Lobo stares at his reflection, hoping it will somehow change. He closes his eyes, slowing his breathing before once again glaring at the mirror before him. Nothing, His voice rings out, the bass shaking the walls.

"Kara!"

Her head peeks around the doorway immediately, she had obviously been waiting for his reaction.

"Yes?"

He points to his face, "Don't you 'yes' me! What is this s%^*?!"

She enters the room, peering intently at his glowering countenance. Her eyes narrow in mock confusion as she pretends to notice nothing wrong.

"I mean, it's your face. If you think it looks like s%^*, who am I to argue?"

She nimbly dodges away from his halfhearted backhand. It had been years since he could lay a hand on her, she was too quick. Lobo feels a twinge of pride as she lets loose a string of profanity fit to take the paint off of a kerdhauler's trailer. Her lilting voice fades as she continues down the hall, cursing him, his family, and his pet dolphin in half a dozen galactic languages.

*Did she f%&* up a word in translation, or did I mention the dolphin in my sleep again?*

Turning back to the reflective pane, he once again tries to scrub the yellow pigment from his cheeks and jaw. No luck, it was holding on like broschatten grubs on a freen shrub. What had that damn girl put on him, and how had he not noticed? How drunk was he last night? What was he even drunk on? He hiccups as he realizes he may still be slightly buzzed.

He digs through his jacket pockets, the new leather outerwear nearly dragging the ground. It wasn't as comfortable as the old one, but it had a lot more storage. Interior pouches of varying sizes held a plethora of weapons, smokes, pornography, and other fun distractions in case he got bored.

He withdraws an empty bottle and attempts to decipher the label, written in pictographs rather than a singular language. The practice was widespread, to allow different species to be able to easily identify their beverage of choice. A skillet, a galaxy, a gargoyle, and a lazpistol are boldly printed on the container.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Smashing the bottle against the offending mirror, he turns away, intent on finding the cheery Kryptonian prankster and forcing her to explain how she had managed to tattoo his face without waking him up.

Then

The face of the Emperor is unreadable. Lobo never was good at telling what people were thinking, or feeling, he just assumed it was the typical mixture of anger and disgust. Usually, he would have been correct, but the Kryptonian before him was neither filled with fury nor disdain. Lobo feels his stomach churn as he finally recognizes the expression.

Pity. This dregscraping fraghole actually felt sorry for him. NOBODY feels sorry for Lobo, not even his long-deceased mother, father, or distant cousins. There had been little love lost for Lobo even while they had lived, he was sure their disposition hadn't improved since their deaths.

*Especially since they were technically killed by me, don't think it mattered to them that they were just my clones. I didn't even like the guys.*

Lobo's fond memories are disrupted as Zod clears his throat. Realizing he had been smiling, Lobo quickly pulls his face back into it's customary scowl. Leaning forward in his obsidian throne, the ill-tempered leader of the Kryptonian exiles begins to speak quietly, forcing the mercenary to strain to hear his words.

"I understand that these... 'Earthlings,'" He pauses, reacting as if the word left a bitter taste as he spoke it. He begins again.

"I understand that they implemented some most unorthodox tactics in mounting their defense. They are not to be trifled with."

Lobo's scowl becomes genuine, "Hey, if I knew they were gonna play dirty, I would'a just glassed a city or two from space and waited for a response. How was I s'posed to know they were gonna shoot a damn Kryptonian at me?"

His ramblings come to an end as he remembers who he is speaking to. The guard at Zod's left hand appears furious. Lobo is proud for recognizing that. The bearded Kryptonian takes a step toward the Czardian, his eyes beginning to glow as red as Lobo's own, beneath his specialty "raptor" lenses.

"You will be silent, or you will be silenced."

Lobo takes the threat as it is intended, also storing it away for future use; it was a good one. Zod's soft voice continues.

"My scientists have assured me that our latest weapon performed admirably in it's testing phase. We intend to employ it on these 'humans.'"

"Beggin' yer pardon, but what's better about your one shiny new weapon than all of mine?"

"While it is true that you have quite a fine collection of death and destruction, Lobo, I must answer your question with one of my own: Do you have unfettered access to a biothreat with reactive modulating evolutionary adaptation capabilities?"

Lobo was certain that if he put his mind to it, and studied hard, he could eventually understand what half of Zod's words had meant. Instead, he shakes his head.

"Then it is settled. I understand you would like to 'get payback' for whatever slight you may feel, but I forbid it."

Lobo growls, he hated being shafted almost as much as he hated not being the coolest guy in the room. How was Zod so damn cool all the time? He just sits there, he doesn't even DO anything.

"However. I am appreciative of you providing the information to my men in the first place. I understand you were financially motivated, but it is not lost on me that you came to us, rather than one of the other, more lucrative, information brokers."

Lobo struggles to hide his confusion. Was he in trouble or not?

"If our PlanetKiller should fail, which I have been assured it will not, you will be allowed an opportunity for vengeance. But be hasty about it, I think this 'Earth' may be just what I have been searching for."

Now

Lobo takes a swig from the bottle, grimacing as the foul liquid begrudgingly slides down his throat. The effect is instantaneous: his head aches, his stomach roils, his bowels quake, he burps.

*That's better, little hair o' the draog. I like that aftertaste, too, what is that? Arturian mynt?*

Drinking deeply, he throws open the door to Kara's room, making sure to stare at the floor until his peripheral vision could determine if she was dressed or not. He didn't want to take the beating that was coming his way if he barged in on her changing again. Once was enough.

She was decent, or as decent as the foul-mouthed princess could be. He once again points to his face, slurring a bit as he expresses his displeasure.

"Thisse're is mah monehmaker, dun f%^* widdit."

"You always sound stupid, but this is new. What the hell are you drinking?"

Swiping the bottle from his hand, too fast for his inebriated eyes to follow, she peers at the label.

"Lobo, what the hell is wrong with you? This is engine cleaner!"

"They shuddunt make it so tasty, den."

Suddenly, without warning, the floor leaps up and lands a devastating sucker punch to Lobo's "monehmaker."