hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-02-12 12:25 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-02-12 12:25 pm
SV – Simple
My new pairing got trampled on. One of my girls is MIA and the other is straight up gone. I’m having the painters in. My boss, well, need you ask? I’m so having a moment. It would be nice if it would hurry up and pass. On the upswing, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lalejandra introduced me to Dan Bern, and today is issaro’s birthday. She wanted Happy Lex. I had to strip away a lot of layers and this probably isn't quite what she meant.
Smallville
We're made out of blood and rust
Looking for someone to trust
Without a fight
Accessories and props, people and places fill up the empty spaces in Lex's heart right now, but there’s nothing wrong with that. They make for a simple life.
*
The best cup of coffee Lex has ever had was from a nameless mom-and-pop cart-on-wheels in New Haven, Connecticut. It was six minutes to four on a Wednesday afternoon and the winter sun had almost set, but wasn’t entirely down. Lex had just slipped his mid-term paper on cellular reconstruction under the door of his professor’s office after staying up for three days straight, and his brain felt numb. He was walking back across the Yale campus to his apartment, and all he could think about was sleep and sex and partying and the unavoidable Luthor Corp holiday celebration that awaited him back in Metropolis.
The New England wind whipped at his ears, and he pulled the collar of his wool coat a little higher around his neck. A glance down showed that the toe of his right sneaker was coming unglued, and the hem of his jeans was starting to fray. When he stopped at the corner for the red light, the deathtrap eatery on wheels caught his attention out the corner of his eye.
He wasn’t hungry or particularly thirsty. If anything he was exhausted and needed a long, hot shower, but he approached the cart and picked up a plastic cup of coffee and a stale chocolate croissant anyway.
The woman who helped him had red hair streaked with gray, and she smiled at Lex as he handed over his two dollars and eight-five cents. She said he looked tired and suggested he take hot chocolate instead. When he insisted he was fine, she laughed and suggested he get some rest. She said nothing was worth that kind of stress.
Lex doesn’t remember that the coffee was freeze-dried and lukewarm, what he remembers is this woman who reminded him of his mother.
In his mind, she made the best coffee ever.
*
The new issue of Warrior Angel arrives on the first Tuesday of every month in a thin white envelope from Federal Express, between the hours of ten and eleven. Lex always signs for the delivery himself, and after the deliveryman leaves, Lex closes the doors of his office and turns off his computer screens.
He shuts off his mobile phone and disconnects his wireless.
If the weather is good, he’ll go out to the gardens and sit in the grass with a glass of lemonade and whatever cookies Mrs Kent has included in the produce delivery. If the weather isn’t quite as agreeable, he’ll make a quick trek to the kitchen for something warm and wet, like the homemade cider that the cook keeps in the plastic container in the back of the refrigerator.
Then he’ll climb the stairs to his bedroom where he’ll strip off his shoes and his socks and climb onto the center of his perfectly made bed. The quiet tearing of the Fed Ex envelope is slightly more nerve-wracking than the results of a new experiment in his lab, and it’s only when Lex’s fingers are sliding over the plastic-sealed thin booklet that he finally smiles.
He’s always appreciated the simple beauty of comics: the bright colors and vibrant images, and a world where heroes aren’t necessarily good and the villains aren’t always bad.
*
Lex is always the consummate professional when he’s in his lab. White coat, protective spectacles and the thinnest gloves to make sure his samples aren’t compromised. His fingers never shake, his pen strokes are always sure, and the strides he makes are because he is skilled, not because he has a famous last name.
In the lab, there’s no one else to blame for mistakes and the things that go wrong. Every stainless steel surface reminds Lex of who is in charge, because science tells the raw truth.
It has no place for lies.
*
Lex’s thoughts are always complex, and his wants are varied and diverse -- but his needs are simple, and they say the most about who he is when you strip away everything else.
Lex needs trust and devotion. He needs honesty. He needs warmth and a roof over his head.
He needs to be loved.
The things Lex needs are what will make him happy eventually, but the things he wants are what prop him up in the meantime.
He has simple memories and desires to keep him going until something better comes along -- and they suit him just fine.
