Getting rid of an Annoyance.
By Adrian Tullberg.
Bruce Wayne slammed the receiver down on the phone, and gave his butler one of his more extreme glowers.
"He did insist, sir."
Wayne rubbed his closed eyes with a gloved hand. "Alfred ... I want you to remember this moment, if you ever suggest that I get a 'proper social life', ever again."
"Not every relationship ends in a woman suddenly deciding she would rather the company of ... other women."
"However, in the case of one Lois and Clark, he decides to call me several times, every day as the designated shoulder to cry on." Wayne leaned back. "Any hope that they'd get back together?"
"well, she has been seen in the company of men in a more than simply friendly context ..."
Wayne looked up, expression hopeful.
"... but they have all been uniformly ... how shall I say this ... of the non-Caucasian persuasion."
Wayne slumped down in front of the Batcomputer. "Screening my calls won't help."
"Not when he can reach Gotham in twenty seconds."
A mental image of a depressed Superman spilling his guts for hours on end while he was on stakeout in the Batmobile swam into sharp focus.
"We need to get him a woman, Alfred."
"I'm not too sure that this would be the proper course of action ..."
"If I manage to hide from him Alfred, he'll come to you instead."
"The current Metropolis file is up to date, sir."
The Batman accessed Bruce Wayne's little black book - a multitudinous globe spanning database cross referencing thousands of women by looks, availability, martial status, hair, race, financial and social status, estimated workload, medical status, criminal activity (real and commonly known) and personal turn ons/offs.
A quick query for those available in Metropolis produced a large list. Bruce brought up one file from the results.
"She's available. And easy."
"Easy for a multi-billionaire does not equal success for a newspaper reporter."
"True." Bruce began to modify the query to all those who were easily impressed by literary ability when Alfred stopped him.
"If it were a matter of getting his leg over, he could show up at any Hollywood party in his Superman costume, and he'd have a gaggle of pretty idiots swarming over him."
"Then what do you suggest?"
Alfred held his index finger to pursed lips. "His personal world has taken something of a battering. What Mr. Kent needs is ... a sense of commonality."
Bruce nodded, leaning forward, his fingers tapping together. "He felt he could open up to Lois. We need to foster a similar connection ... yet with someone not like Lois; we don't want to make him feel like we're replacing her."
"He disclosed his identity to her some time before they married. Perhaps someone else who already knows...?"
Bruce shot his butler a wary glance "Another superhuman?"
"Saves a lot of time sir, on the whole 'opening up' front."
Bruce ticked off the points on his fingers. "Female. Super human. Attractive. Available. Something in common with Kent."
"Reporter, novelist, columnist ... alien stranded on Earth..."
The idea burst in Bruce's head.
The snort of laughter broke Alfred's musings. "Sir?"
"I've got it. Or her." Bruce took up the receiver, opening the relevant file. "Get a reservation while I talk her into it."
The phone rang.
Clark Kent blearily looked at the phone while rubbing his stubbled face.
Who could that be? For some reason, people were avoiding him lately.
He gingerly picked up the receiver. "Clark Kent."
"About time, Kent."
"Bruce?"
"You have a reservation at Chez Joey's at eight."
Clark glanced at the time; seven fifty-eight.
"I ... I thought you were in Gotham."
"I am. You have a blind date tonight."
Clark stood up. "Wh .. I mean ... it's ... it's too soon."
"Really."
"Yes. I can't do this. Not now."
"Then I suggest you go and tell her."
That familiar sense of inevitability when Bruce won an argument sunk onto his shoulders. "You planned this ages ago."
"Just three hours ago to be precise." That equally familiar chuckle rattled in Clark's ear. "You have just enough time to look vaguely presentable Kent. I suggest you get started."
The connection broke. Clark muttered, then headed towards the bathroom.
Clark arrived promptly at eight, and the maitre de escorted Clark to one of the best tables in Metropolis' most exclusive restaurant. Ever since he got his hands on the majority of LexCorp's assets, Bruce had been particularly ruthless in extending his social network across the globe. Nobody else could get a table near the kitchens with less than a month's notice, let alone a few hours.
Clark sat down, fingers tapping nervously on the tablecloth.
First, he would have dinner, and make polite small talk. Then, he'd escort whoever she was back home. Then he would go to Gotham and make Bruce beg for death.
He took the menu more roughly than he intended from the waiter. What the hell did Bruce think he was, making him jump through hoops like ...
Everyone's eyes were turning towards the entrance. The waiter nearly elbowing Clark in the face made him take notice.
He saw her.
There was a rumour, that one day, she walked in off the street, then simply stood in the lobby of Ford Modeling Agency. In three minutes, she'd had the pick of half a dozen multi-million dollar contracts.
Right then, Clark believed it.
She moved through the room, a cat-like walk, everyone's reactions resembling a boat's wake in the water. Ignoring her would be like defying the laws of physics.
A black dress, one of the season's latest catwalk creations. Probably given to her along with dozens of others by grateful designers. Her six foot four height carried it off perfectly.
Her slender frame somehow carried what could be described as generous proportions. Every woman in the restaurant noted this in fuming silence.
Her golden, nearly glowing skin, was counterpointed by her long, flowing hair, almost reaching her ankles, her feet adorned by thin black leather sandals.
And her eyes - green wide eyes never broke contact with Clark's from the moment she'd talked to the stammering maitre de till the moment she drew up to Clark's table.
Clark stood, his legs somehow not quite supporting his weight.
She reached out to his hand.
Clark touched her.
A shock traveled up his arm and into his chest.
Her powers.
She absorbed solar energy to fuel her powers, much like he did. That made her body a massive solar battery he couldn't help but physically react.
Princess Koriand'r, a.k.a. Kory Anders, a.k.a Starfire smiled at him, still holding his hand. "Hello Clark. I'm glad you could make it."
Clark knew he planned to do something after dinner.
For the life of him, he couldn't remember.