Smallville - "The Art of Lying"

Co-Writers: AssassinForHire (Lana Lang), J. McPherson (Clark Kent)

Just a small writing exercise between myself and a fellow RPer. Lana's perspective was written by me. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Smallville is property of Warner Bros.


The Talon. A young evening. The waitress behind the chrome-style counter was busy serving a double latte to her latest customer. A friend, really. Everyone here in the cafe was. Smallville was hardly the metropolitan hotspot; these people were familiar, regulars. And despite the attention afforded her, Lana thought herself absolutely normal. Her favorite hemp shirt, her dark jeans, her hair in a work-mode ponytail. Oh yeah. Real supermodel material there. She spied a dark form approaching her way. Good old Clark. The height advantage thing really was something he excelled at... She kept her eyes on the customer in front of her. "Extra foam?"

Clark shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his blue jacket, making his way step after step toward the counter, lifting his shoulders just that inch as he came near to the counter. The pose gave him a somewhat momentary look of insecurity as he simply watched without saying anything, waiting for Lana to come available to talk to once she had finished serving the customer. Of course, every so often he'd glance about the Talon, almost as though he'd be expecting trouble, or some sort of Monster of the Week to pop up, like what happened on every episode on that Buffy the Vampire Slayer show.

Lana eyed Clark warily. He was doing that thing of his again. Perching. The departing customer was served a smile before Lana neared her silent visitor - or was that admirer? her conscience nabbed at her. She folded her hands neatly on the counter. "Clark." Chipper and naive. She was incurably bouncy, really... "Ten minutes before schedule." Lana eyed her watch discreetly. "You know, these visits of yours never fail to surprise me in their spontaneity or ambiguity." A smile spread on her face, embarrassed, if not in an attempt to cut down on her sarcasm. It wasn't like her. "What's up?"

Clark tilted his head as he opened his mouth to speak, edging that nearer to the counter, keeping a very casual tone in his voice. "I just wanted to know if you perhaps wanted an escort home tonight once your shift was done... And if you did I was going to offer myself as the escort..." His face seemed to soften from any serious look as that wide smile crossed his face, trying to hide any tension he had about waiting for Lana's response.

Lana swiped the counter board up and made her way to the tables, toting warm drinks on a round tray. Waitressing wasn't a glamorous job, but she took pride in it. There was something absolutely relieving about abandoning her Calculus textbook in the kitchen and putting the apron on around her waist after school. She came home with tired feet and an aching back, but a feeling in her gut like she'd just completed a productive day. And that's exactly what she was all about. Getting things done. Getting to the heart of the matte-hmm. Lana stopped just short of an incredulous laugh, her green eyes fixed on Clark. Sometimes, she really couldn't tell if he was being serious or not... The mystery that was Clark Kent. Even the answer eluded her. "I'll be fine," she insisted. And she will be, it was just that... what was he really trying to get at? "Besides, the least you could do during these unannounced visits of yours is to buy a drink. I'm beginning to think you're caffeine-intolerant..." A nearby patron chuckled at the young woman as she handed him her drink.

Clark continued to grin as he listened to her response. He blinked down at the warm drinks she was serving to the patrons before inquiring: "You wouldn't happen to serve just plain milk by chance, would you?" Clark's grin started to fade slightly as he looked across the room toward a table. A man and woman were having a seemingly heated argument. The man soon then got up and left in quite a state that wouldn't be considered polite in the least, but Clark turned his attention back to Lana. Besides, it was just a couple fighting. It wasn't a situation that needed the help of Clark's gifts.

Lana maintained eye contact with the boy for a moment, seemingly reading the look in his eyes. She was almost glad Whitney wasn't around. "The thing about you, Clark..." Lana began, as she was given an anxious look from a fellow barista who needed her help, then a bump from the fleeing, incensed woman, "is that you have the -uncanny- compulsion to be here when it's peak hour." She grinned, winningly, knowing no other way to act around one of the best friends she's had since kindergarten, and approached the tiny glass refrigerator behind the bar. A carton of 2% was opened and poured into a glass. "In the crazy hope that you'll reach seven feet before the year's over," she humored dryly, handing the glass over to him.

