scenes around it.
----
Clark stares at the screen, sighing. Junior reporter. Tres glamoureuse. Oh yeah. The Planet's air conditioning is on the blink again, for the third time in two weeks. The portable fans are on full blast and everyone keeps making trips to the water cooler. Even Lois has moderated her coffee intake to 70% of her usual, swapping the triple-shot espressos for triple-shot frappuccinos. He suspects the decrease in consumption is mostly due to the fact that it takes longer to make the frappuccinos, and that makes for less trips out of the office. He enters the data and gossip she's got out of the latest source, then groans when he sees the ten spelling mistakes in the last paragraph. Something about the word 'the' and excessive heat don't really combine well. He's spelt it as 'teh' at least six of those times.
So, anyway, junior reporter. Partnered with Lois Lane, Girl Reporter Supreme and Hard-Ass with a permanent caffeine drip. She shows him the ropes, he does the scut work and occasionally gets one over on her. She sees it as perfectly fair, since she was 'saddled with the hayseed by Perry'. Still, he knows he's learning a lot. And getting paid, with the occasional byline on one of the inside pages on small stuff that's individual and the occasional credit on some of the joint stuff.
"Clark, you're free for doing a report on Friday for that Suicide Slums thing, right?" Lois asks lazily, tapping the stylus against her PDA.
"Nope. No chance."
"What?" She asks. "Smallville, what do you mean you're not doing it? I thought you were interested in that issue. What've you got, a hot lead?"
"Spending the weekend in Gotham. Fundraiser with Lex. Perry wants a report for the social column. Don't know if it'll be any good, but he says I'll be in a position to hear the interesting stuff. Also added the stuff about it being a good experience and training, which is what he said the time he sent me to deal with the night shift's coffee orders." Types a few more words.
"Being Lex Luthor's boyfriend gets you to all the best parties." Lois sniffs. He can hear the pout behind it.
"Yep." Clark grins, then confesses "If it's any consolation, Lois, I don't really like them that much."
"I feel your pain, Smallville. The champagne, the best food, getting dressed up -" She laughs. "Oh, I know, farmboy doesn't like the fine life stuff."
Clark glares at her. "Actually, it's the gossip I'm not too fond of. The upper crust is more bitchy than anything I've ever heard. It's not an atmosphere I'm comfortable in."
"Aw, poor ickle Smallville, all disillusioned by the big bad city folk."
"Lois, if you pinch my cheek, I'll... I'll..." Inspiration strikes. "I'll take all your Guccis, Manolos and your Pradas - the ones with the three month wait list that you leapfrogged and give them to Jackie in the mail room."
"What would Jackie want with them? His feet are far too big even though he has fabulous taste."
"I'll tell him to distribute them across the country, you'll never see them again."
"You're a cruel, cruel boy, Smallville. Lex is obviously a bad influence."
"That's what my dad says."
"Listen to your father, Kent, his advice is good."
"Even the advice to date Lana back in my teens because she's a nice girl?"
Lois shudders. "Lana may be a nice girl, farmboy, but even I draw the line about self-obsession that deep. And the pink fixation is very, very disturbing."
----
Clark swallows as they step into the room. He may be dressed for it, but he's willing to bet at least a fraction of Lex's fortune that he sticks out like a sore thumb at this gathering of the rich and powerful. Resisting the urge to tug at his collar, he hisses in Lex's ear. "Don't leave me alone, please."
Lex chuckles. "You'll be fine, Clark. Just smile and nod if in doubt."
"I feel like I've got a neon sign hanging over me."
"No you don't." There's a pause as Lex casts a glittering eye over his body. "On second thoughts, you do. 'Far too tempting for his own good.' Sounds familiar."
"Lex!" Clark flushes, cursing himself for the reaction. He's known Lex - and been sleeping with him - long enough that the blushing should be under control by now. Unfortunately for his sake and what's seeming Lex's eternal delight, it hasn't gone away.
They mingle a bit, Clark attempting small talk when he feels he's not about to trip over his tongue. He keeps telling himself he can talk to these rich sophisticates, he's always been able to talk to Lex, who's up in the top tier of rich and sophisticated. However, he's now *really* convinced that restoring said rich and sophisticated person to life from drowning breaks the ice irrevocably. The only problem is he can't see this party suddenly being engulfed by a tidal wave anytime soon. At least not so he can just get over his tongue attempting to tie itself in knots.
Not to mention that he can hear whispers about 'Lex's boy-toy.' That really doesn't help. "Darling, the word catamite does spring to mind." That one's from someone he can't see by the door. Oh god. He didn't think anyone used that particular phrase outside of Lex's overwhelming amount of Greek history books. Well, except Lionel. Lionel's used it where he knows Clark can hear it, even without the super-hearing. Except Lionel never, ever whispers and somehow it's a lot less offensive coming from him than it is from this gathering. Maybe there is something in that line 'familiarity breeds contempt' after all. He knows he's in a fairly rare position - some might say privileged, though most of Smallville would snort at that - of knowing Lionel Luthor well enough that he can brush off insults casually.
