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Tweak says, "I'm reaaaaaaaaddddddddddy!!"

Allana Solo (sanguinesolo) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2011-03-29 18:57:00

Entry tags:

allana solo, clark kent/superman

Who: Clark and Allana (and the unluckiest NPC muggers in Lawrence)
What: Muddled heroics
Where: The apparently sketchy streets of Lawrence
When: 3am-ish
Warnings: Violence, language
Status: Incomplete

Most people did not respond to mysterious threats on their life from unknown sources by going out for coffee at 3am. Then again, most people hadn’t grown up in a royal court and then in an ex-senator and ex-smuggler’s home knowing, through instruction repeated so many times the rules became intuitive, never to sit with your back to a door, never to turn around until someone had completely left the room, and to always mark the entrances and exits to a space when you entered it. If Allana reacted to the possibility of attack or assassination with fear, or even with what most people would have considered appropriate caution, she would have long ago have given up going out all together, and would probably have been regarded with puzzlement by a family that compared kidnappings of its children the way some people compared bouts of the chicken pox. Besides, she’d missed the diner this past week or so when Jen, with her bullet wound and then her mysterious inability to heal and subsequent return to the desire to snack on the living, had taken up most of her mind. It was still a present worry but, for now, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

So she’d gone out to the diner for coffee around 1am, Dance, Dance, Dance by Murakami tucked under her arm, and let the grumbles of slow-moving waitresses, muttering workers on break from their night shift jobs as janitors or security guards, and slurring of college students from KU grabbing a coffee to sober up before they headed home wash around her in a soothing hum. The waitresses and regulars had smiled and waved at her, she’d gotten some reading done, and she’d just been Allana Smith for a little while, completely unremarkable aside from some apparent insomniac tendencies. It had been nice, definitely the sanity-saving part of her day, but 3am brought the onset of drowsiness and she paid for her coffee and headed out into a light drizzle, pulling the hood of her jacket up so that it hung over her face and hair and putting in her ear buds to listen to her ipod on the walk home.

She was about halfway home when she felt it, a disturbance in the Force that came from fear reaching its breaking point and the malice that had caused it. Slowing her steps she pulled out her headphones and put a hand on her lightsaber, tucked away safely in a pocket, edging towards the disturbance until she could actually hear the voices, hushed and rough, at the mouth of an alleyway a few feet in front of her. A woman, a night worker at the nearby hospital judging by her scrubs, probably on her way to the bus, was surrounded by three men in hooded sweatshirts. As Allana approached, still feeling out the presences around her to make sure there weren’t demons nearby, that this wasn’t a trap, the woman tried to dart around one of them and he cursed, catching her arm and swinging her around so that her back hit the wall with a dull thud.

“Look,” the man started, “just give us your fucking—“ and then grunted in surprise as Allana collided with him, doing her best to imitate the drunken stumble she’d seen the college students in the diner modeling. The woman reacted instinctively, grabbed Allana’s shoulders to steady her and pull her back, and Allana locked eyes with her for a moment, put the full force of her compulsion behind a whispered command—“You’re going to run until you’re somewhere safe. You won’t look back or worry about me.” The woman took off without so much as blinking, streaking past a bewildered, and rapidly becoming irritated, group of muggers and disappearing around the corner.

All of which left Allana standing in a semi-circle of angry criminals. She was certain she could deal with them, would even enjoy doing it after the week she’d had, but if she was going to take out a lightsaber or use the Force it was probably better not to do it on the sidewalk and so she began backing away into the alley, pretending to be scared enough not to realize she was trapping herself.