-end-
Unbeta’d. Improv fromserialkarma: spectacles, grass, shake, plastic, tear, chocolate. Posted lyrics from ‘Honey and the Moon’ by Joseph Arthur.
lalejandra introduced me to Dan Bern, and today is issaro’s birthday. She wanted Happy Lex. I had to strip away a lot of layers and this probably isn't quite what she meant. Smallville
Looking for someone to trust
Without a fight
Accessories and props, people and places fill up the empty spaces in Lex's heart right now, but there’s nothing wrong with that. They make for a simple life.
The best cup of coffee Lex has ever had was from a nameless mom-and-pop cart-on-wheels in New Haven, Connecticut. It was six minutes to four on a Wednesday afternoon and the winter sun had almost set, but wasn’t entirely down. Lex had just slipped his mid-term paper on cellular reconstruction under the door of his professor’s office after staying up for three days straight, and his brain felt numb. He was walking back across the Yale campus to his apartment, and all he could think about was sleep and sex and partying and the unavoidable Luthor Corp holiday celebration that awaited him back in Metropolis.
The New England wind whipped at his ears, and he pulled the collar of his wool coat a little higher around his neck. A glance down showed that the toe of his right sneaker was coming unglued, and the hem of his jeans was starting to fray. When he stopped at the corner for the red light, the deathtrap eatery on wheels caught his attention out the corner of his eye.
He wasn’t hungry or particularly thirsty. If anything he was exhausted and needed a long, hot shower, but he approached the cart and picked up a plastic cup of coffee and a stale chocolate croissant anyway.
The woman who helped him had red hair streaked with gray, and she smiled at Lex as he handed over his two dollars and eight-five cents. She said he looked tired and suggested he take hot chocolate instead. When he insisted he was fine, she laughed and suggested he get some rest. She said nothing was worth that kind of stress.
Lex doesn’t remember that the coffee was freeze-dried and lukewarm, what he remembers is this woman who reminded him of his mother.
In his mind, she made the best coffee ever.
The new issue of Warrior Angel arrives on the first Tuesday of every month in a thin white envelope from Federal Express, between the hours of ten and eleven. Lex always signs for the delivery himself, and after the deliveryman leaves, Lex closes the doors of his office and turns off his computer screens.
He shuts off his mobile phone and disconnects his wireless.
If the weather is good, he’ll go out to the gardens and sit in the grass with a glass of lemonade and whatever cookies Mrs Kent has included in the produce delivery. If the weather isn’t quite as agreeable, he’ll make a quick trek to the kitchen for something warm and wet, like the homemade cider that the cook keeps in the plastic container in the back of the refrigerator.
Then he’ll climb the stairs to his bedroom where he’ll strip off his shoes and his socks and climb onto the center of his perfectly made bed. The quiet tearing of the Fed Ex envelope is slightly more nerve-wracking than the results of a new experiment in his lab, and it’s only when Lex’s fingers are sliding over the plastic-sealed thin booklet that he finally smiles.
He’s always appreciated the simple beauty of comics: the bright colors and vibrant images, and a world where heroes aren’t necessarily good and the villains aren’t always bad.
Lex is always the consummate professional when he’s in his lab. White coat, protective spectacles and the thinnest gloves to make sure his samples aren’t compromised. His fingers never shake, his pen strokes are always sure, and the strides he makes are because he is skilled, not because he has a famous last name.
In the lab, there’s no one else to blame for mistakes and the things that go wrong. Every stainless steel surface reminds Lex of who is in charge, because science tells the raw truth.
It has no place for lies.
Lex’s thoughts are always complex, and his wants are varied and diverse -- but his needs are simple, and they say the most about who he is when you strip away everything else.
Lex needs trust and devotion. He needs honesty. He needs warmth and a roof over his head.
He needs to be loved.
The things Lex needs are what will make him happy eventually, but the things he wants are what prop him up in the meantime.
He has simple memories and desires to keep him going until something better comes along -- and they suit him just fine.
-end-
Unbeta’d. Improv from
serialkarma: spectacles, grass, shake, plastic, tear, chocolate. Posted lyrics from ‘Honey and the Moon’ by Joseph Arthur.
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