As he's fantasising about going down for the third time, someone says off to one side "Well, Lex, haven't seen you out this way for a while. How are you?"
Clark turns to see a young woman greeting Lex. She's Lex's age, maybe a little younger, and on studying her, Clark's heart sinks a little. Gorgeous, tall, brunette, fitting into this society like a glove. Exactly Lex's type.
"It's called banishment, Selina." Lex replies. Okay, missed a couple of lines of the conversation there. Lex continues. "But small-town life has proven to have a few advantages." He knows her. Clark wonders how many times he can do the irrational jealousy thing. Because Lex has a *lot* of exes.
Selina gives Clark a frank appraisal, then she grins, slowly. Something about her reminds Clark of a cat. "So I see. You always did have a certain amount of taste. Introduce me, Lex."
Lex smiles. "Selina Kyle, Clark Kent." Clark swallows. It's almost exactly the same smile Lex gets when someone praises his choice of car, which is kind of unnerving, but fortunately it's tempered by fondness, which the cars definitely don't get. Clark rates above the Lamborghini. Oh, great step forward in the self-esteem battle, Clark, comparing yourself to the cars. He tells himself to stop doing the ego-flattening thing to himself on such a regular basis.
"Pleased to meet you, Clark." Selina grins again. "You look fidgety."
"Um. Different crowd than I'm used to."
With introductions over, Lex goes onto the next topic. "How's Bruce?"
"Still himself." Selina replies. "Very much so." And if that wasn't a cat that got the cream smile - Clark's seen it enough times on Lex, usually in bed - Clark doesn't know what is.
"Managed to cure him of his habit of eating in the kitchen and never using the dining room yet?" Lex asks.
Someone looms up behind them. "I'm afraid that being raised by the butler pretty much ingrains that in you for life, Lex. And it's not like you can talk." *Big* guy. All muscle. Again, Lex's age. And so classically handsome you'd have expected him to have stepped out of a magazine. Also giving off serious looming vibes. Though the magazine bit is true. The last time Clark saw this face it had '50 most eligible bachelors' under it as a magazine headline. Bruce Wayne, the young head of Wayne Enterprises.
Though Clark's wondering why a billionaire would have all the marks this one does. Specifically, the tell-tale marks of someone who's in fights regularly along his skeleton and musculature. Thickening along the bones where they were broken and healed. Torn muscles and scars. Maybe there's one of those fight club things in Gotham, except he never heard of them using knives. Or guns. Lex has a lot of marks like that, but he heals fast, and doesn't scar easily. One of the few benign meteor mutations of Smallville residents. Aside from the hair loss, but Clark counts that one as good; Lex wouldn't be half as striking with hair; attractive, yes, but not striking. And he's pretty sure Gotham billionaires don't get involved in the Smallville craziness that caused Lex's marks.
----
Lex and Bruce have drifted off. From what he can hear, they're talking business.
Clark's left alone with Selina. "So... um... you and Lex used to be -"
"Me and Lex?" Selina chuckles. "Oh no. Bruce and Lex."
"Lex slept with Bruce?" Clark asks, slightly shocked. Not about the bisexuality thing, Lex is pretty much omnisexual, let alone bisexual, but Bruce and him just wasn't an image that sprang easily to mind.
"Why not? He's sleeping with you, isn't he?" Selina replies.
"I, uh, just didn't think Lex was Bruce's type."
Another chuckles. "Oh, that's the way you meant it. No, Bruce has been known to go to the male side in his time. He and Lex ended before Lex moved to Smallville, though, so you can leave aside the jealousy."
Clark flushes and denies it. "I wasn't jealous." Selina just smirks and sips on her champagne.
----
"Clark, this is really bugging me." Chloe says over the sound of the tv Clark can hear in the background. Gotham Knights won last night, apparently.
"What is it this time?"
"Duh, Batman of course! How am I supposed to track down a guy dressed as a bat?"
"Well, I could suggest hanging around costume shops, but you could always become criminally psychotic. That'd get his attention immediately."
"Ha-ha, Mr. Kent, don't give up your day job. Costume shops indeed. And I'm really not into being beaten up, thankyou."
"You're the one who does ju-jitsu."
"That's self-defence. It's different."
Clark scratches his shoulder. "What're you trying to figure out, his identity?"
"Maybe. Even though it's not like he'll be anyone I'll recognise. The mask just makes me really curious."
"Which is why I didn't bother."
"Yeah, yeah, smartass with the souped-up subtle image inducer."
"I don't have an image inducer. They're too busy staring at my chest and package to notice my face."
