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mithenTitle: Making People Hate You
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Selina Kyle, Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne, Zatanna, Dick Grayson, Brainiac
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2700
Summary: Country Clark has his last match, and the Kryptonian his first.
It’s much easier to make people hate you than it is to make them like you. --Chris Jericho
Clark picked up Country Clark's battered straw hat, turning it around in his hands. There was a rip in the crown and the brim was starting to fray. How many times had he wished he could toss it in the incinerator?
He ran his fingers along the brim, remembering when Dick had stolen it from him backstage and jammed it onto Bruce's head, taking a picture when Bruce had looked up in bemused annoyance. Remembered Billionaire Brucie knocking it to the ground and laughing as Country Clark had been forced to kneel to pick it up again. Remembered Colin Wilkes's laughing face, peeking out from beneath it.
Then he sighed and put it on his head and walked out to the ring for Country Clark's last match.
The Dumas Brothers were mid-carders, anonymous jobbers in identical red outfits. They pulled a run-in when Country Clark was wrestling Two-Face, Two-Face stepping back to allow the two to attack Country Clark when he was down. Clark sold the assault, writhing and twisting as their feet and fists connected with his body. He felt a slightly-misplaced kick glance across his lower lip and tasted blood; curling up, he surreptitiously rubbed his fingers across his lip and dabbled blood across his face. When Azrael's entrance music hit and the Angel of Vengeance charged down the ramp to help his friend, the roar of bloodthirsty relief from the crowd gave him a glow of professional pride. He lay, "broken and beaten," as Azrael stood astride his body, holding his attackers at bay with the force of his fury.
The Dumas Brothers routed, Azrael in hot pursuit (when asked about leaving his friend alone in the ring later, Azrael would intone that "Azrael is a force of pure and untainted retribution: beyond friendship, beyond affection!"). Country Clark attempted to struggle to his feet and a leering Two-Face stepped in to complete the beating as the crowd shrieked for blood. Clark pulled himself up for one last rally, but it was of no use: his spirit was unbroken, but his body was simply too battered. He staggered forward into Two-Face's Janus Suplex and was slammed into the mat as the crowd moaned in despair.
Clark lay on the mat, listening to the boos as Two-Face strutted about the ring, gloating. He could hear shouting; the medical staff were being summoned to the ring to care for the injured Country Clark. He felt them lift his limp body onto the stretcher, and let one of his hands dangle pitifully off it.
Clark could hear fans calling his name as he was carried out of the arena. He managed to lift one hand in a feeble wave, and then Two-Face caught up with the stretcher at the top of the ramp, tipping it over. Clark let himself fall helplessly to the ground, his head lolling as Two-Face got in a few last good kicks, laughing maniacally. Clark felt him lean close as the guards started to pull him away.
"Good finish," Harvey murmured. "I'll miss this gimmick, man."
Me too.
Clark got some time off to create a space between Country Clark's disappearance and the Kryptonian's debut: he went back to Kansas and spent a while baling hay and feeding cows. The baler was brand new, there was fresh paint on the farmhouse, and the mortgage was paid off at last. He whistled a lot as he went about his chores, and thought about Krypton and the Kryptonian. Why was he here? Why didn't he speak? Lots of possibilities.
He texted Bruce pictures of the farm and his parents. There was no reply. Dick texted him a few days later: Ur parents r cute. Want to visit ur farm someday & milk cows.
Clark smiled a little. He texted Bruce later: Thank you for the letter. It helped.
He thought about Kryptonian culture and language. He started sketching family crests. None of them seemed right for a monster like the Kryptonian, so he put them away for now.
Lots of planning to do.
"Ooh." Selina squeezed his biceps appreciatively. "I see you spent a lot of time at the gym while you were gone."
"Just lifting bales of hay," Clark said.
She smirked. "That gimmick's finished," she said, then laughed at his expression. "I'm just teasing you, silly farmboy."
"Hey, Clark!" Scott Free called to him. "Good to see you back! Come here and check this out, they've got footage of Bruce up on Youtube."
He flipped his laptop around so Clark could see it, then pressed "play": Clark felt himself smiling to see El Murciélago delivering a stylish beatdown to an opponent. There was a polish to his motions that hadn't been there before, a confident grace and fluidity. He pivoted and Clark could see the joyous flex in the line of his arms, the power in his shoulders as he dodged.
