WHO: Clark & Andrew. WHAT: Uh, it's Superman and Andrew. What do you think is gonna happen? WHEN: Afternoon. WHERE: The apartment complex. RATING: TBD.
Clark was having an off day. It wasn't terrible, per say, it was simply one of those days that got him thinking. A lot. See, he had sort of broken his own code: do not look into the Superman and DC Comic stuff more than needed. He had. Quite a bit, actually. It wasn't him casually digging around the internet, it was him doing as much research on the subject as possible after he caught some amusing videos from home on Youtube. There were some videos that made him wish he could break the internet so that they didn't exist anymore (because, wow, a lot of the stuff that people were browsing so casually as he had been were actually really personal), but since he couldn't Clark felt like he needed to figure out what else was out there. Most of it? Was terrifying. But there were some things, on the other hand, that didn't seem quite so bad. Like the costume that he seemed to have taken on in that Smallville show. It wasn't so bad compared to the tight ridden, underwear over his clothes, capped up with a cheesy cape and shiny red boots look he had seen himself donned in through other sources. No, the black on black smeared with the House of El symbol wasn't so bad. Of course, he could have easily done without the House of El symbol since Clark wasn't exactly feeling very El-happy as of late. But the rest? It was good. That was what a vigilante was supposed to look like. Not that red, blue, and yellow wearing weirdo that he was supposed to turn into. Yeah, right.
Clark had been thinking about digging something up for himself to wear, if only to keep people from tracing him back to the apartments when he went on his own quiet patrols, when he had found a video of his father. Dying. And that was it. That was when Clark had lost it. He usually didn't get irrationally and violently angry, but seeing the death of Jonathon Kent had gotten under his skin so badly that Clark had ended up putting his fist through his laptop screen. And now? Now he was in the kitchen, scramling around through the supplies drawer looking to find something that would keep it from sparking as dangerously as it was now. White sparks shot up like fire, grazing the tiled floor lightly as Clark threw a wrench onto the floor carelessly. Some of the sparks dropped onto his shoulder, but rather than burning Clark, they ate at his shirt, leaving the right side of his t-shirt plastered with funny shaped holes.
Clark was trying to be quick about it. He didn't want to drop the damned thing into the sink, nor did he want to give it another physical beatdown to get the damned thing to stop. Truth of it was, Clark was hoping to get the stupid thing to settle on it's own, that way he'd have a shot at fixing...well, fixing whatever was left of his laptop. Because right now? It looked a mess. There was a hole that went straight through the screen that was the size of his fist and the right corner that attached it to the keyboard had twisted off entirely. Whoops.