Best; you've got to be the best. You've got to change the world.
Who: Superhandyman isitablurred and Batboss kingofrooks
When: Friday evening, rushhour
Where: The all new abandoned mine Batcave.
Summary: Of bats who are bad at accepting gifts, and superheroes with a questionable sense of humour.
Warnings: PG-13 for things that might be mentioned, possible violence; anything can happen with these two. Except that. Shush.
Clark had always been reasonably good at building things; at the very least putting them back together. Back in Smallville he'd been to dozens of barn-raisings, sure, but most of his experience came from a childhood, growing up destroying the things around him - by accident, mind - and rebuilding them. Barn doors, the barn roof, entire stairways, banisters, and at one point most of his home after a huge meteor ripped through it. Just three years ago now he'd spent night after night in Metropolis fixing things that needed fixing, steadying houses and bending tracks back into shape, healing a city that he blamed himself for destroying.
So it was, all in all, expertise that came in handy when he was buiding a Batcave. He had Bruce's plans burned out onto the cave floor, and most of the process was coming along just fine. Computer equiptment let go for free at an office sale a few weeks back was set up in a vast semi-circle, raised on a plateau away from the main floor of the cavern, and heavy cables scavenged from about the city lay down behind it, waiting for Clark to connect them to the main electricity line--an impossible job for anyone but the invulnerable and electricity-manipulators.
Nearby, underneath a spotlight which would only come on when the electricity was connected, was a three year old Yamaha motorbike; second-hand, and with scratches all the way down one side where it had been violently crashed by its previous owner, and then dragged along under a truck. Unsurprisingly, the rider had given up his hobby shortly after that, which meant Clark had been able to pay a really good price--ergo he could afford the yellow ribbon that he'd wrapped around the belly of the beast.
Billionaires didn't belong on the subway. It was a fact of life.
Now all he needed was Bruce to actually turn up, so that he could connect the lights and surprise him. He was usually on time... Right?
When: Friday evening, rushhour
Where: The all new abandoned mine Batcave.
Summary: Of bats who are bad at accepting gifts, and superheroes with a questionable sense of humour.
Warnings: PG-13 for things that might be mentioned, possible violence; anything can happen with these two. Except that. Shush.
Clark had always been reasonably good at building things; at the very least putting them back together. Back in Smallville he'd been to dozens of barn-raisings, sure, but most of his experience came from a childhood, growing up destroying the things around him - by accident, mind - and rebuilding them. Barn doors, the barn roof, entire stairways, banisters, and at one point most of his home after a huge meteor ripped through it. Just three years ago now he'd spent night after night in Metropolis fixing things that needed fixing, steadying houses and bending tracks back into shape, healing a city that he blamed himself for destroying.
So it was, all in all, expertise that came in handy when he was buiding a Batcave. He had Bruce's plans burned out onto the cave floor, and most of the process was coming along just fine. Computer equiptment let go for free at an office sale a few weeks back was set up in a vast semi-circle, raised on a plateau away from the main floor of the cavern, and heavy cables scavenged from about the city lay down behind it, waiting for Clark to connect them to the main electricity line--an impossible job for anyone but the invulnerable and electricity-manipulators.
Nearby, underneath a spotlight which would only come on when the electricity was connected, was a three year old Yamaha motorbike; second-hand, and with scratches all the way down one side where it had been violently crashed by its previous owner, and then dragged along under a truck. Unsurprisingly, the rider had given up his hobby shortly after that, which meant Clark had been able to pay a really good price--ergo he could afford the yellow ribbon that he'd wrapped around the belly of the beast.
Billionaires didn't belong on the subway. It was a fact of life.
Now all he needed was Bruce to actually turn up, so that he could connect the lights and surprise him. He was usually on time... Right?