TITLE: 'Chloe, Maid of Smallville'
RATING: PG-13
TIMELINE: Summer, 2002 ... although there's a slight detour to 15th century France. Don't worry, it's not really an alternate universe. Things will work out in the end.
DISCLAIMER: WB, DC Comics, and the show creators own all copyrights, etc.
BACKGROUND: This is my first attempt at mindless, campy fluff. No real soul- searching angst and geo-political ramifications here. At least in this century! ;) A lazy summer BBQ at the Kent farmhouse leads Chloe into a fish- out-of-water situation. It's not an alternate universe - these are the characters we all know and love - but it may seem that way. Take it for what it is: a candy-flossed carousel ride. Chloe fans, enjoy, because she's front and centre.
[Kent farmhouse]
Jonathan Kent put a few more burgers on the BBQ grill. The annual Kent summer picnic.
"Pete? You're back again? What is that - three burgers already?"
"Hey, I'm still growing right?" Pete laughed as he seasoned burger #4.
"Thanks for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Lana beamed.
"Oh, I'm glad you could all come over!" Martha Kent declared. "Everybody's busy most of the year - what with school, jobs, farm chores."
Chloe nodded in agreement as she nibbled on a buttered corn on the cob.
A late-model Porsche pulled up to the farm gates. Lex Luthor.
"What's he doing here?" Pete grumbled. His mood soured the moment the most powerful man in Smallville stepped out of his car.
"Lex! I'm glad you could come by!" Martha shook his hand.
"I'd never pass a chance at a home-cooked meal," Lex replied - and handed her a bottle.
"Wine? You shouldn't have!" Martha smiled.
"Direct from Luthor Wineries. Our winery in the San Fernando Valley makes superb products." Lex scratched his head uncomfortably. "I was kind of surprised to receive the invitation ... considering Mr. Kent's feelings towards all things Luthor."
"Actually," Martha added, "it was his idea. I just ran with it. He thought he should make an effort to know you a little better. I thought, 'Why not invite him to the picnic!"
"Well, I appreciate the gesture," Lex nodded and joined Lana and Pete at the picnic table of appetizers.
"Did you catch the Buccaneers-Sharks game on Monday, Pete?" Lex asked as he filled a plate full of chicken wings.
"I sure did. The Sharks got their butts handed to them on a platter!" Pete gloated. A satisfying loss for the Luthor-owned team.
"I take it you're a Bucs fan?" Lex inquired.
"No, I'm just not a Sharks fan," Pete quickly piled some celery sticks and sat at another table.
"So ... Lex," Lana interrupted what would have been an awkward moment, "What's the latest from Metropolis?"
Lex collected some plastic forks and spoons. "Luthor Corp. is actively recruiting employees for its R&D plant, attendance at the Sharks has grown, we're making a pitch for either the Expos or Twins franchise after contractions ... business is good ..."
Lana rolled her eyes. "I meant ... your father ..."
"Oh." Lex nibbled on a carrot stick. "We're two peas in a pod."
"Yeah, right. Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me." She left and sat at Pete's table.
Lex walked to the BBQ. "I'll have one burger, Mr. Kent."
"Absolutely." Jonathan flipped a burger and masterfully tossed it onto a bun.
"I want to thank you for inviting me," Lex stated, "I realize our relationship has been - tense - over the past few months. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate everything your family has done for this town."
"I know it must be hard ... being the son of Lionel Luthor," Jonathan replied, as he grilled a few more patties.
"Hard is a tactful way of putting it," Lex smirked, "my father casts a long shadow, that's true. I would hope that I have at least a little of my mother's generosity in me."
"I hope so too," Jonathan answered.
Clark arrived with a basket of apples. "Lex! Good to see you!"
"Clark." Lex shook his hand. "Late for your own picnic?"
Clark chuckled. "I hope my dad isn't giving you a hard time. He can be ornery at times."
"Ornery?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "That's a term for grumpy old men."
"Exactly," Martha laughed and nudged her husband's arm.
Chloe was standing beside a picnic table - with a mouthful of burger.
"Chloe Sullivan, hard-hitting reporter of the Smallville Torch ... wanna hear my master plan for worldwide conquest?" Lex joked.
Chloe coughed. "That would be funny, if I didn't think it was possible. Luthor Corp. is one of the largest multinational firms on the planet!"
"That maybe true, but I'm just a manager of a fertilizer plant in Kansas. I don't think the Saddam Husseins of the world will be knocking on my door to buy my cow manure."
"So, Clark, how's summer?" Chloe asked.
"The usual. Farm chores ... although I've begun writing a journal."
"A journal, eh. The private thoughts of Clark Kent, writer. Must be interesting!" Interesting ... and revealing.
"You'd better keep that journal under lock and key, Clark," Lex kidded, "or Chloe might accidentally unravel your dark secrets."