Clark took the glass with a smile. "And the thing about you Lana, is that you always seem to make me smile. Even when you're completely swamped with customers." He took a very light sip from the glass and turned to glance over the patrons once more. It was true though. He preferred to turn up here at peak hour. If there was trouble in Smallville, it was always best to check the places that were often swamped with customers. Even though it was a long shot, Clark didn't want to take chances with letting people get hurt. He wondered just how he had turned his secret 'Protector Over Smallville' role into a hobby, but considering his chores on the farm took him only 5 minutes to do on a good day, he had to fill his time with something. Unfortunately it often meant he'd end up being near meteor rocks.

Lana's elbows lifted off the counter and she lightly pulled away. Hrm. The color rising to her cheeks were kicked back down to submission. She wasn't about to let the boy affect her. Not tonight. Her conscience was unmerciful, even - Remember who you're talking to. Lana, thankfully, was naturally gifted in the art of subtlety. She shrugged off the comment, her thumbs slung on the belt hooks of her jeans. "Right..." Her gaze followed a passing waiter, just to have something to look at. "Just don't let my customers in on that, got it? They'd never believe rumors of Lana Lang hating her job." When she returned her gaze to Clark's smile, the red in her cheeks were completely gone. She was unshakable too, you know. She could act unphased. She could pretend.

Clark placed the glass gently back down on the counter, then started to fumble with his hands. He reached into the pocket of his faded blue jeans. "How much do I owe you for this?" he replied, slightly nodding to the milk even though it was obvious what he was referring to when he spoke. But then he felt something else. His chest had a sudden pain, like it was hard to breathe, while at the same time his stomach started to feel like it was crushed in a vice. His legs slightly began to wobble. Even his vision began to blur slightly. Glancing down at his hands, Clark noticed his veins starting to become more defined and green. The color on his hand changed. Most people wouldn't notice upon a glance but if they took a hard look and knew what they were looking for, they'd certainly notice the change. Clark's face itself began to pale, almost as though he was about ready to hurl.

Lana frowned instantly, with full suspicion. But then, there was a ring on the telephone. An incessant one, in fact, and no one around Lana was looking to answer it. She hesitated, her feet dancing privately just behind the counter before she shuffled over to the phone and rather lifted it unkindly off its cradle. The look on Clark's face at the unwanted interruption-argh. "Hello?" Her greeting was hurried. Lana stopped herself short of crying out bloody murder, hearing the voice at the end of the line. "Whitney..." And her voice suddenly grew private. She physically turned herself away from Clark and swept black locks behind an ear, her hand discreetly covering the phone conversation. "Whitney, this is a really bad time..." Her boyfriend was upset, confused at the other end of the line, but Lana covered the receiver with her hand and returned her attention on Clark anyway. "Clark, are you alright?" You simply don't ignore someone who was obviously in pain, best friend or not. "Clark-" she repeated, louder, more urgent. Lana tried to bring herself forward but found the phone line leashing her back instead. She nodding her head along at Whitney, but kept her narrowed eyes were dead set on the strange occurrence in front of her. She tried to act as discreetly about the matter as possible, not wanting to attract attention to the counter. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Of course. Mm-hmm. Look, Whitney, I'll call you back." Click. She froze. Clark would explain. He had better...

Clark barely lifted a hand to assure Lana that he was okay. His voice seemed to croak as he replied, "I'm fine, just need some air." Even though the illness of being near a meteor rock was weakening his strength, he managed to drop some change on the counter for the drink and then turned hurriedly. Trying to avoid an explanation, he almost limped towards the exit. It was amazing he didn't fall over, considering the way he lurched toward the door, almost like a wild animal was chewing at his leg. No matter where he was in the Talon, the sensation of the meteor rock was everywhere. He had to get outside before he passed out.

Lana found it took all her aunt's lessons about being respectful in life not to knock down the bevy of customers blocking her way from the entrance. She dumped her apron near the register and calmly-excruciatingly-muscled her small frame through the crowd. "Clark!" she called out, but his footsteps were quick. "Clark!" she tried again, dismissively smiling at an entering customer, before taking her turn out the door. Her face was a veritable Van Gogh painting-roiling with emotions. "You were supposed to walk me home!" she blurted aloud, frowning worriedly into the night. Traffic at its normal pace. The stars out. Strangers walking through the clean sidewalks. A young, beautiful evening. But though she desperately searched around every dark corner and intersection for her favorite customer, Lana Lang's shoulders slumped in disappointment anyhow. Clark Kent was nowhere to be found.