Fic: League of Extrordinary Winchesters (Part the Fifth)
Fic: League of Extrordinary Winchesters (Part the Fifth)
Series: Chance Winchesterverse
Summary:Chance and Ben save the world. One exorcism at a time.
Author: pen37
Beta: None.
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chance, Ben,
Rating: g
Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10
Written for spawnfic tues
A/N: Let's just call this one Generation Gap.
Once they arrived in Metropolis and collected their pay from the stagecoach line, Chance and Ben found that they had a long walk ahead of them to reach the Daily Planet.
“Haven’t these people ever heard of public transport?” Ben grumbled.
“You didn’t want to take the horse drawn bus,” Chance said.
“Primitive cavemen,” Ben grumbled.
When six story building that housed the Daily Planet came into view, Chance and Ben took in the glass front windows and top-heavy wrought iron clock with the globe on top of it that was mounted over the door with a sense of being underwhelmed.
“I thought it would be taller.” Ben said cautiously.
“They won’t really invent skyscrapers for another fifty years,” Chance said.
“Still, it’s an imposing little pile, isn’t it?”
“It does kind of have that ‘we stop all visitors at the gate’ feel to it.” Chance said cautiously. “We’ll just have to ask them if they’ve seen mom.”
“Uh huh,” Ben said doubtfully. “What if they haven’t?”
“We’ll burn those remains when we get there.” Chance shrugged as he walked up to the door and opened it.
If there was a receptionist, she or he wasn’t around. Feeling more confident, Chance wandered over to a doorway, which led to a set of stairs.
Six flights later, Ben was doubled over attempting to get his breath.
“This better be worth it.” He said. “She better be sitting at a desk writing some kind of story on the Hindenburg explosion.”
“That hadn’t happened yet,” Chance said.
“Whatever.” Ben straightened up and pasted on his game face. “Okay, let’s do this.”
The room looked like a newsroom. Which is to say that it had an open floor plan. With reporters taking up every available surface.
It also looked like what Chance imagined a gentleman’s club would look like (back in the days before gentleman's club was used as a euphamism for strip joint). Jackets were thrown over the backs of chairs. Cigars and cigarettes left a thick grey miasma hanging through the room. Chance couldn’t see his mother working like this. There just seemed to be this unspoken hostility to anything female hanging like a palpable air.
Aunt Lois might have gotten along fine. But then again, Aunt Lois wasn’t above cross dressing to get a story.
As they stepped into the room, they drew the attention of a man in an ink stained white shirt. He had been hunched over a type board, laboriously composing lead type. But now he stood, straightened his back, and walked their direction.
“Can I help you?”
Chance cleared his throat. “We’re looking for Chloe Sullivan.”
A scowl crossed the ink monkey’s face. “The suffragette.”
“ Suffer . . .Huh?” A look of confusion crossed Ben’s face.
Chance leaned over to whisper out of the corner of his mouth. “He means she’s in favor of women’s rights.”
The reporter sneered. In response, Chance and Ben both stood a little straighter. At that point, typesetter seemed to realize that both boys were rather looming. And that Chance bore a slight resemblance to Chloe.
He cleared his throat. “You can probably find her in Bakerline. That’s where she prints that little rag she calls a newspaper.”
Ben and Chance looked at each other, and nodded. Then they turned and left.
“Well, that wasn’t a total waste,” Ben said as they crossed the street. Behind them, the wrought iron globe suddenly teetered, and then rolled off the top of the clock, crashing to the ground and shattering the front door.
“Now you’re just showing off.” Ben complained.
A/N 2: Before anyone asks, Ben's objection to the horse drawn bus was that it stunk, and he thought the drivers mistreated the horses.