"I'm trying to have faith that the average citizen and journalist isn't that blind. let me believe in the image inducer to keep my sanity." She pauses. The slurping sound indicates coffee drinking on her end. "You know Lois wouldn't mind fucking him, don't you?"
Clark sighs. "Chloe, she's my partner and she's got a motormouth. How could I not? Fortunately she still rates me below the movie star of the week. Currently Superman is fifth."
"Who's top this week?"
"Michael Shanks."
"Nice taste."
"Hey, she likes me. Isn't that proof of taste?" Chloe snorts in response. Clark grumbles. "You used to like me."
"Teen hormone-induced delirium. Besides, the guy Lois likes has blue eyes, not green eyes, and a jaw more like Ben Affleck's than yours."
"At least it's not like that guy from Starship Troopers. Was it you or Pete that said you could measure right angles accurately from his jaw?"
"Pete."
----
On a rooftop in Gotham. A voice behind him makes Clark turn. "No Luthor sponsorship logo?" Batman asks.
It's the first time they've met in person, costumed. Clark blinks slightly in the low light afforded by the neon of Gotham at night. Batman is... seriously scary in person. Dark, much darker than Bruce Wayne, and you couldn't get much further from Batman than Bruce's slightly foppish persona. Same skeleton and musculature, but the voice and body language are very, very different. They're the kind that're designed to send 'please don't hurt me' vibes down the spine of an ordinary person. Clark has to tell himself that he's invulnerable to get his spine back under control. Several times.
Clark swallows, regaining his voice. "My boyfriend only just tolerates this. He thinks I'm an adrenalin junkie for doing it. What's your excuse?"
"I have to." Batman replies. You really can't think of him as Bruce like this. It's like they're two different people.
Clark folds his arms to give himself a bit more confidence. "When we first met, I thought you were in a fight club. This is taking ennui a bit too far for most rich kid's tastes, huh?"
"There's no ennui involved." Batman says, with utter conviction. "What are you doing on my turf?"
"Looking for a murderer." Clarks looks at him. "Your turf?"
"Gotham is mine." The tone brooks no argument. Though Clark does remember from searches he and Chloe did once, that is pretty close to the truth. The Wayne family - sole survivor, Bruce Wayne, if you discount the adopted son and the rather big possibility that Selina holds for the future - owns most of the land Gotham City's built on, as well as a fair proportion of the land on its outskirts. Guess it's an advantage to your ancestors moving here pretty soon after the settlement started. Clark's not sure if he ever really thinks of Metropolis as 'his', as the move from Smallville wasn't that long ago, and he knows if he ever wanted to claim it on any level, he'd have to fight the Luthors for it. Luthors pretty much define the possessive-obsessive genetic trait. He doesn't know if it's a Wayne thing, this possessive arrogance, or just a Bruce thing. But he's been dealing with Luthors for years, so he knows how obstinate those with it are.
Clark nods slightly, trying to ignore the wrinkle of fabric that's just now decided to bug him, where he didn't tuck his shirt in properly. Taking now to adjust it really wouldn't look good. Especially when he's trying to give off the 'cool, calm and collected' vibe. Looking like some dumb kid in front of Batman's really not the thing you want to do to keep any sort of reputation in the superhero community. That's in spite of the fact that it's well known he tends to view most of them as half-bright amateurs. Still, the dumb kid thing's at the forefront of his mind. "Okay, not disputing that. Now. But I need to find this murderer so he can be brought to justice."
"Do you have any idea who it is?" Batman asks.
"Well, um, I wouldn't be here if I didn't know who... Yes. Richard Lukardi." Oh, great one, Clark, trip over your own tongue. Great way to give off the competent vibe.
Finally, Bran and Will trudging through the slush in Oxford. This needs one more fucking scene before it's finished, but will it come? noooooooo. Bran kicks at a bit of it. "The lack of cold is made up
for by a distinct rise in pollution and dreariness, Old
One."
Will protests. "Oxford? Dreary? Bran, look at the
architecture! Bracknell's dreary, not Oxford."
Bran casts a jaded eye over it. "It's all grey stone
and bicycles." He makes a face as he side-steps a
mush made of sodden newspapers. "Not to mention
the rubbish."
"Complain, complain, complain." Will replies.
"Besides, you're from Wales. Thought grey stone
was second nature to the towns there."
"Different, that is."
"Entirely." Will replies, grin tugging at the corner of
his mouth. "Besides, Oxford's a world-renowned
centre of learning."
"My other point. What're you doing at university?
Useless when you know everything you need. You
know more about life, the universe and everything
than the rest of them put together."
"Not everything, Bran. I couldn't do the job of a
scientist unless I trained for it."
