Smallville: Power Plays
As always, the Authors Note: Yikes. Friend Issues, constant packing and leaving for home again. It's hard enough as it is to keep writing endlessly this story that I have to get out of my head before it bulges and kills me (ark!).
First off, I have a thank you: Veneficium-Femella (I think I spelled that right), thank you so much for reviewing this thing. I'd still write it, even if people didn't know it existed, simply because I have to write it, but your two reviews made it even more worth it. I'd hug you, but my arms won't reach through the modems. In turn, however, I promise to visit all your stories and RR them. Thanks!!
Second: You all know how I've been pouring over having just gotten season 1. I just finished it. I only have one thing to say: YOU CRUEL BASTARDS!!!! ALFRED GOUGH AND MILES MILLER, DAMN YOUR EYES, FOR THERE IS A SPECIAL CIRCLE OF HELL WAITING JUST FOR TV-WRITERS WHO LEAVE SEASON FINALES AS CLIFFHANGERS!!!!! Phew. That felt kind of good, actually. Sorry AG&MM, but I had to get that out of my system. Heh, does anybody know when Season 2 comes out?
Third: Well, to close I just want to say....umm...I just want to say...Dammit. I can't think of a number three. I can't end the author's note without a number 3...Aha! I got it! Ahem.HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!!!! DON'T GET DRUNK, ALCOHOL IS BAAAAAD FOR YOU!!! KISS SOMEONE YOU LOVE TONIGHT, CUZ ITS 2004 BABY!!!! WHOO!!
Right. Now that my love of the number 3 is sated, you can see what you actually came here to see. Chapter 5 of Smallville: Power Plays
The Kent family was sitting down at the dinner table. Martha was fussing over Clark's hair; Clark was assuring her that his hair looked good messy, Chloe even said so. And Jonathan was pouring over the papers that he had gotten from Smallville Saving's and Loans earlier that day. Altogether, it seemed like a normal dinner on any other night.
"So, how are the finals tests doing Clark?" his mother asked him.
"Not too bad. Geometry never was my strong suit, but I'm getting better at it."
"As long as there aren't little doodles of people flying on them, I think I'll be satisfied."
"No, cool S-shaped designs are pretty common on the English test though."
Martha groaned. "Eat your dinner, smart aleck."
Throughout the entire evening, Mr. Kent hadn't said anything.
Later that night Clark went into his dad's office to look for a pencil. It was the usual Kent organizational method: if it's balanced evenly on top of the other thing, let it be. Fortunately, being able to see through solid objects made the search a little easier.
Just as he was leaving, Clark noticed a document on the desk that looked like nothing he'd seen before. It had a seal at the top that said Cornfield Alliance, with the picture of a corn-stalk and two hands shaking.
At the bottom were signed two signatures. One was the name Lucas Lake. The other one...
"Clark?" Jonathan Kent stood in the doorway, looking at his son. He looked at the paper and sighed. "Son, can I talk to you about something?"
Hopelessly a man starts to feed your day
once he was there you never looked back
how did you think that his words might just fade away
he seemed harmless enough so you let him in and now you'll pay
Chloe glanced at the clock for about the twelfth time that night. It was, in fact, 1:30, usually when Chloe would be finishing up her Torch work and changing into pajamas, but this night was special.
Brad was on late, for some reason, and he was talking to her. Only her, judging by the speed of his replies.
I can't see him but he's stalking my thoughts
how does it feel when you can't concentrate?
I just stare
all of your daydreams are a seesaw for him to play on
how does it feel when he calls your name
you can plug your ears but it's not the same
how does it feel when he pulls you back
She was really tired.but she wanted to talk. To let all this stuff about Clark, Lana, the finals, the Torch, everything, to just let it all out. It wouldn't hurt to talk just a little longer...would it?
nobody's wrong nobody's right the birdman wouldn't lie
nobody's wrong nobody's right but I just can't trust him tonight
how do you forget a stranger that plagues your days
we arm ourselves when there's nothing to fear right?
Wrong
(Those lyrics are from Birdman, by Our Lady Peace, a cool song and a cool band. Check them out if you haven't)
"Mrs. Sullivan?"
Chloe jumped up, her half-nap broken by the question. Her half-finished test lay in front of her. "I'm sorry Mr. Condon, it's just-"
"Chloe? Just get back to work," the wide-middle teacher said. He went back to shuffling his papers.