“Um, look, I’m really sorry. I only have like a dollar on me, so, um, just let me leave maybe?” she tried, pitching her voice higher as she backed away, drawing them after her. That sounds helpless right? Kitten up a tree? Come on just follow me, just a couple more steps…

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1/2 [EFFING IJ , IT'S ONLY LIKE TEN WORDS OVER]

whenyouseered
2011-04-07 06:08 pm UTC (link)

During the beginnings of Allana's confrontation, Clark had been quietly walking home after a long days worth of job hunting. It wasn't difficult, wowing the people that he had attempted to obtain employment from - in fact, it was very much like it had been back home, when Clark had chosen to use his strengths by way of scientific knowledge and physical ability to his advantage when he sought out certain job positions. Similarly, he found himself repetitively struggling with the feeling that, even though he was a sure thing for all the jobs he had looked into, the positions he had been aiming for weren't right. Not like the Daily Planet had been, back home. Clark didn't know if jumping into journalism would be the best route to tackle here - a big part of why Clark had joined up with the Planet in the first place was because of the people working there (like Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane, who weren't afraid to stand up for a total stranger on the streets when he needed it the most, and Perry White, the only person who seemed to think that his work needed something more, which was appealing because Clark wanted someone to constantly challenge him and his work). Clark really hadn't met anyone with wills like Lois and Jimmy outside of the apartment complex and, outside of playing his part in the apocalypse, Clark didn't think that any of them would really do him much good as far as finding a job that he felt happy with was concerned. It was a headache inducing matter, one that Clark knew he should have put to an end by picking one of the fields he'd already attempted already, but he wanted to keep looking a little bit longer before settling. It wasn't about the money, after all; it was about how much good he could bring into the world through the work that he invested himself in.

Hands digging into the pockets of his frayed sweatshirt, Clark turned a corner and kicked at a stray Pepsi can that had been crumpled along the sidewalk. The can bounced lightly against the toe of his sneaker, skidding across the ground in a genuinely simple fashion. Nothing unusual. Clark fit right into the scene. He was just a normal guy, walking along, minding his own business, kicking a can around, contemplating his career, and -

You're going to run until you're somewhere safe.

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2/2

whenyouseered
2011-04-07 06:08 pm UTC (link)

The voice rang through his head easily, in spite of the fact that Clark was nowhere near the source, and Clark quickly turned around, blue eyes fixing on one of the streets in the far distance. A dark figure darted outward and into the road, fleeing, just as Clark had picked up from the words he'd been able to hear. The woman stumbled, frantically looked back over her shoulder, then kept on running once she, Clark assumed, realized that her assailants weren't pursuing her.

I'm really sorry. I only have like a dollar on me, so, um, just let me leave maybe?

No, they had another target to focus on. Expression darkening, Clark pulled his hood over his head and ducked into a nearby alley and out of sight. Not a single person noticed him as he vanished, nor did they take note of the red and blue blur that lurched into the sky and rocketed toward the site of all the commotion. When Superman appeared on the scene, he quietly landed at the entrance of the alley just as the thugs began cornering their prey on the inside, doing well to avoid drawing public attention to himself. Because of his supposed fictional status, Clark had done his best to keep things more on the subtle side when he was pulling out the hero card. Dark corners of the city or crimes stopped at a blur, so that no one would be able to run in with a camera, had seemed the most ideal. But not here. Not when he was facing the bad guys down, doing his absolute best to keep them from harming someone who didn't deserve to be -

Wait. As the criminals moved in further, he was able to spot a face. A familiar face. She was like him. Stranded here, pulled from her own world. Clark remembered Allan Solo very well from the few times they had interacted. He stared at her for a short moment, half wondering if she was really being jumped right now or if she had something crazy hidden up her sleeve, before he chose to fold his arms and clear his throat.

"All of you against her? Doesn't that seem a little unfair?"

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sanguinesolo
2011-04-11 01:38 am UTC (link)

Come on, Allana thought as she edged backwards, feet crossing the threshold of the alley, just a few more steps and then we’ll see if you paid attention during Star Wars assholes.