"Pah. Semantics. And languages. You chose to
study languages. You, who can speak every
language under the sun that's ever been spoken by
man, Old One. And probably some by
Neanderthals."
"Bran, I've told you, people from Essex are human
beings too."
Bran snorts. "I'll believe that when I see it. And you
still haven't answered my question."
"It's interesting."
"Hmph. And how is the Drew boy?"
"Still studying medicine." Simon Drew says, looming
up behind them. "See you haven't gotten rid of your
fetish for welsh boys, Stanton."
"It's a curse I have to bear." Will sighs.
Bran pulls down his sunglasses to peer at Simon.
"Presume you're indulging in disgusting medical
student behaviour."
"Of course. It's expected of me." His hand comes
up, jerking over his shoulder. "There's a decent café
over there if you feel like lunch."
"You offering to pay?" Bran asks.
"No." Simon grins. "I'm saving that for when I start
earning real money."
"Damn. Coming, Will?" Bran asks. Will's stomach
growls in response.
Simon laughs. "There's your answer."
In the café, Bran stirs his tea idly. "So what does
Will get up to while I'm not here?"
Simon shrugs. "Made a name for himself in the
languages department. Honestly, I don't know why
he even bothers with the degree. Suppose he's
trying to emulate Gumerry. You always did idolise
him, didn't you?"
"Not all that much." Will protests. "Besides,
Professor Merriman was in the archaeology
department."
"That's not stopping you from getting hijacked by
the anthropologists on a regular basis. They're
looking to adopt you, Stanton. The languages lot
are getting tetchy."
Bran frowns. "Adopt him? But why would anyone
want a dreamer like him?"
"You've never seen him in full academic and culture
flow, I presume. And you're one to talk."
"I'm only shagging him. Completely different
matter."
"Completely." Simon says.
Will tucks into his bacon sandwich when the
waitress brings it over. Bran's leaning back and
sipping his tea, having added far too much sugar to
it. "How's the family? Barney still a brat?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But an immensely talented
brat. That kind of thing is what gets altars set up to
you in art school. He's got his second exhibition at
the end of this year."
"If he's getting shows, what's he doing in art
school? Thought that was the point of art school,
getting you ready for that kind of thing."
"Talk to the artists. There's nothing they love more
than continuous lessons, for some reason." Simon
says, sipping his tea. "
------
Sometime around 2am. Will's curled up under the
blankets, out for as much warmth as he can get.
Bran's sitting up, the combination of moonlight and
neon from the outside giving his paler-than-pale skin
an unearthly, sickly glowing yellow tinge.
Will shifts, obviously doesn't come up against the
expected body shape, blinks awake and asks
blearily "Bran? You okay?"
"Thinking."
"Anything important?"
"Does Simon know?"
"Know what? Where babies come from?"
"The real stuff. Does he remember?"
"No. he just remembers what Merriman gave him. A
holiday in Wales, and two in Cornwall. Everyone
thinks Merriman died from one of those flu strains
that go round. Why?"
"Why only me? Why'd you let me remember?"
Will shrugs. "You were ... empty without it. You kept
having deja-vus, something like that. I was selfish.
I let you remember."
"Selfish?" Bran queries.
"I wanted the old you back. Not the one with the
fake memories."
"Your own reasons. Well, they're not as simple, but
at least they're real." Bran turns his head to look out
of the window, says softly "I'm as much of the Wild
Magic as I am of the High, so it comes to the same
thing in the end."
Will hoists himself up on his elbows to get a better
look at his face. "That last bit made no sense."
Bran blinks, looks back at Will, suddenly not so
serious. "It was meant to?" He rolls over, onto Will,
pinning him down. "Now, the important question.
Would you have gone for me if I didn't have the
memories?"
"Probably. You're sodding gorgeous, but you know
that already."
"A truth universally acknowledged." Bran grins,
shifting his lower body to align with Will's.
"What about me?" Will asks.
"You? You'd still be that strange English boy that
decided snogging me in front of his relatives on New
Year's Eve when he was pissed was a good idea.
Knowing you were a dewin wouldn't have made
much difference to whether I fancied you or not."
"And here I thought it added an air of exotic
mystery." Will sighs dramatically.
"Bollocks. You want exotic, I was doing exotic way
before I found out who my parents were. Being an
Old One couldn't beat that." He pauses. "Why were
they cheering again?"
Will grins. "They'd known I'd had a crush on you for
a couple of years. It was your dad I was afraid of.
John Rowlands had to sit on him so he didn't do
anything rash until he'd got used to the idea."
"Oh, a conspiracy, was it? Disgusting. I may have
to punish you for that, Old One." Bran says solemnly.
He ruins the expression by snickering.
Will stretches himself out. "Punish away, Bran. Feel
free." Still grinning. And the grin's still in place in
the morning when they wake up.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 05:26 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-06 05:42 pm (UTC)