(no subject)
It was cold outside. Cold and he had no clothes but the ones he had on and someone, he wasn’t sure who, had told him about the box. The magic box that could just make clothes appear. On a magic island that had a Tim older than he was supposed to be, a Bart much older than he was supposed to be, and a Cassie younger than she was supposed to be. A handful of hours ago, he’d been worried about their counterparts and then man they were torturing in the…well, not basement. More like hallway.
Lex Luthor and Clark Kent were here, but mostly Luthor. Of all the people, why did it have to be him? Especially after seeing the results of his own handiwork: the charred remains of Deathstroke’s arm. Would he be evil? Was it just in his genes? And this Luthor wouldn’t even know him. Clark, either.
That was even before you got to the giant gold statue of him.
The one thing he had figured out was that he wasn’t going anywhere. He was stuck here and he wasn’t going anywhere until they all figured out a way to get home. So he was going to do what he did best. Fit in. Make a life on the island. And that life began with new clothes. Instead of the uniform, he needed boots and some mundane clothes and a jacket. Maybe something leather.
That is, if the stupid, idiotic thing would give him something that didn’t have the S symbol. He tossed the latest article of clothing, black boxers with the red symbol right on the crotch, up over his shoulder to add to the pile that was forming around him.
(Meet Kon-el. After arriving to a best friend he thinks is evil (in progress) and a mass of facts and people that just makes his head and heart hurt, Kon decides that he needs a few warm clothes for the sudden chill. Come have underwear thrown at your head by the new arrival.)
Lex Luthor and Clark Kent were here, but mostly Luthor. Of all the people, why did it have to be him? Especially after seeing the results of his own handiwork: the charred remains of Deathstroke’s arm. Would he be evil? Was it just in his genes? And this Luthor wouldn’t even know him. Clark, either.
That was even before you got to the giant gold statue of him.
The one thing he had figured out was that he wasn’t going anywhere. He was stuck here and he wasn’t going anywhere until they all figured out a way to get home. So he was going to do what he did best. Fit in. Make a life on the island. And that life began with new clothes. Instead of the uniform, he needed boots and some mundane clothes and a jacket. Maybe something leather.
That is, if the stupid, idiotic thing would give him something that didn’t have the S symbol. He tossed the latest article of clothing, black boxers with the red symbol right on the crotch, up over his shoulder to add to the pile that was forming around him.
(Meet Kon-el. After arriving to a best friend he thinks is evil (in progress) and a mass of facts and people that just makes his head and heart hurt, Kon decides that he needs a few warm clothes for the sudden chill. Come have underwear thrown at your head by the new arrival.)