Then Clark blinked as El Murciélago's opponent misstepped and one of Bruce's moves fell flat, breaking the glamor of the moment. They both recovered quickly, but Clark could read irritation in the set of Bruce's shoulders. He needs a better partner than that, Clark thought, annoyed on his behalf. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be in the ring with him, matching him movement for movement, giving way when Bruce pressed forward, surging ahead when Bruce fell back, clashing in the center like two waves of energy, perfectly matched and balanced and--
"Oh good grief, not her." Selina's snarl at his ear broke his rapt concentration as the camera focused on a woman at ringside. She was dressed in a stylized version of a tuxedo top and fishnets, with a black top hat perched upon dark curly hair. Back in the ring, El Murciélago's opponent had stealthily pulled out a handful of some blue, sparkling powder and was preparing to blow it into El Murciélago's face.
And then the woman in the tux cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled "Ezeerf!"
The heel stopped, motionless, and a wave of delight rippled through the crowd as El Murciélago stared, then realized what had almost happened. He looked at the woman, who grinned and jumped into the ring to throw her arms around him. As the heel's confederate charged the ring, El Murciélago and the magician maneuvered him so he was in front of the heel, and then the woman yelled "Ezeerfnu!"
The heel blew blue powder all over his own ally, who collapsed to the mat, choking. El Murciélago grabbed him, slammed him into the mat, and the bell rang in triumph.
"God, I can't believe she's still doing that stupid backwards-talking-magic gimmick," said Selina, rolling her eyes as El Murciélago and the woman walked back up the ramp holding hands.
"You know her?"
"Zatanna? Oh yeah, we go way back, we debuted together. I was in the middle of my first really good babyface turn, I'd worked out the psychology, really made it totally believable, it took months of work. And then she decided it would be fun to reveal that I'd only turned face because she'd 'worked her magic'--" Selina's air quotes scratched the air, "on me. All my hard character work and it turned out I was only a face because she'd said 'Aniles, eb recin.' Stole all my heat and got the push I should have had." Selina pulled a face at the paused screen where Zatanna was waving at the crowd, hand in hand with Bruce. "Well, who's in the big leagues now, huh? Etib em, baby."
Clark couldn't help laughing at her expression, and she looked at him with a mischievous twinkle. Then she looked back at the screen, then back at him. "I'm sure it's just kayfabe, the two of them," she said.
"What?" said Clark. "Oh, right."
He wasn't sure what it said about him that he was more jealous of the person who got to be with Bruce in the ring than the person who got to hug him in public, and he certainly wasn't about to explain that to Selina's concerned eyes.
He had a match to get ready for, anyway.
The outfit was every bit as horrific as he had imagined: skintight black spandex that encased his entire body, with a ridge of stiff white whorls of cloth that ran down his arms. Well, there was no helping it. He combed his hair back severely: no more endearing tousled look. As a final touch, his own idea and one he was rather proud of: bright red contact lens to cover up his distinctive "babyface blues" (as Oliver liked to call them).
Clark looked into the mirror. The Kryptonian sneered back at him.
"You look…" Milton Fine's eyebrows rose appreciatively as Clark walked into the common room. "You look pretty badass, actually."
Diana was nodding, her arms crossed. "I told you you'd be good at this."
"I can't quite believe they won't realize the Kryptonian isn't Country Clark."
She smiled at him. "It's a greater change than you realize, Clark. And remember, they want to believe."
Standing in the gorilla position moments later, Clark shook his hands out, feeling nervous in a way he hadn't for some time.
Remember, the audience needs a villain. Their hate and fear is just love disguised.
The words were so clear and the nuance so distinct that he nearly turned around to see if Bruce was there at his shoulder.
And then it was their cue: eerie jangling music full of strange dissonances struck up, and he and Milton Fine strode into the arena.
"What do you mean, no pyrotechnics?" Luthor had looked annoyed when Clark had shaken his head at the idea. "I was thinking a big explosion, thunderous kaboom--"
"No," Clark had said. "I just want all the lights to go out. Then my music hits."
"Sounds undramatic," Luthor had complained.
"Trust me," Clark said.
The arena went oddly silent as the Kryptonian and Milton Fine--in his Brainiac hypnotist outfit--stood at the top of the ramp, picked out by pinpoint spotlights and nothing else, to interrupt the match between Mister Miracle and Virmin Vunderbarr.
"People of Earth!" Brainiac intoned, throwing his hands out. "I come to you today as a herald of the new Golden Age! From the depths of space, the message came to me, and I knew it to be true. He has arrived, the One who will show us a new way: free of sadness, free of suffering, free of joy and all such contemptible emotions!"