“Look, please, I don’t—“ and that’s when she felt the new presence moving towards them far, far more rapidly than should have been possible. For a moment her panic wasn’t entirely feigned for the benefit of the muggers as she assumed the worst, that she had somehow attracted a demon’s attention and that it was moving in to get in on the action. Despite the fact that she was currently preparing to kick the crap out of them she couldn’t let the muggers get killed any more than she could have let the woman get mugged, not according to the code, and it would have devolved into a fight where she was trying to protect three extremely uncooperative muggers while also taking down a demon. A moment later, however, she realized that the panic was unfounded. The presence didn’t feel dark, just the opposite, and the only unusual thing about it was the speed at which it was approaching. Even that was explained a moment later, however, as a familiar face, one of the other people displaced by the seal, Clark, landed lightly, just behind her attackers and took up a stern stance as he spoke:

"All of you against her? Doesn't that seem a little unfair?"

Which meant the only question was—

“…are you wearing a cape? You are. You’re wearing a cape. Why are you wearing a cape?” Allana blurted out, so bewildered that she completely missed the fact that the mugger closest to her had apparently decided that enough was enough: their first victim getting away was one thing but a crazy Superman impostor and a teenage girl who they were supposed to be intimidating suddenly ignoring them in favor of an impromptu fashion critique? No. This was clearly not going to be allowed to happen. He flipped his switchblade open and swung out towards Allana’s arm, clearly thinking that she’d never be able to react in time. Unfortunately for him Force-enhanced reflexes sent her ducking safely out of the way well before the blade had reached her. A moment later he was pinned to the alley wall by an invisible pressure and Allana had her lightsaber out and pointed at the other two attackers as she stared over their heads at Clark, expression still puzzled. “I mean, that just doesn’t seem at all convenient,” she continued as if she had never been interrupted.

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whenyouseered
2011-04-13 05:44 am UTC (link)

Clark found Allana's question more difficult to react to than the fact that she was actually able to defend herself against the attacker who had launched himself at her. This was Lawrence. Alternate universe Lawrence, where a whole lot of people seemed to have powers or skills that came in handy when it came down to defending themselves. The whole self-defense thing, at this point, wasn't something that Clark could bring himself to stumble over much anymore. The Jedi thing, though? Yeah, it was something that he was definitely still working on getting used to. He blinked at the lightsaber for a moment, shook his head, then stepped to the side, ensuring that the exit was blocked. The other two would have to go through him to get out of the alley - that was, of course, if they could manage to give Allana the slip first.

"What's wrong with my cape?" He couldn't help but ask, reaching up to tug at the collar of it thoughtfully. "It's perfectly practical. It's...it - it matches my costume. And -" One of the two attackers lunged at Allana, the other decidedly lurching around the two to make a break for it. The epitome of bravery, this one, Clark thought, grabbing the man before he could so much as put a single toe outside the alleyway. "My mom made this costume for me," he said pointedly, as if that would explain everything about the colorful, bizarre state of his attire. Clark hauled them the man up by the scruffy collar of his shirt, lifting him completely off his feet. The man squirmed under his grip, but it was useless. He gave up after a good moment of wriggling around, took a moment to breathe, then started up again when he realized that, hey, maybe he was actually dealing with a Superman, because how else could someone be this strong?

Clark looked at him and sighed. "You don't think there's anything wrong with my costume, do you? It's good, right? Heroic...and stuff?" The man sputtered out something incoherent. Clark shrugged, tapped a finger to the side of his head, and let him slump to the ground unconsciously.

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sanguinesolo
2011-04-15 01:25 am UTC (link)

“What’s wrong with a cape?” Allana repeated incredulously, eyes narrowing as she stared at Clark, clearly wondering if he was joking. The man she had pinned to the wall with the Force gurgled out a strangled protest as she became distracted trying to think of which answer to give first. “Oh hold on,” she grumbled at him as she eased her hold a bit then turned back… just in time to see the second man lunge at her. For a moment she was disoriented, the split of her concentration between holding the first attacker and dodging a second attack slowing her down so that she barely avoided his swing. She thought about using her lightsaber but she didn’t actually want to hurt someone who hadn’t hurt anyone else yet. Though, she mused as she reached out with the Force and sent him flying into the wall to join his friend, not for lack of mediocre attempts. Maybe the Code would cut me some slack.