"Secrets?" Clark wondered. This conversation is going places I don't want it to go.
"I don't need a journal to uncover the secret of Clark Kent," Chloe confirmed, "I'm a journalist. I'll find out ... one way or another." She smiled mischievously at Clark.
"What was that Dad?" Clark pretended, "You want more charcoal? Excuse me, Lex ... Chloe."
Lex slid beside Chloe on the bench. "You like him, don't you."
"We're good friends." Chloe tried to sound disinterested.
"C'mon, Chloe. I see the way you look at him. I happen to know on good authority that Lana is no longer on his radar. Ask him out, would you?"
"No." Chloe insisted. "No! I could never do that. I'm afraid that once we cross that bridge ... the friendship would be lost." She picked up the Entertainment section of the Smallville Ledger. "Hey, that Joan of Arc mini- series is back on CBS!"
"Ah, yes, the Maid of Orleans. The warrior virgin saint who defied the English and saved the French Crown. Now there was a girl who took risks." He sipped his cola. "You could learn a few lessons from her."
Maybe, she thought. She was also burned at the stake as a heretic and witch. Somehow, I think asking Clark out on a date would be much harder for me than poor Joan's mission. Ms. Maid of Orleans, you had it easy, girl. I'd take on the medieval might of England anyday.
Ask Clark out? Not a chance!
Chloe curled up in the hammock strung between two trees near the farmhouse. A light summer breeze drifted through the branches. The full meal lulled her into a mid-afternoon snooze.
When she awoke, she brushed back her hair. Except her hair was cut.
She looked at her face in the brook. There was a brook near the Kent farmhouse? Now I can't find the farmhouse!
She shrieked. Her hair was closely cropped. Like a boy's. And her clothes. Metal plates ... armour. A tunic bearing the fleur-de-lis of the French Crown.
"My lady, your army awaits your orders." It was Lana. I know the peasant girl-gypsy look is hot this summer, but Lana looks like a handmaiden.
"Lana? Why are you dressed like that?"
"I am sorry if my appearance offends you. I shall change at once."
"No. Wait, Lana. What's going on here?"
"You were napping. It was a long march. The town of Le Petit Ville still flies the banner of England. That shall change, by God's grace, once you enter the battlefield."
Battlefield? "This might sound crazy, but why am I dressed like a knight? And why are you speaking with a French accent?"
"We are in France, my lady. You are the legendary Maid of Orleans. Jeanne d'Arc, the saviour of France." Lana crossed herself.
What the heck is going on here? Chloe wondered.
"My lady," a blond-haired knight took off his helmet, "your army awaits your orders. The siege machines are in place."
"Whitney?"
"Whitney of Rouen, captain-general of the Dauphin Charles' soldiers, at your service." He bowed.
Okay, okay, I get it, she nodded to herself, we're all playing roles in Joan of Arc: the mini-series. So where's Clark?
A horse galloped. A black-gowned, tall man arrived. Whitney knelt. "Lord Abbot Clark."
"Of the Kents?" Chloe asked.
"No, of the Abbey of St. Luke's in Lorraine." Clark dismounted. "I am here to bless your campaign. Le Petit Ville must fall if we are to drive the English to the sea! The battle awaits." He strode to Chloe.
"God speed on your mission, Maid of Orleans. France prays for you." Chloe frowned. Of all the roles to play, Clark plays the unattainable priest. This fantasy stinks!
Pete appeared behind a tree. Grizzled, unshaven, a scar across his left cheek.
"Lemme guess, Pete, you're like Morgan Freeman's Azeem in 'Prince of Thieves', right?"
"Yeah, some Moorish mercenary recruited to kill English generals," Pete shrugged, "I don't even have a name yet! Hey, it's your dream right?"
"Aha! Ishmael, welcome to the fight!" Whitney slapped Pete's shoulder. "You shall soon taste English blood!"
"Uhh, whatever you say, man," Pete squinted in bewilderment, and nudged Chloe's shoulder. "Why couldn't you dream about 'The Matrix' instead? All these 'thys' and 'thees' are driving me crazy!"
"We're stuck here until I wake up, so stick close. I'm Joan of Arc after all." They climbed a hill.
In the valley below, thousands of French knights and foot soldiers looked up eagerly at their commander.
"God be praised! The Maid of Orleans will lead us to victory!" Whitney declared.
Clark, the abbot, began to make a grand crossing gesture in the air with his hand. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless this enterprise." All the soldiers knelt - bowed with their swords planted in the ground.
"You'd better say something, you know, pep talk," Pete advised. "It's game time!"
Chloe raised her sword. I feel like Braveheart! "For the glory of France! By God's grace, Le Petit Ville will fall!"
A cheer roared across the valley. Le Petit Ville erred in siding with the damned English. The French would soon bring destruction to the fortified village.