Security guards closed in on them, but the Kryptonian, without deigning to glance at them, shoved them away. Then the Kryptonian began to make his slow way, step by step, down the ramp toward the ring: inexorable and unstoppable. Behind him, Clark could hear Lex Luthor arguing with Brainiac, yelling at him to "call it back, make it stop!" He let the slightest smile lift the corner of his mouth: a smile of utter contempt.
And then he was in the ring.
Mister Miracle tried to stop him first, jumping forward, but the Kryptonian simply tossed him over the ropes so he landed on a panicking Oberon, both of them collapsing to the ground. Vermin Vunderbarr cringed and smiled--the enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?--but there was not a flicker of compassion on the Kryptonian's face as he grabbed Vunderbarr by the throat and lifted him into the air before crushing him in turn to the mat.
"Witness the power of the Kryptonian Doom Clutch! All will fall before the Kryptonian!" ranted Brainiac's booming voice. "The Last Son of Krypton will cleanse the world of weakness!"
From backstage, a handful of babyfaces came running out to confront the intruder: Green Arrow, Flash, Black Lightning, Aztek, and Hawkman all jumped into the ring and surrounded him. Clark kept his face motionless as he considered them, merely raising one sardonic eyebrow. When Hawkman came at him (it would be violating face ethics to all jump him at once, of course), the Kryptonian took the blow without any reaction at all, then grabbed him and executed a double knee armbreaker that left Hawkman writhing in pain on the mat.
One by one he took them out, and only Black Lightning was able to faze him--and then only physically, when his Lightning Strike attack made the Kryptonian stagger backwards a few steps. Then the Kryptonian had merely smiled, raised that eyebrow again, and stepped forward to finish off the stunned babyface.
He stood in the middle of the arena, and for a moment there was only silence. He crossed his arms and stared out at them. Then a low, hissing growl of disapproval started to scurry around the arena. It wasn't deafening, but it was there. The Kryptonian nodded once in satisfaction, then looked at Brainiac, narrowing his eyes.
"The--The Kryptonian wishes me to inform you that he savors your distress and consternation!" The boos picked up in volume at the insult. "At last you understand who your true master is!" He threw his hands in the air as outrage washed around him. "Truly, you are wise to be so terrified!"
The crowd was having none of this, and as the Kryptonian turned to leave the ring--carefully stepping directly on Aztek and Flash as he left--they ignited into fury, screaming at him.
The Kryptonian ignored them entirely, striding up the ramp. He caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of faces twisted into an ecstasy of anger. He and Fine had done it, they'd set the Kryptonian up as a viable heel who would be a challenge for the babyfaces to take down, a force to be reckoned with. He felt a thrill of proprietary pride--the Kryptonian was going to get over, he could tell.
But he still missed seeing people smile as he left the arena.
That night he was lying in a saggy bed in a seedy hotel, going over his match in his mind. Fine was a skilled ad-libber, he'd adjusted to the crowd well. They were going to make a good team. Luthor had rolled his eyes when Clark said he wanted to play the Kryptonian as an ice-cold genius: "And intellectual monster, that should be interesting." But he'd let Clark run with it, let Clark jettison the grunting and the snarling, and Fine knew how to sell awe and groveling well. They were putting him in a feud with El Dragón next and after that they were talking about Hawkman--maybe they'd finally figure out if Hawkman should go with the alien or the reincarnated Egyptian god gimmick, it seemed the bookers switched him every few weeks.
The future seemed pretty certain for the Kryptonian.
His phone chirped, and a text from Dick popped up: Good match.
Clark shook his head: How did you see it so fast?
Don't ask, and I don't have 2 admit I know how 2 use BitTorrent. A pause. Bruce says to say u stole tht eyebrow from him.
Clark felt both of his eyebrows go up. I don't recall seeing either Billionaire Brucie or El Murciélago do an eyebrow like that, he sent back.
He sez don't b a dope, he means from him. And he says he's gonna come back and sue u over it.
Clark snorted in the silence of his hotel room. Tell him to feel free to come back and try.
A longer pause. Rest assured, I will be back soon, glowed the screen. And will hold you to that.
You could use your own phone, you know, sent Clark.
I think he just lieks stealin mine, said Dick's distinctive diction once more. Jackass.
Still chuckling, Clark flopped down on the bed. Good night from the US, he sent.
Good morning from Japan, and sleep well.