Chloe shook her head to wake up, and stared with blurry vision at the test before her. She was just tired because she'd staid up all night studying, so it was ok to dose off a little, right?
Ok, she thought to herself. The formula for the volume of a sphere is...Pi times something. Never mind, I'll come back to it later.
Clark never thought he'd see the day that he'd be glad to see the school cafeteria, especially on Thursday. The food that day was bad enough to warrant a mock health-issues story in the Torch. The late principal Kwan had had it taken out, but bootleg copies had spread, and now a lot of kids wore home-made necklaces with the bio-hazard symbol on them on Thursdays.
Fortunately, there were certain advantages to living on a farm.
"Hey Clark? Can I bum a corn cob off of you?" Pete said, his eyes pleading like a child who hadn't eaten in days, which was absurd. If Pete went an hour without a snack, his stomach registered on the Richter scale.
Clark rolled his eyes and passed him one of his mom's sweet corns sprinkled with a little sugar and honey.
Pete sighed with happiness, and took a man-sized mouthful. "You know, if you sold these every Thursday, you could probably buy the cafeteria."
"Yeah, but my mom wouldn't come to work here, so what would be the point? I'd be going back on a campaign promise."
Pete shook his head. "That sounded a little too business-like for comfort."
Clark groaned, even as he savored the sweet taste of real corn that had never seen a processing plant. "It's this JLA thing. My dad's asked me to stay out of it, but I was looking at some papers yesterday that he left out on his desk."
Pete nodded. "What was on them?"
Clark shook his head, trying to figure it all out. "They basically gave a history of the farm since 1962. Apparently, my grandfather owned a part of JLA, only back then it was called the Cornfield Alliance."
"Sounds like a cheesy comic-book group. JLA sounds a lot more realistic."
Clark went on. He told Pete about the debt, and the clause in one of the documents that the late Mr. Kent had agreed to-even written. The one that said, in the most dire of circumstances, members could be requested to give up their land to the Alliance so that the whole of the organization could prosper. In this case-
"-in this case, the permission to build a crap-factory on it." Pete nodded, a look of anger on his usually cheerful face. "Man, I thought only the Luthors could twist stuff around like that."
"Speaking of the Luthors, I need to go see Lex later. I need to tell him that Chloe isn't going to be available this Saturday."
Pete's eyes pulled a Bugs Bunny. "Chloe? Lex? Saturday?"
"Chloe, Lex, and a friend."
"What friend?" Pete got a very suspicious look in his eyes.
"I don't know, honestly."
"Clark do I even get the opportunity to mention how dumb you are sounding?"
Clark gritted his teeth. Now that he thought about it, it did sound kind of...wrong. "If Lex wants to ask her out on a date, it's not my place to stop him. Besides, that's not even what it is. I think he just wants to get to know my friends better, you know?"
"He never asked me."
"What would you have said if Lex Luthor had asked you to go to a Saturday matinee movie with him?"
Pete shrugged. "Alright, you got me there. I just don't like this sudden interest all the guys are taking in Chloe."
"Just don't join them, I'll share your worries."
Lex was disappointed. The day had started out well. He had woken up without a headache, his favorite red shirt was waiting for him, warm, right out of the drier, he had stopped by the Talon for breakfast and had a good muffin and a conversation with Lana, which for once didn't involve management issues at all. Then it had all gone to hell with a single phone call.
"I know dad. Look, I'm doing everything I can to keep that factory out of Smallville. Their lawyers found a loophole in a contract Mr. Kent's father signed. Yes, I check it every morning, I know LuthorCorp stock is down. Dad, please spare me the Machiavelli-isms. Alright. Let me handle this. No, I'm not going to need any more lawyers-no, dad, you don't have to come down to supervise it. Look, I need to go. I'll talk to you later."
Heidi frowned. "That didn't sound good."
"That was actually one of our more mellow conversations. You never heard him talk to me on the phone apparently."
"I did, but he always made it sound so nice, like you two were getting along just fine."
Lex smiled. "My father is a master at making something look like anything. Family, for instance."
(note: hey look, guys, I'm sorry to cut it short here, but I need to get this sent off before we leave tomorrow, and I can NOT write anymore. I promise I'll pick up right were I left off. I'll even skip the annoying author's note. Ok, now arty8 needs some sleep. Hope you've enjoyed it so far! Tell all your friends! And your enemies too, if they like Smallville! Caio!)
