Bookland Bylines by stinawo.
A complete and utterly fanbased story wracked in my brain and spewed on paper. YAY!
Author's Stuff and what not: It's not all a complete waste of time because this one has gone through extensive planning and hopefully one day, when my fingers can cooperate again with my nice mechanical pencil, this little sugar daddy will end up as its very own comic. That's right, I said comic. Whoo-hoo!
Disclaimer: All views expressed by the characters in this fan fiction are not solely those expressed my the actual characters the actual company from wence they came. This is purely fan fiction and has no intentions of leaving this cybercity for publication. If you feel the need to rant about my writing than feel free to keep it to yourself and find something else, otherwise enjoy!
All characters are owned and operated by DC Comics. They are manhandled and abused by me, stinawo.
Note: Chapters are short, for both the writer's and reader's pleasure. So as not to keep you awake all night with pages upon pages of story. You'll see, after other chapters have been posted, why I decided to take this route.
Chapter One
Clark Kent
"Ah, as if working at a bookstore wasn't enough to brighten my day, I was unexpectedly plucked from my place of peace and harmony and planted deep within the chaos and mayhem that is…Metropilis."
Emphasizing heavily on Metropolis, outlining each letter until the ink bled through the paper, I stood at the front counter of my beloved bookstore, writing.
"As a girl struggling through college, I used every morsel of information to my advantage here in this desolate town. I, bookseller of such a sacred town, must proclaim what is rightfully mine and return to my dominion from wence I came; a complete and beautiful place where...where I..."
I let the words roll off my tongue, each syllable of every word echoed through my ears in a sing-song sort of way as I spoke each one aloud. I tried to find some fascinating word, but my brain, as eager as it was to work at its hardest, didn't. I pondered on what my next few words would be, hunched over the counter with pen in hand. I totally ignored the fact that I had a customer standing before me, the morning's edition of the Daily Planet tucked securely under his arm, standing there, waiting for me to do my duty as bookseller. I could feel the piercing look in his dull blue eyes that told me that he had no intentions of being late this morning, again.
"Ahem."
I looked up from my future Pulitzer prize winning article and stared at the man in front of me. His dark hair, slicked back away from his face, looked the same as it always did with the exception of one finer detail.
"...was interrupted by a tall, dark...uh...Daily Planet reporter, who I just so happen to know."
I received the frequent visitor with a smile as is custom here for all bookstore employees.
"Hello, Clark."
"Good morning, Christina. He said to me in his deep voice and perfect smile. "The usual please."
"You know, Clark," I said as I pulled a sacked lunch from the secret mini refrigerator under the counter. "Lois' cooking can't be all that bad. I mean, she cooks for you. She must put a lot of effort into making meals fit for a super man."
I pushed the lunch sack discretely closer to him, his name on the brown paper bag written in black marker.
He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Have you ever had Lois' cooking?" he asked.
"Well no. But I've heard people talk and….they like it."
I tried desperately to help the poor woman, knowing full well what sort of meals Lois was capable of making...and destroying.
"By people you mean Lois, right?"
With a defeated look, I placed the brown paper sack in his large, strong hands.
"For giving her the biggest secret in the world, Clark, the least you can do is be honest about her cooking."
He smiled and laughed. He laughed so hard, I swore I could see his eyes glisten with oncoming tears. It took a moment before he calmed down. He straightened his tie and accepted the bagged lunch with a wink and a smile.
"You know, you're right Christina," He said in a friend-to-friend tone as he took my hand in his. "I should tell her that your mother makes better egg salad sandwiches than she does. I'm sure she'll understand."
My eyes narrowed as I took my hands away and placed them on my hips. I stood defiantly, just as he would have done if not in his usual Daily Planet attire. I eased a bit, allowed myself to surrender and accept the fact about the subject. Lois couldn't cook.
"Well, Clark. I'm sure my mother would be absolutely thrilled when she finds out she's making lunch for Superman."
His jovial expression turned serious. His eyebrows furled and for once, without realizing what I said, I knew this was no joking matter.
"Christina," he said to me in a much deeper tone. I could tell by the way he crossed his arms that I crossed that line, the line I was told never to cross.
It was an oath I made, a secret oath that I swore to uphold and protect for as long as I lived here in Metropolis. Heck, for as long as I lived. It was obvious then and there, as I stood before him, that I would have to keep my word, that I would have to maintain control when it came to knowing this type of thing. It was something no one ever joked about because it could be said in the wrong place and we all knew what sort of consequences that lead to.
"I'm sorry, Clark. I shoudn't have said..." I looked down at my toes as I twirled my thumbs, hoping the serious and authoritive tone would weaken in the air around me.
"Just be careful, ok? If someone overhears..." He adjusted his glasses, hiding those bright blue eyes. I slumped against the counter, held my face in my hands.
"I know what can happen, Clark. Just...I'll try harder next time. Every time. I promise."
I tried to drop the subject or make the mood in the room more enjoyable by returning to my never to be published artlicle. Instead of writing I drew little swirls in the margains of the paper. I tried desperately to ease the tension by humming as I doodled little birds and planes along the edges.
He sighed and winked. "That's why we kept you around here before Barnes and Noble got a hold of you."
By his smile I knew that he forgave me and that he still held his trust in me. His comment put me in better spirits and I was once again the same carefree bookseller.
I replied, more relieved than ever, "Hmm. From what I've heard, Barnes and Noble doens't care much for egg salad sandwiches anyay. Aside from that, I wouldn't have time to write my Pulitzer Prize winning article." I smiled, my fingers pressed to the paper to keep certain wandering eyes from reading it.
"It needs a little work." he said with that same beaming smile. I ignored him.
He headed for the door, reassured that I was going to be fine and I wasn't going to spill any more beans than I already had. I returned to my bookseller identity and greeted him like any other customer.
"Have a nice day, Clark!"
As he walked out the door he gave a friendly wave and headed towards the Daily Planet.
"By the way, you spelled Metropolis wrong!" I heard him say as he disappeared among the other pedestrians.
"I'm sure I did." I said, knowing I'd never let a thing like that happen. I was very carelful when it came to spelling, even if I wanted, one day, to be among the rest of the reporters at the Daily Planet. I pulled out my scrap piece of paper with my phony article on it, my handwriting barely visible and checked.
I chuckled. Sure enough, I did and I noticed Clark's neat handwriting already sprawled along the bottom of the page, right next to my rendition of a little caped hero.
Metropolis. Better luck next time. Clark.
"That little sneak." I smirked, as I folded the paper and stuck it in my back pocket for later. I headed for the aisles of the bookstore, intending to get at least one thing done before more customers pooled in. I looked out the front window as I stood in the middle of one of the aisles, watched people as they passed by.
"Hmm." I thought to myself. "He really is faster than a speeding bullet."