Once the two men were pinned to the wall, their fingers (the only parts of themselves they could currently move) twitching furiously, Allana turned back to Clark. “Okay, I mean, I get it. Moms do weird things. But, like, my mom made this soup the other day that I am pretty sure actually ate a pot. I love my mom but I did not eat it because I kind of want to live, which she is fine with because she also wants me to live. So it’s kind of the same thing here because it is impractical, you have to admit. Like,” she turned back towards the muggers, “you two, isn’t that big dangly bit of fabric hanging off his back the first thing you would grab in a fight?” She eased her hold on them a little in unison with the question so that they could answer.

“Put me down you fucking insane bi—“ the man’s jaw clicked shut again forcefully and Allana rolled her eyes at him. She turned back to Clark, about to ask what they should do with the muggers, when an idea suddenly occurred to her. “Oh, wait, did your mother give you this costume on April first? Because my friend told me that nothing you do on that is intended to be taken seriously. Which is a really weird sort of custom so I could see how you could get confused, you know, forget what day it was or something,” she suggested helpfully.

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whenyouseered
2011-04-19 05:31 am UTC (link)

"Except, half the time, my opponents can't even pull it hard enough to make much of a difference," Clark pointed out, arms folding over his chest in defiance. Really. His cape was fine. Martha Kent had thought long and hard about the design on his costume and, as far as Clark could tell, she had long since figured that the cape was more than ideal. It went with the flight, right? Plus, it made him look kind of intimidating. In spite of the bright colors that made up his costume, that was. Also, more to the point, Clark was pretty sure that the cape brought out his features. The red of his cape hit the red on the symbol in his chest perfectly, which toned into the blue spread throughout the rest of his costume and brought a real shine into those eyes of his. Furthermore, the cape rid him of that chunky feeling that he seemed to discover every time he slipped into his costume without it. Really, all around, the costume in itself was just as much about style as it was practicality. Surely, as ridiculous as it may have been upon first sight (Clark wasn't going to deny that, seeing as he, too, had been more than horrified when his mother first presented it to him), the costume worked for him. It had to, right? Otherwise, by now, more than one person would have called him out on the ridiculousness of his cape.

Okay, okay. Maybe Clark was trying too hard to come up with practical explanations for his costume. Still, he wasn't about to bad mouth something that his mother had gone far out of her way to make for him. The material that made up his costume was born of raw Kryptonian material, which meant that his mom had gone through hell and back to get it to do what she wanted. Clark wasn't about to look down on the hard work and dedication his mother had put into making what he was wearing today. She may not have been anywhere near where he was now, but he was far from interested in shooting any disrespect her way. Pa Kent would cross over from both the grave and one universe to the next to give him the sternest look of disapproval he could muster the second he so much as dared considering doing so and, frankly, Clark knew he'd never be able to fight the unbearable wave of shame that never failed to follow whenever that happened. Twenty-one years old and Clark still felt like a little kid being lectured whenever he thought of letting that old man down.

"No," Clark replied, watching as the muggers twitched on the wall curiously, "she didn't. It wasn't a joke. This is what she made for me and she made it with good intentions in mind. It's...kind of important that I wear it." Not only to protect his own identity, but as a symbol. It represented both where he came from and what he was going to do for the world. Or try to do for the world. Clark wanted to help everyone as best as he could, even if that meant he had to wear an ideally ridiculous looking costume to do it.

"Maybe you should let me take care of these guys?" Clark offered helpfully, looking to one of the nearby poles standing on the corner. It was a little comic book cliche to his character and all that (yeah, yeah, he'd been reading up on how this world had decided to portray their version of himself), but Clark wasn't entirely against wrapping that pole around the four of them and calling the police. It'd be a good way to contain them, it'd give Allana reason to take off, and Clark could keep an eye on the scene until the cops got there.

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