He fell asleep with the phone still cradled to his chest, his hands wrapped around it.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent, Selina Kyle, Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne, Zatanna, Dick Grayson, Brainiac
Continuity: Heroes of the Squared Circle, a DC/pro wrestling fusion (click for notes and all chapters).
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count 2700
Summary: Country Clark has his last match, and the Kryptonian his first.
It’s much easier to make people hate you than it is to make them like you. --Chris Jericho
Clark picked up Country Clark's battered straw hat, turning it around in his hands. There was a rip in the crown and the brim was starting to fray. How many times had he wished he could toss it in the incinerator?
He ran his fingers along the brim, remembering when Dick had stolen it from him backstage and jammed it onto Bruce's head, taking a picture when Bruce had looked up in bemused annoyance. Remembered Billionaire Brucie knocking it to the ground and laughing as Country Clark had been forced to kneel to pick it up again. Remembered Colin Wilkes's laughing face, peeking out from beneath it.
Then he sighed and put it on his head and walked out to the ring for Country Clark's last match.
The Dumas Brothers were mid-carders, anonymous jobbers in identical red outfits. They pulled a run-in when Country Clark was wrestling Two-Face, Two-Face stepping back to allow the two to attack Country Clark when he was down. Clark sold the assault, writhing and twisting as their feet and fists connected with his body. He felt a slightly-misplaced kick glance across his lower lip and tasted blood; curling up, he surreptitiously rubbed his fingers across his lip and dabbled blood across his face. When Azrael's entrance music hit and the Angel of Vengeance charged down the ramp to help his friend, the roar of bloodthirsty relief from the crowd gave him a glow of professional pride. He lay, "broken and beaten," as Azrael stood astride his body, holding his attackers at bay with the force of his fury.
The Dumas Brothers routed, Azrael in hot pursuit (when asked about leaving his friend alone in the ring later, Azrael would intone that "Azrael is a force of pure and untainted retribution: beyond friendship, beyond affection!"). Country Clark attempted to struggle to his feet and a leering Two-Face stepped in to complete the beating as the crowd shrieked for blood. Clark pulled himself up for one last rally, but it was of no use: his spirit was unbroken, but his body was simply too battered. He staggered forward into Two-Face's Janus Suplex and was slammed into the mat as the crowd moaned in despair.
Clark lay on the mat, listening to the boos as Two-Face strutted about the ring, gloating. He could hear shouting; the medical staff were being summoned to the ring to care for the injured Country Clark. He felt them lift his limp body onto the stretcher, and let one of his hands dangle pitifully off it.
Clark could hear fans calling his name as he was carried out of the arena. He managed to lift one hand in a feeble wave, and then Two-Face caught up with the stretcher at the top of the ramp, tipping it over. Clark let himself fall helplessly to the ground, his head lolling as Two-Face got in a few last good kicks, laughing maniacally. Clark felt him lean close as the guards started to pull him away.
"Good finish," Harvey murmured. "I'll miss this gimmick, man."
Me too.
Clark got some time off to create a space between Country Clark's disappearance and the Kryptonian's debut: he went back to Kansas and spent a while baling hay and feeding cows. The baler was brand new, there was fresh paint on the farmhouse, and the mortgage was paid off at last. He whistled a lot as he went about his chores, and thought about Krypton and the Kryptonian. Why was he here? Why didn't he speak? Lots of possibilities.
He texted Bruce pictures of the farm and his parents. There was no reply. Dick texted him a few days later: Ur parents r cute. Want to visit ur farm someday & milk cows.
Clark smiled a little. He texted Bruce later: Thank you for the letter. It helped.
He thought about Kryptonian culture and language. He started sketching family crests. None of them seemed right for a monster like the Kryptonian, so he put them away for now.
Lots of planning to do.
"Ooh." Selina squeezed his biceps appreciatively. "I see you spent a lot of time at the gym while you were gone."
"Just lifting bales of hay," Clark said.
She smirked. "That gimmick's finished," she said, then laughed at his expression. "I'm just teasing you, silly farmboy."
"Hey, Clark!" Scott Free called to him. "Good to see you back! Come here and check this out, they've got footage of Bruce up on Youtube."
He flipped his laptop around so Clark could see it, then pressed "play": Clark felt himself smiling to see El Murciélago delivering a stylish beatdown to an opponent. There was a polish to his motions that hadn't been there before, a confident grace and fluidity. He pivoted and Clark could see the joyous flex in the line of his arms, the power in his shoulders as he dodged.