And Chloe, Maid of Smallville would lead the way ...
RATING: PG-13
TIMELINE: Summer, 2002 ... although there's a slight detour to 15th century France. Don't worry, it's not really an alternate universe. Things will work out in the end.
DISCLAIMER: WB, DC Comics, and the show creators own all copyrights, etc.
BACKGROUND: This is my first attempt at mindless, campy fluff. No real soul- searching angst and geo-political ramifications here. At least in this century! ;) A lazy summer BBQ at the Kent farmhouse leads Chloe into a fish- out-of-water situation. It's not an alternate universe - these are the characters we all know and love - but it may seem that way. Take it for what it is: a candy-flossed carousel ride. Chloe fans, enjoy, because she's front and centre.
[Kent farmhouse]
Jonathan Kent put a few more burgers on the BBQ grill. The annual Kent summer picnic.
"Pete? You're back again? What is that - three burgers already?"
"Hey, I'm still growing right?" Pete laughed as he seasoned burger #4.
"Thanks for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Lana beamed.
"Oh, I'm glad you could all come over!" Martha Kent declared. "Everybody's busy most of the year - what with school, jobs, farm chores."
Chloe nodded in agreement as she nibbled on a buttered corn on the cob.
A late-model Porsche pulled up to the farm gates. Lex Luthor.
"What's he doing here?" Pete grumbled. His mood soured the moment the most powerful man in Smallville stepped out of his car.
"Lex! I'm glad you could come by!" Martha shook his hand.
"I'd never pass a chance at a home-cooked meal," Lex replied - and handed her a bottle.
"Wine? You shouldn't have!" Martha smiled.
"Direct from Luthor Wineries. Our winery in the San Fernando Valley makes superb products." Lex scratched his head uncomfortably. "I was kind of surprised to receive the invitation ... considering Mr. Kent's feelings towards all things Luthor."
"Actually," Martha added, "it was his idea. I just ran with it. He thought he should make an effort to know you a little better. I thought, 'Why not invite him to the picnic!"
"Well, I appreciate the gesture," Lex nodded and joined Lana and Pete at the picnic table of appetizers.
"Did you catch the Buccaneers-Sharks game on Monday, Pete?" Lex asked as he filled a plate full of chicken wings.
"I sure did. The Sharks got their butts handed to them on a platter!" Pete gloated. A satisfying loss for the Luthor-owned team.
"I take it you're a Bucs fan?" Lex inquired.
"No, I'm just not a Sharks fan," Pete quickly piled some celery sticks and sat at another table.
"So ... Lex," Lana interrupted what would have been an awkward moment, "What's the latest from Metropolis?"
Lex collected some plastic forks and spoons. "Luthor Corp. is actively recruiting employees for its R&D plant, attendance at the Sharks has grown, we're making a pitch for either the Expos or Twins franchise after contractions ... business is good ..."
Lana rolled her eyes. "I meant ... your father ..."
"Oh." Lex nibbled on a carrot stick. "We're two peas in a pod."
"Yeah, right. Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me." She left and sat at Pete's table.
Lex walked to the BBQ. "I'll have one burger, Mr. Kent."
"Absolutely." Jonathan flipped a burger and masterfully tossed it onto a bun.
"I want to thank you for inviting me," Lex stated, "I realize our relationship has been - tense - over the past few months. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate everything your family has done for this town."
"I know it must be hard ... being the son of Lionel Luthor," Jonathan replied, as he grilled a few more patties.
"Hard is a tactful way of putting it," Lex smirked, "my father casts a long shadow, that's true. I would hope that I have at least a little of my mother's generosity in me."
"I hope so too," Jonathan answered.
Clark arrived with a basket of apples. "Lex! Good to see you!"
"Clark." Lex shook his hand. "Late for your own picnic?"
Clark chuckled. "I hope my dad isn't giving you a hard time. He can be ornery at times."
"Ornery?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "That's a term for grumpy old men."
"Exactly," Martha laughed and nudged her husband's arm.
Chloe was standing beside a picnic table - with a mouthful of burger.
"Chloe Sullivan, hard-hitting reporter of the Smallville Torch ... wanna hear my master plan for worldwide conquest?" Lex joked.
Chloe coughed. "That would be funny, if I didn't think it was possible. Luthor Corp. is one of the largest multinational firms on the planet!"
"That maybe true, but I'm just a manager of a fertilizer plant in Kansas. I don't think the Saddam Husseins of the world will be knocking on my door to buy my cow manure."
"So, Clark, how's summer?" Chloe asked.
"The usual. Farm chores ... although I've begun writing a journal."
"A journal, eh. The private thoughts of Clark Kent, writer. Must be interesting!" Interesting ... and revealing.
"You'd better keep that journal under lock and key, Clark," Lex kidded, "or Chloe might accidentally unravel your dark secrets."