As always, the Authors Note: Yikes. Friend Issues, constant packing and leaving for home again. It's hard enough as it is to keep writing endlessly this story that I have to get out of my head before it bulges and kills me (ark!).
First off, I have a thank you: Veneficium-Femella (I think I spelled that right), thank you so much for reviewing this thing. I'd still write it, even if people didn't know it existed, simply because I have to write it, but your two reviews made it even more worth it. I'd hug you, but my arms won't reach through the modems. In turn, however, I promise to visit all your stories and RR them. Thanks!!
Second: You all know how I've been pouring over having just gotten season 1. I just finished it. I only have one thing to say: YOU CRUEL BASTARDS!!!! ALFRED GOUGH AND MILES MILLER, DAMN YOUR EYES, FOR THERE IS A SPECIAL CIRCLE OF HELL WAITING JUST FOR TV-WRITERS WHO LEAVE SEASON FINALES AS CLIFFHANGERS!!!!! Phew. That felt kind of good, actually. Sorry AG&MM, but I had to get that out of my system. Heh, does anybody know when Season 2 comes out?
Third: Well, to close I just want to say....umm...I just want to say...Dammit. I can't think of a number three. I can't end the author's note without a number 3...Aha! I got it! Ahem.HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!!!! DON'T GET DRUNK, ALCOHOL IS BAAAAAD FOR YOU!!! KISS SOMEONE YOU LOVE TONIGHT, CUZ ITS 2004 BABY!!!! WHOO!!
Right. Now that my love of the number 3 is sated, you can see what you actually came here to see. Chapter 5 of Smallville: Power Plays
The Kent family was sitting down at the dinner table. Martha was fussing over Clark's hair; Clark was assuring her that his hair looked good messy, Chloe even said so. And Jonathan was pouring over the papers that he had gotten from Smallville Saving's and Loans earlier that day. Altogether, it seemed like a normal dinner on any other night.
"So, how are the finals tests doing Clark?" his mother asked him.
"Not too bad. Geometry never was my strong suit, but I'm getting better at it."
"As long as there aren't little doodles of people flying on them, I think I'll be satisfied."
"No, cool S-shaped designs are pretty common on the English test though."
Martha groaned. "Eat your dinner, smart aleck."
Throughout the entire evening, Mr. Kent hadn't said anything.
Later that night Clark went into his dad's office to look for a pencil. It was the usual Kent organizational method: if it's balanced evenly on top of the other thing, let it be. Fortunately, being able to see through solid objects made the search a little easier.
Just as he was leaving, Clark noticed a document on the desk that looked like nothing he'd seen before. It had a seal at the top that said Cornfield Alliance, with the picture of a corn-stalk and two hands shaking.
At the bottom were signed two signatures. One was the name Lucas Lake. The other one...
"Clark?" Jonathan Kent stood in the doorway, looking at his son. He looked at the paper and sighed. "Son, can I talk to you about something?"
Hopelessly a man starts to feed your day
once he was there you never looked back
how did you think that his words might just fade away
he seemed harmless enough so you let him in and now you'll pay
Chloe glanced at the clock for about the twelfth time that night. It was, in fact, 1:30, usually when Chloe would be finishing up her Torch work and changing into pajamas, but this night was special.
Brad was on late, for some reason, and he was talking to her. Only her, judging by the speed of his replies.
I can't see him but he's stalking my thoughts
how does it feel when you can't concentrate?
I just stare
all of your daydreams are a seesaw for him to play on
how does it feel when he calls your name
you can plug your ears but it's not the same
how does it feel when he pulls you back
She was really tired.but she wanted to talk. To let all this stuff about Clark, Lana, the finals, the Torch, everything, to just let it all out. It wouldn't hurt to talk just a little longer...would it?
nobody's wrong nobody's right the birdman wouldn't lie
nobody's wrong nobody's right but I just can't trust him tonight
how do you forget a stranger that plagues your days
we arm ourselves when there's nothing to fear right?
Wrong
(Those lyrics are from Birdman, by Our Lady Peace, a cool song and a cool band. Check them out if you haven't)
"Mrs. Sullivan?"
Chloe jumped up, her half-nap broken by the question. Her half-finished test lay in front of her. "I'm sorry Mr. Condon, it's just-"
"Chloe? Just get back to work," the wide-middle teacher said. He went back to shuffling his papers.