Then Clark blinked as El Murciélago's opponent misstepped and one of Bruce's moves fell flat, breaking the glamor of the moment. They both recovered quickly, but Clark could read irritation in the set of Bruce's shoulders. He needs a better partner than that, Clark thought, annoyed on his behalf. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be in the ring with him, matching him movement for movement, giving way when Bruce pressed forward, surging ahead when Bruce fell back, clashing in the center like two waves of energy, perfectly matched and balanced and--
"Oh good grief, not her." Selina's snarl at his ear broke his rapt concentration as the camera focused on a woman at ringside. She was dressed in a stylized version of a tuxedo top and fishnets, with a black top hat perched upon dark curly hair. Back in the ring, El Murciélago's opponent had stealthily pulled out a handful of some blue, sparkling powder and was preparing to blow it into El Murciélago's face.
And then the woman in the tux cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled "Ezeerf!"
The heel stopped, motionless, and a wave of delight rippled through the crowd as El Murciélago stared, then realized what had almost happened. He looked at the woman, who grinned and jumped into the ring to throw her arms around him. As the heel's confederate charged the ring, El Murciélago and the magician maneuvered him so he was in front of the heel, and then the woman yelled "Ezeerfnu!"
The heel blew blue powder all over his own ally, who collapsed to the mat, choking. El Murciélago grabbed him, slammed him into the mat, and the bell rang in triumph.
"God, I can't believe she's still doing that stupid backwards-talking-magic gimmick," said Selina, rolling her eyes as El Murciélago and the woman walked back up the ramp holding hands.
"You know her?"
"Zatanna? Oh yeah, we go way back, we debuted together. I was in the middle of my first really good babyface turn, I'd worked out the psychology, really made it totally believable, it took months of work. And then she decided it would be fun to reveal that I'd only turned face because she'd 'worked her magic'--" Selina's air quotes scratched the air, "on me. All my hard character work and it turned out I was only a face because she'd said 'Aniles, eb recin.' Stole all my heat and got the push I should have had." Selina pulled a face at the paused screen where Zatanna was waving at the crowd, hand in hand with Bruce. "Well, who's in the big leagues now, huh? Etib em, baby."
Clark couldn't help laughing at her expression, and she looked at him with a mischievous twinkle. Then she looked back at the screen, then back at him. "I'm sure it's just kayfabe, the two of them," she said.
"What?" said Clark. "Oh, right."
He wasn't sure what it said about him that he was more jealous of the person who got to be with Bruce in the ring than the person who got to hug him in public, and he certainly wasn't about to explain that to Selina's concerned eyes.
He had a match to get ready for, anyway.
The outfit was every bit as horrific as he had imagined: skintight black spandex that encased his entire body, with a ridge of stiff white whorls of cloth that ran down his arms. Well, there was no helping it. He combed his hair back severely: no more endearing tousled look. As a final touch, his own idea and one he was rather proud of: bright red contact lens to cover up his distinctive "babyface blues" (as Oliver liked to call them).
Clark looked into the mirror. The Kryptonian sneered back at him.
"You look…" Milton Fine's eyebrows rose appreciatively as Clark walked into the common room. "You look pretty badass, actually."
Diana was nodding, her arms crossed. "I told you you'd be good at this."
"I can't quite believe they won't realize the Kryptonian isn't Country Clark."
She smiled at him. "It's a greater change than you realize, Clark. And remember, they want to believe."
Standing in the gorilla position moments later, Clark shook his hands out, feeling nervous in a way he hadn't for some time.
Remember, the audience needs a villain. Their hate and fear is just love disguised.
The words were so clear and the nuance so distinct that he nearly turned around to see if Bruce was there at his shoulder.
And then it was their cue: eerie jangling music full of strange dissonances struck up, and he and Milton Fine strode into the arena.
"What do you mean, no pyrotechnics?" Luthor had looked annoyed when Clark had shaken his head at the idea. "I was thinking a big explosion, thunderous kaboom--"
"No," Clark had said. "I just want all the lights to go out. Then my music hits."
"Sounds undramatic," Luthor had complained.
"Trust me," Clark said.
The arena went oddly silent as the Kryptonian and Milton Fine--in his Brainiac hypnotist outfit--stood at the top of the ramp, picked out by pinpoint spotlights and nothing else, to interrupt the match between Mister Miracle and Virmin Vunderbarr.
"People of Earth!" Brainiac intoned, throwing his hands out. "I come to you today as a herald of the new Golden Age! From the depths of space, the message came to me, and I knew it to be true. He has arrived, the One who will show us a new way: free of sadness, free of suffering, free of joy and all such contemptible emotions!"
