Hi CC!
Someone somewhere mentioned this fic in the past couple of days so I had to go and dig it up. Of course, now I can’t figure out *where* said mention tool place.
This fic has absolutely no redeeming qualities. In fact, I’ve spent the last two days trying, with no success, to scale back the level of ridiculous it reaches. Therefore, discerning readers who find FLAN unsettling should take note. And run! The other way.
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In the middle of that crowd, in the middle of a long, long line—which wrapped twice around a building just as gray as the sky—stood Lois Lane and Clark Kent.
Love the evocativeness
For today, for this outing, they were firmly in the roles of Lisa Loon and Chip Klark.
I do wonder if “Loon” includes double meaning.
LOIS: He did not just call me a loon, did he?
Lois/Lisa was tensed also. Ready, Clark/Chip knew, to mow down anyone in front of them who didn’t move quickly enough
Just like when she’s driving!
“You’re changing the subject.” He put a friendly arm around his wife to better adjust her flaming-red wig.
/cock eyebrow/ Wife? Season Four and beyond?
, “Yeah, uh, about that…”
“Oh no.” Mental alarm system spiking to life, he tightened his hold and turned her towards him. “This is just a stake-out, isn’t it? It’s not going to be bad, right? Tell me.”
Is it a chocolate fudge place?
. “No. No way. You’re not. You can’t. I promised your mother, Chip!”
/Scrunches forehead/
Now they were getting somewhere. Though he wasn’t crazy about the place they were getting. Not if it included disguises, a stake-out in the middle of a large crowd, and his mom.
They need to buy an edition of the Met Star!
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Super Market!” A man with a bullhorn stood on the threshold. “Now, there’s plenty here for everyone. No pushing. Just move in an orderly fashion up and down the aisles; they’re clearly marked. Someone will assist you in the dressing rooms.”
Huh?
He pried her fingers from his with careful ease. “This chicken is flying home. I’ll meet you there.”
This is good CC Aiken stuff! And you never archived it
He scoffed inwardly. She’d tell his mom? Good grief. That particular threat had lost its effectiveness when he was eight years old. His fake-redheaded partner could say whatever she wanted to say, to whomever she wanted to say it. It made absolutely, positively no difference.
Me thinks he protests too much!
“What are you going to tell her?” he heard a voice suspiciously like his own ask.
Rats.
See?
“Martha’s just tired. Tired of having to sneak out of town to find blue spandex whenever it goes on sale. Tired of repairing the wear and tear. The water spots she can’t get out of the red silk. It’s a lot of work. We need spares, half a dozen, ready-made. And the Super Market is the place.”
“Mom really said that?” He glanced nervously towards the line, pitching his voice low. “She could have told me. I can sew. It’s just that she’s always done it, so, I didn’t think…”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You can’t help it if you’re really hard on those suits.”
Poor Martha! Also
“All those vats of acid,” he murmured. “Underground lairs covered in dust, rat vermin, and who knows what else. Smoke damage, bomb debris, and what was it last week?”
Now I feel guilty for Lois once taking a box cutter to the suit in her time of particular need.
“It was toxic slime. Are you implying something, by any chance?”
“No. No. Not implying. Just thinking out loud here. Wondering. Maybe if I didn’t have a certain reporter to look after, I’d still be in the original suit. And it’d be like brand new.”
Oh boy.
Why on earth would all these people need--?”
“Halloween parties!” Lois’s face was suddenly burning as red as the horrid shade on her head. “Ok? It’s all for Halloween. And I don’t think we should dwell on any other possibilities.”
Do they also sell Ultra Woman suits? And black Kryptonian wear?
“Where exactly did you see that advertisement, Lisa? I hope you don’t mind me asking. There’s so much about you I don’t know.”
Oh boy. Let’s see. It’s the very late nineties… article in LFI on “How to add the spice back into your girl?”
“Measurements?” He tossed Lois a mournful look, which she pretended not to see, just as thoroughly as she was pretending not to hear. It was as if she had… reverse superpowers.
“Your bestseller?” No longer deaf and blind, Lois broke-in. “You actually have a bestselling… brief?”
“Stop right there,” Lois said, cool menace in her eye. “We’re the customers, and the customer is always right, right? So… let’s move it, lady.”
I just keep grinning. Might start having cramping in my cheeks, though.
And just as promised, they were filled with briefs in every size.
Regular ones for performers of a large persuasion and padded briefs for performers who are only of moderate size.
L-O-I-S L-A-N-E.
Her name. The letters- eye-catching and glinting under the lights- were waving right before his eyes.
“The bestseller,” trilled the saleswoman in whose hand the Lois Lane banner flew. “Oh, I wish you could see your faces.”
“Why is my… Why is Lois Lane’s name sewn onto the back of Superman’s underwear?”
Clark tensed. That had been asked quietly, almost conversationally. And that was bad.
The saleslady, not seeing it, not knowing about the quiet, and the badness it foretold, laughed.
. “So, since you people believe that tabloid article, you thought it would be nice to decorate Superman’s butt with a married woman’s name?”
“Exactly. We don’t. So we’re buying them. All of them. Every. Last. Pair.”
Eep?
‘Lois will throw me under a bus if I interfere’ moments.
Isn’t that dangerous? To the bus, I mean.
I want the manufacturer’s head on a shiny, genuine crystal platter…”
LEX:
“Then look the other way while I steal them!”
“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one whose name is splashed across it. In sparkly, shimmering, glittering for the entire world to see, letters!”
/Points at witness/
Next day, Met Star front page: Lois Lane’s Meltdown!
“Ah…no. No. We’re not… two anything. We’re just… it’s a… hard time for us. Uh, we have issues and deep-seated… complex… emotional things. We’re just…not.” He shook his head. “I don’t think this will save our marriage, do you? The costume and roleplaying and… such?”
So … suddenly has to return the adult video about Lois Lane joining the mile high club?
“The important thing,” Lois was explaining, slurring only slightly, “is that we stayed cool. Calm. We didn’t blow our cover.”
I don’t think she ever got entirely over the amnesia thing.
“Maybe it can wait,” Clark/Chip told his sleeping partner, his eyes scanning the room. “At least until we find the phone.”
The end.
Very cute FLAN!
No go and archive it!
Michael
