Tick. Inhale. Tock. Exhale. Beep. Tick. Inhale. Tock. Exhale. Beep. Tick...
Chloe Sullivan never liked being in Hospital beds. They were always so... clean. Nothing like your average bed: unmade, likely stained, and at least somewhat stylish. But these, these nauseatingly clean, perfectly made, all- white fashion monstrosities, they really, well, sucked.
What sucked more, however, was not knowing quite why you were in one. Last she knew, Chloe was exploring the caves with Clark Kent for the cause of the mysterious death of one of the ravers at last night's rave. Just why she was at the rave last night in the first place was still a mystery. She tried to defend herself against her own conscious with weak arguments of " Well, a girl can have some fun, can't she?", but her conscious got the best of her, again.
Which brought her here. Just why in hell was she here? Her inner journalist wouldn't leave the question untouched. She had the creeping sensation that she had either done something really, really bad, or that she had uncovered some really, really big story. She also had the creeping sensation that it had something to do with the ever oh so cute, ever oh so mysterious Clark Kent, but she just chocked it up as "well he was with me last, remember..." Damned by association. Further puzzling was the black streaks in her hair. Just how in the blue, or well ,rather black, hell did they get there? Some sort of makeover while she was asleep? A sick joke by some of her friends? "Really, Chloe Sullivan, black is just about as much your color as anything... un-pink is Lana Lang's" she said aloud, with a little bit of a chuckle at her own witty snark. It was always good that she could find a way to crack herself up, even in the direst of situations, such as mysterious highlights in one's hair, especially ones that so don't go with white hospital gowns. At that notion, she had to remind herself that they had kept her... personals... on when they put her in the hospital gown. That was the other reason why she didn't like hospital beds: being in one meant that you were in a paper thin hospital gown as well. That meant two things: you were bound to be freezing cold, which really wasn't helped by the thin blankets they gave you, and your being given the basic American right to wearing underwear ( unless of course, you were a nudist, or really skanky) was doubtful, at best. And although she could understand the medical necessity, she couldn't help but wonder why some hospitals refused to let you keep your undergarments on, such as Metropolis Med, which she had visited once, but thankfully not as a patient. Her dad, Gabe, was having surgery, and constantly complained about the cold and his, well, lack of underwear. Ever since then, Chloe had made sure she was properly clothed when she had to visit the good ole hospital bed. Not that she didn't like to entertain the idea of some cute resident male nurse seeing her little cute white rear from time to time, it was just that real exhibitionism really wasn't her thing. Thankfully, the door opened before she entertained anymore thoughts on cute resident male nurses and the like. It was Clark Kent, and he didn't seem all that comfortable around her. 'must be the highlights', she mused to herself, though not aloud. Infact, he seemed downright embarrassed in front of her. She yet again reminded herself that she did infact have undergarments on underneath her paper thin hospital gown, although she had yet to notice they were frilly red ones, and therefore quite visible, had it not been for the thin blanket over her. "Well, I guess it's door number one then," she thought to herself " Something really, really bad. Well, at least he'll have answers..." "Heya Clark," she said cheerily, deciding to hold back the inner journalist at least until they greeted each other.
Chloe Sullivan never liked being in Hospital beds. They were always so... clean. Nothing like your average bed: unmade, likely stained, and at least somewhat stylish. But these, these nauseatingly clean, perfectly made, all- white fashion monstrosities, they really, well, sucked.
What sucked more, however, was not knowing quite why you were in one. Last she knew, Chloe was exploring the caves with Clark Kent for the cause of the mysterious death of one of the ravers at last night's rave. Just why she was at the rave last night in the first place was still a mystery. She tried to defend herself against her own conscious with weak arguments of " Well, a girl can have some fun, can't she?", but her conscious got the best of her, again.
Which brought her here. Just why in hell was she here? Her inner journalist wouldn't leave the question untouched. She had the creeping sensation that she had either done something really, really bad, or that she had uncovered some really, really big story. She also had the creeping sensation that it had something to do with the ever oh so cute, ever oh so mysterious Clark Kent, but she just chocked it up as "well he was with me last, remember..." Damned by association. Further puzzling was the black streaks in her hair. Just how in the blue, or well ,rather black, hell did they get there? Some sort of makeover while she was asleep? A sick joke by some of her friends? "Really, Chloe Sullivan, black is just about as much your color as anything... un-pink is Lana Lang's" she said aloud, with a little bit of a chuckle at her own witty snark. It was always good that she could find a way to crack herself up, even in the direst of situations, such as mysterious highlights in one's hair, especially ones that so don't go with white hospital gowns. At that notion, she had to remind herself that they had kept her... personals... on when they put her in the hospital gown. That was the other reason why she didn't like hospital beds: being in one meant that you were in a paper thin hospital gown as well. That meant two things: you were bound to be freezing cold, which really wasn't helped by the thin blankets they gave you, and your being given the basic American right to wearing underwear ( unless of course, you were a nudist, or really skanky) was doubtful, at best. And although she could understand the medical necessity, she couldn't help but wonder why some hospitals refused to let you keep your undergarments on, such as Metropolis Med, which she had visited once, but thankfully not as a patient. Her dad, Gabe, was having surgery, and constantly complained about the cold and his, well, lack of underwear. Ever since then, Chloe had made sure she was properly clothed when she had to visit the good ole hospital bed. Not that she didn't like to entertain the idea of some cute resident male nurse seeing her little cute white rear from time to time, it was just that real exhibitionism really wasn't her thing. Thankfully, the door opened before she entertained anymore thoughts on cute resident male nurses and the like. It was Clark Kent, and he didn't seem all that comfortable around her. 'must be the highlights', she mused to herself, though not aloud. Infact, he seemed downright embarrassed in front of her. She yet again reminded herself that she did infact have undergarments on underneath her paper thin hospital gown, although she had yet to notice they were frilly red ones, and therefore quite visible, had it not been for the thin blanket over her. "Well, I guess it's door number one then," she thought to herself " Something really, really bad. Well, at least he'll have answers..." "Heya Clark," she said cheerily, deciding to hold back the inner journalist at least until they greeted each other.