"Secrets?" Clark wondered. This conversation is going places I don't want it to go.
"I don't need a journal to uncover the secret of Clark Kent," Chloe confirmed, "I'm a journalist. I'll find out ... one way or another." She smiled mischievously at Clark.
"What was that Dad?" Clark pretended, "You want more charcoal? Excuse me, Lex ... Chloe."
Lex slid beside Chloe on the bench. "You like him, don't you."
"We're good friends." Chloe tried to sound disinterested.
"C'mon, Chloe. I see the way you look at him. I happen to know on good authority that Lana is no longer on his radar. Ask him out, would you?"
"No." Chloe insisted. "No! I could never do that. I'm afraid that once we cross that bridge ... the friendship would be lost." She picked up the Entertainment section of the Smallville Ledger. "Hey, that Joan of Arc mini- series is back on CBS!"
"Ah, yes, the Maid of Orleans. The warrior virgin saint who defied the English and saved the French Crown. Now there was a girl who took risks." He sipped his cola. "You could learn a few lessons from her."
Maybe, she thought. She was also burned at the stake as a heretic and witch. Somehow, I think asking Clark out on a date would be much harder for me than poor Joan's mission. Ms. Maid of Orleans, you had it easy, girl. I'd take on the medieval might of England anyday.
Ask Clark out? Not a chance!
Chloe curled up in the hammock strung between two trees near the farmhouse. A light summer breeze drifted through the branches. The full meal lulled her into a mid-afternoon snooze.
When she awoke, she brushed back her hair. Except her hair was cut.
She looked at her face in the brook. There was a brook near the Kent farmhouse? Now I can't find the farmhouse!
She shrieked. Her hair was closely cropped. Like a boy's. And her clothes. Metal plates ... armour. A tunic bearing the fleur-de-lis of the French Crown.
"My lady, your army awaits your orders." It was Lana. I know the peasant girl-gypsy look is hot this summer, but Lana looks like a handmaiden.
"Lana? Why are you dressed like that?"
"I am sorry if my appearance offends you. I shall change at once."
"No. Wait, Lana. What's going on here?"
"You were napping. It was a long march. The town of Le Petit Ville still flies the banner of England. That shall change, by God's grace, once you enter the battlefield."
Battlefield? "This might sound crazy, but why am I dressed like a knight? And why are you speaking with a French accent?"
"We are in France, my lady. You are the legendary Maid of Orleans. Jeanne d'Arc, the saviour of France." Lana crossed herself.
What the heck is going on here? Chloe wondered.
"My lady," a blond-haired knight took off his helmet, "your army awaits your orders. The siege machines are in place."
"Whitney?"
"Whitney of Rouen, captain-general of the Dauphin Charles' soldiers, at your service." He bowed.
Okay, okay, I get it, she nodded to herself, we're all playing roles in Joan of Arc: the mini-series. So where's Clark?
A horse galloped. A black-gowned, tall man arrived. Whitney knelt. "Lord Abbot Clark."
"Of the Kents?" Chloe asked.
"No, of the Abbey of St. Luke's in Lorraine." Clark dismounted. "I am here to bless your campaign. Le Petit Ville must fall if we are to drive the English to the sea! The battle awaits." He strode to Chloe.
"God speed on your mission, Maid of Orleans. France prays for you." Chloe frowned. Of all the roles to play, Clark plays the unattainable priest. This fantasy stinks!
Pete appeared behind a tree. Grizzled, unshaven, a scar across his left cheek.
"Lemme guess, Pete, you're like Morgan Freeman's Azeem in 'Prince of Thieves', right?"
"Yeah, some Moorish mercenary recruited to kill English generals," Pete shrugged, "I don't even have a name yet! Hey, it's your dream right?"
"Aha! Ishmael, welcome to the fight!" Whitney slapped Pete's shoulder. "You shall soon taste English blood!"
"Uhh, whatever you say, man," Pete squinted in bewilderment, and nudged Chloe's shoulder. "Why couldn't you dream about 'The Matrix' instead? All these 'thys' and 'thees' are driving me crazy!"
"We're stuck here until I wake up, so stick close. I'm Joan of Arc after all." They climbed a hill.
In the valley below, thousands of French knights and foot soldiers looked up eagerly at their commander.
"God be praised! The Maid of Orleans will lead us to victory!" Whitney declared.
Clark, the abbot, began to make a grand crossing gesture in the air with his hand. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless this enterprise." All the soldiers knelt - bowed with their swords planted in the ground.
"You'd better say something, you know, pep talk," Pete advised. "It's game time!"
Chloe raised her sword. I feel like Braveheart! "For the glory of France! By God's grace, Le Petit Ville will fall!"
A cheer roared across the valley. Le Petit Ville erred in siding with the damned English. The French would soon bring destruction to the fortified village.
And Chloe, Maid of Smallville would lead the way ...