|Lois and Clark|
|What: Lois and Clark have a typical day at work|
The Daily Planet is alive with commotion and confusion as reporters whir back and forth the hotrods on a fast paced interstate. Here is an angry face of a reporter screaming into his headpiece about a source backing out on a story. There is another fistpumping in elation. There's a lot to keep track of and as the disheveled mess that is Clark Kent enters the bullpen from the elevator, he does his best not to bump into anyone.
His best intentions fail, however, as he runs headlong into the mail boy, scattering the letters everywhere. "Golly! I'm so sorry, Robbie! I didn't mean..."
"Save it Kent. Just help me pick these up."
Looking up from the notepad in her hand, phone to her ear, Lois looks up at as Hurricane Clark strikes again. She smirks, clicking her mental tongue at herself. More like tornado given the podunkness from which he hails. Aloud, a chuckle drifts from her as she smarts a quip, "We can always count on you to clutz out, can't we, Smallville?" Phone call either over and not going anywhere, the sharply dressed femme reporter clicks off her cell, and drops it into her purse.
Clark slowly compiles all of the fallen letters with Robbie and puts them into the basket. Unfortunately, they're not in order. "Thanks a lot, Clark," the young man, probably 8 years Kent's junior, says. "Uhm, don't mention it?" says Clark. As he staggers to his feet, his makes his way to the desk across from Lois. "Good morning, Lois," he says with chipper effect, apparently ignoring or not hearing the earlier comment. "How are you today?"
Yes, of course he didn't hear her. Lois rolls her eyes and reaches for her cup of joe. "I'd be a helluva lot better if the DA would answer his damn phone," she retorts with a mix of pleasantry and annoyance. Her light grey-violet eyes sparkle faintly as she sips her drink. "And? Tipped any cows recently?"’
Somehow, Lois just KNEW that was coming. She rolls her eyes, head shaking as another sip of coffee is taken. Ah! Sweet caffine! How I love thee! She eyes her monitor unhappily, as if glaring at the unfinished story would somehow magically cause the DA to call her back, answer all her burning questions, and give her hte ammo she needs to rip him a new one. Feigning interest, she asks, "How are they?" Click-click-click.
"They're great! Thanks for asking," Clark stops mid-log on and can't remember where he was in his password, getting the telltale error noise through his speakers which are turned on far too loud. "My father just got a new D8330 tractor for this year's harvest. With the dry weather we're a little worried about the corn..." And he goes on about this.
The error noise always grates on Lois. It's like fingernails on a chalk board some days. Wincing, Lois turns that glare from computer to reporter. "Honestly, Clark!" She sets her cup down and walks around to his computer. She leans over his shoulder, hand reaching for his keyboard. Her off hand rests on the back of his chair to balance him in his chair, because let's face it, Clark's going to Clark-Out and probably faceplant on the door if she didn't hold his chair for him. "I don't think they heard that error ding in China."’
Clark's face twists in embarassment as he lowers the volume on his computer. He looks up at Lois, sort of dizzied by her perfume, and blushes a bit again. "I'm so awful at computers..." His voice trails.
"You're awful at most things, Smallville," Lois replies with honey in her otherwise sour tone. Her manicured fingers tap assuredly at Clark's keys, clicking as she types in his password for him. "But that's why we like you," she quips, patting his shoulder lightly as she straightens away from him, taking her perfume with her, and turning to look him in the face. Aw! How cute. He's blushing.’
"Well that's not true. I'm an excellent pinochle player. And my mom always said I was one of the keenest farming minds in the midwest." Clark's insides pang a bit when she cracks at him, but he gets over it rather quickly. He readjusts his glasses awkwardly as she looks at him.
"Ooookay. First, I don't even know what 'pinochle' is, and two.... seriously? Keenest farming mind?" Lois shakes her head at that, planting a hand on her hip. "So then what's you're next scoop, Farmer John? Crisis in the Middle West? Heat wave pops all the corn in Kansas?" Hey! At least she was listening, right?’
Clark straightens and suddenly becomes a bit more confident. "Interestingly enough, Lois, the farming crisis in the midwest in the 1980s was a terrible time for a lot of people. Additionally, it was a microcosm of the financial crisis some 20 years later. We can learn a lot from the small scale economies of the farm and the intricacies of the needs and beliefs of the average farmer. It's really America, when you get down to it."
"Oh God. Why did I ask," Lois laments, eyes turning to the ceiling, hands lifting from her hips as if pleading with the forces above 'why me?'. She ends the motion by waving it away and moving to rescue her coffee mug. Of course, there's no reason to walk all the way AROUND her desk, when it's easier to walk half way and lean OVER Clark's desk to reach her cup. "What's on your agenda this afternoon, then? Line dancing with the natives?"’
Clark shrugs his shoulders, "Actually I was thinking about attending that Cadmus Labs press conference. All of the big wigs are going to be there. I imagine there'll be some sort of story to scoop. What about you?"
Dammit! Why? The adrenaline rush of competition speeds Lois's heartrate. She walks around to her desk quickly, trying to seem nonchalant. She sets her coffee down and scoops up her purse. "Oh... umm... nothing... important.. just... ah... I need to go," she stammers a bit, already turning to go. If she can out of here fast enough maybe Perry won't have heard of the same story and insist they cover it as a team. The byline's so much less crowded when its just HER name there.’