Chloe shook her head to wake up, and stared with blurry vision at the test before her. She was just tired because she'd staid up all night studying, so it was ok to dose off a little, right?
Ok, she thought to herself. The formula for the volume of a sphere is...Pi times something. Never mind, I'll come back to it later.
Clark never thought he'd see the day that he'd be glad to see the school cafeteria, especially on Thursday. The food that day was bad enough to warrant a mock health-issues story in the Torch. The late principal Kwan had had it taken out, but bootleg copies had spread, and now a lot of kids wore home-made necklaces with the bio-hazard symbol on them on Thursdays.
Fortunately, there were certain advantages to living on a farm.
"Hey Clark? Can I bum a corn cob off of you?" Pete said, his eyes pleading like a child who hadn't eaten in days, which was absurd. If Pete went an hour without a snack, his stomach registered on the Richter scale.
Clark rolled his eyes and passed him one of his mom's sweet corns sprinkled with a little sugar and honey.
Pete sighed with happiness, and took a man-sized mouthful. "You know, if you sold these every Thursday, you could probably buy the cafeteria."
"Yeah, but my mom wouldn't come to work here, so what would be the point? I'd be going back on a campaign promise."
Pete shook his head. "That sounded a little too business-like for comfort."
Clark groaned, even as he savored the sweet taste of real corn that had never seen a processing plant. "It's this JLA thing. My dad's asked me to stay out of it, but I was looking at some papers yesterday that he left out on his desk."
Pete nodded. "What was on them?"
Clark shook his head, trying to figure it all out. "They basically gave a history of the farm since 1962. Apparently, my grandfather owned a part of JLA, only back then it was called the Cornfield Alliance."
"Sounds like a cheesy comic-book group. JLA sounds a lot more realistic."
Clark went on. He told Pete about the debt, and the clause in one of the documents that the late Mr. Kent had agreed to-even written. The one that said, in the most dire of circumstances, members could be requested to give up their land to the Alliance so that the whole of the organization could prosper. In this case-
"-in this case, the permission to build a crap-factory on it." Pete nodded, a look of anger on his usually cheerful face. "Man, I thought only the Luthors could twist stuff around like that."
"Speaking of the Luthors, I need to go see Lex later. I need to tell him that Chloe isn't going to be available this Saturday."
Pete's eyes pulled a Bugs Bunny. "Chloe? Lex? Saturday?"
"Chloe, Lex, and a friend."
"What friend?" Pete got a very suspicious look in his eyes.
"I don't know, honestly."
"Clark do I even get the opportunity to mention how dumb you are sounding?"
Clark gritted his teeth. Now that he thought about it, it did sound kind of...wrong. "If Lex wants to ask her out on a date, it's not my place to stop him. Besides, that's not even what it is. I think he just wants to get to know my friends better, you know?"
"He never asked me."
"What would you have said if Lex Luthor had asked you to go to a Saturday matinee movie with him?"
Pete shrugged. "Alright, you got me there. I just don't like this sudden interest all the guys are taking in Chloe."
"Just don't join them, I'll share your worries."
Lex was disappointed. The day had started out well. He had woken up without a headache, his favorite red shirt was waiting for him, warm, right out of the drier, he had stopped by the Talon for breakfast and had a good muffin and a conversation with Lana, which for once didn't involve management issues at all. Then it had all gone to hell with a single phone call.
"I know dad. Look, I'm doing everything I can to keep that factory out of Smallville. Their lawyers found a loophole in a contract Mr. Kent's father signed. Yes, I check it every morning, I know LuthorCorp stock is down. Dad, please spare me the Machiavelli-isms. Alright. Let me handle this. No, I'm not going to need any more lawyers-no, dad, you don't have to come down to supervise it. Look, I need to go. I'll talk to you later."
Heidi frowned. "That didn't sound good."
"That was actually one of our more mellow conversations. You never heard him talk to me on the phone apparently."
"I did, but he always made it sound so nice, like you two were getting along just fine."
Lex smiled. "My father is a master at making something look like anything. Family, for instance."
(note: hey look, guys, I'm sorry to cut it short here, but I need to get this sent off before we leave tomorrow, and I can NOT write anymore. I promise I'll pick up right were I left off. I'll even skip the annoying author's note. Ok, now arty8 needs some sleep. Hope you've enjoyed it so far! Tell all your friends! And your enemies too, if they like Smallville! Caio!)