Chapter Text
Monday. 9:43
The air at the train station was brisk for Metropolis, though the sun beat down as usual. Clara Kent’s red scarf blew around her, tangling with the black waves cascading from her head. I knew I should have braided it, silly. She clutched her carry-on bag in her hand, the sew on patches and pins reflecting her warm demeanor. As the train rolled in, the Gotham wayfarers traded places with those waiting on the platform, the large reporter included. Though only 5’9”, she still stuck out among the smaller women around her. Tucking herself into her seat, she crossed her legs and slid her bag underneath, holding it in place with her soft red pumps. She removed her finger as her bookmark and began to look over her small planner. The week would be busy, with research and interviews to conduct. Clara bit on the end of her pen, mentally matching her conversations with the dates and times she had written down. Excitement bubbled through her body, although a small trace of worry followed not long after. Gotham was a grungy place at best, and the corruption she heard through her sources was not ideal to work around. Her bosses wanted a story about influence in Gotham; wealth and politics. The subtext to their conversation was about keeping the piece light on the drug, gang and hush money that circulates through Gotham’s economy. Although Clara was a good reporter, most dangerous pieces like that fell to her…friend, Louis Lane. A friend that she sometimes stayed with after a drink or two. Clara tried not to worry about that, though she always felt out of place when she woke up in the morning and Louis had already left for a coffee. Sitting alone in his bed in those early hours made her empty, not unlike when she looks up into the night sky and knows there is a planet missing from the universe. Her planet. Clara ruffled her hair and shook daunting thoughts away. She was here to write. Maybe if I do well on this Grant will let me write more controversial pieces.
The train ride was pleasant up until the border of Gotham City. The smog which swirled around buildings and lurked alongside alleyways was enough to hinder Clara’s usual optimistic self. The city seemed against her as she pulled her bag and followed the other passengers, now less cheery than they had been half an hour ago. Clara’s path merged into air pungent with a salty smell. She found herself trodding down metal steps to an underground road with a few others nearby. Although the city seemed unwelcoming, the street was busy with cars, taxis, and passerbys. They all hurried by without making eye contact with one another. Clara felt once again out of place on this planet. Her red pumps were now gaudy and her beige dress was too pale compared to the dark greyscale surroundings. A young woman standing near her seemed to share in her discomfort. She was wearing a bright blue sundress and held a large straw hat to her head. Her heartbeat was racing and Clara could hear her breath becoming shorter.
“Hi there! I was wondering if you wanted to share a cab? I’ve never been to Gotham before and maybe we could figure out where we’re going together?” Clara started towards her.
The woman looked relieved as she looked the tall stranger up and down.
“Oh, yes please! I’m visiting an uncle from here and I don’t know where I’m going,” she stretched a hand out to Clara, “Genevieve.”
“Clara.” She took her hand with a smile.
The two women managed a cab and Clara made sure Genevieve was dropped off at her uncle’s place, which ended up being a large condo with a doorman to greet her. Genevieve, Clara found out, was niece to one of the rich and powerful in Gotham, and with a good impression Genevieve promised to score her an interview. With numbers exchanged and farewells spoken Clara was on her way to her motel. Clara checked her watch as she walked into the lobby. 1:33. She checked her planner for her interview with Bryce Wayne. The youngest influence in Gotham. The fashion magazines and news scoops on her were more than enough to come to the conclusion that Wayne was the ideal traditional womanizer. Clara set her bag down on the bed in her room. The grey sunlight filtered through the flimsy blinds and illuminated the dull atmosphere. Clara’s patches and fun colours were sucked dry in the gloom. Pulling her clothes out of her bag and hanging them in the closet she revealed her casefile on her prepared interviews. Licking her finger she found Wayne’s file. Magazine covers, scandalous shots at parties, transcript clips from previous interviews, Clara sat down on the bed and peered at them. Bryce. Her hair fell layered and wild just shy of her shoulders. Shoulders which were encased in a silky black dress shirt, falling open revealing a chiseled collarbone, no doubt connected to large biceps and defined shoulders. Wayne was a well-known women’s athlete model. Smoky black eyeliner shot out from her piercing blue eyes. Clara wondered if they shared the same colour. While Bryce’s were icy and calculating, Clara’s were soft and reminiscent of a summer sky. Although the longer Clara looked at them, the more inviting they seemed to her. The intrigue of the half-closed eyelids and the curl of her smile over sharp whites left a lingering dryness in Clara’s throat. What am I thinking? It’s just a picture, Clara. She coughed, shuffling the papers into a folder and tucking them into a smaller work-bag, Clara prepared her notes for Bryce’s interview later tonight.