It's been about one month since Doc began working for LuthorCorp, about one month since Clark began his slow dismantling of the puzzle that is Adrian Cohen. (Or so she calls herself.) It's far, far longer than most of his so-called relationships, since he usually never even bothers to get to know the women he sleeps with and never sees them again,
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A smudge of gray eye-shadow, a little bit of lipgloss, but the thing is the dress, provided by one very rich patron. Thin straps across her shoulders (she feels like they make her shoulders look broader, but she has a beautiful back so that's okay). The dress is red and black and beautiful, falling silky, showing cleavage, but more than that showing off scars. She's sure he picked that dress out on purpose, to show as many scars as possible. She's positive she looks exactly like a man in a dress.
A clutch purse. Strappy high heels that she can't walk in. The only thing that really ruins it is the big chunky wooden bracelets with birds carved into them, painted bright blues and greens and oranges.
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