Security guards closed in on them, but the Kryptonian, without deigning to glance at them, shoved them away. Then the Kryptonian began to make his slow way, step by step, down the ramp toward the ring: inexorable and unstoppable. Behind him, Clark could hear Lex Luthor arguing with Brainiac, yelling at him to "call it back, make it stop!" He let the slightest smile lift the corner of his mouth: a smile of utter contempt.
And then he was in the ring.
Mister Miracle tried to stop him first, jumping forward, but the Kryptonian simply tossed him over the ropes so he landed on a panicking Oberon, both of them collapsing to the ground. Vermin Vunderbarr cringed and smiled--the enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?--but there was not a flicker of compassion on the Kryptonian's face as he grabbed Vunderbarr by the throat and lifted him into the air before crushing him in turn to the mat.
"Witness the power of the Kryptonian Doom Clutch! All will fall before the Kryptonian!" ranted Brainiac's booming voice. "The Last Son of Krypton will cleanse the world of weakness!"
From backstage, a handful of babyfaces came running out to confront the intruder: Green Arrow, Flash, Black Lightning, Aztek, and Hawkman all jumped into the ring and surrounded him. Clark kept his face motionless as he considered them, merely raising one sardonic eyebrow. When Hawkman came at him (it would be violating face ethics to all jump him at once, of course), the Kryptonian took the blow without any reaction at all, then grabbed him and executed a double knee armbreaker that left Hawkman writhing in pain on the mat.
One by one he took them out, and only Black Lightning was able to faze him--and then only physically, when his Lightning Strike attack made the Kryptonian stagger backwards a few steps. Then the Kryptonian had merely smiled, raised that eyebrow again, and stepped forward to finish off the stunned babyface.
He stood in the middle of the arena, and for a moment there was only silence. He crossed his arms and stared out at them. Then a low, hissing growl of disapproval started to scurry around the arena. It wasn't deafening, but it was there. The Kryptonian nodded once in satisfaction, then looked at Brainiac, narrowing his eyes.
"The--The Kryptonian wishes me to inform you that he savors your distress and consternation!" The boos picked up in volume at the insult. "At last you understand who your true master is!" He threw his hands in the air as outrage washed around him. "Truly, you are wise to be so terrified!"
The crowd was having none of this, and as the Kryptonian turned to leave the ring--carefully stepping directly on Aztek and Flash as he left--they ignited into fury, screaming at him.
The Kryptonian ignored them entirely, striding up the ramp. He caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of faces twisted into an ecstasy of anger. He and Fine had done it, they'd set the Kryptonian up as a viable heel who would be a challenge for the babyfaces to take down, a force to be reckoned with. He felt a thrill of proprietary pride--the Kryptonian was going to get over, he could tell.
But he still missed seeing people smile as he left the arena.
That night he was lying in a saggy bed in a seedy hotel, going over his match in his mind. Fine was a skilled ad-libber, he'd adjusted to the crowd well. They were going to make a good team. Luthor had rolled his eyes when Clark said he wanted to play the Kryptonian as an ice-cold genius: "And intellectual monster, that should be interesting." But he'd let Clark run with it, let Clark jettison the grunting and the snarling, and Fine knew how to sell awe and groveling well. They were putting him in a feud with El Dragón next and after that they were talking about Hawkman--maybe they'd finally figure out if Hawkman should go with the alien or the reincarnated Egyptian god gimmick, it seemed the bookers switched him every few weeks.
The future seemed pretty certain for the Kryptonian.
His phone chirped, and a text from Dick popped up: Good match.
Clark shook his head: How did you see it so fast?
Don't ask, and I don't have 2 admit I know how 2 use BitTorrent. A pause. Bruce says to say u stole tht eyebrow from him.
Clark felt both of his eyebrows go up. I don't recall seeing either Billionaire Brucie or El Murciélago do an eyebrow like that, he sent back.
He sez don't b a dope, he means from him. And he says he's gonna come back and sue u over it.
Clark snorted in the silence of his hotel room. Tell him to feel free to come back and try.
A longer pause. Rest assured, I will be back soon, glowed the screen. And will hold you to that.
You could use your own phone, you know, sent Clark.
I think he just lieks stealin mine, said Dick's distinctive diction once more. Jackass.
Still chuckling, Clark flopped down on the bed. Good night from the US, he sent.
Good morning from Japan, and sleep well.
He fell asleep with the phone still cradled to his chest, his hands wrapped around it.