SV fic post: East of the Sun part 18
3/23/08 12:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/people, eventually clex
Rating:PG
Word Count:2319
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danceswithgary for beta duty, and the beautiful cover!
Clark worked all day, and was in his room every night, waiting without really waiting. There was still a part of him that thought that maybe Reggie was coming back...or maybe it was just a feeling he had that something was heading in his direction. He needed to stay in Metropolis; he needed to know what that something was.
In the meantime, Christmas was coming and, as much as he felt the need to stay in Metropolis, he missed home, missed his family. He began writing letters home—letters that never left his notebook—but it was a comfort to write to Hannah, tell her what was in his heart. Of everyone, she was the one that understood best what it was he felt.
Dear Hannah,
I miss you. I think about you and Mom and Dad and hope that you are well. I'm fine. I have a job and a place to live. I have friends. I work in the kitchen of a fine hotel. It's good work, easy—you know why. If you were here, I would treat you to a day in the city. First, we would go to breakfast maybe at Woolworths, and then we could walk down Bessolo Boulevard, that's the street where all the plays are. It's very bright, and there's music everywhere. This is where they broadcast the radio shows too, they make Doc Savage right here. Maybe I can see if they have tickets for the radio shows. The hotel has a club and, every night, a band plays. I haven't seen the band yet, but I will. Waiters make more money than kitchen help and I have my cap set on being a waiter.
Yesterday, I watched them light the tree in Centennial Park. It was pretty neat. There were so many people everywhere, a band played Christmas carols and the tree was enormous. You've never seen so many lights in your life and, at the top, there was a giant stuffed cat, waving at everyone and dropping dust bunnies everywhere. I'm kidding! The top was a lighted star, but it should have been Mr. Beans. (wink)
I have to go, it's bedtime, but I'll write again.
Love, Clark
Christmas was a few days away and Metropolis was wet and gray with sleet, but in almost every doorway and window, wreaths and ropes of evergreen hung. Clark walked the few blocks away from the boarding house to look in the windows of the department stores. He liked walking the street before work, happy to window shop and people watch. The decorated windows were wonderful, brighter and more colorful than anything he'd ever seen in Smallville. Some windows were outlined in colored lights, some had Christmas village displays, and Metropolis' biggest, fanciest store advertised the 'real' Santa. He smiled; remembering the time Hannah explained to him how Santa Claus was an impossibility. He shook his head and wrapped his scarf around his neck. The sleet was taking turns with snow now; real flakes fell to melt in the slush on the streets. Clark lifted his head and sniffed. There would be more snow tonight...he could smell it. They might have a proper Christmas snow yet, he thought. He put bare hands to his cheeks and felt how cold his skin was, even though he barely felt the chill inside. In fact, chilly weather had always felt comfortable to him. He had to remember constantly to wear a coat or a hat and gloves, to keep buttoned up when everyone else was shivering from the cold.
He'd been delayed a couple of times on the way to work. He stopped just short of breaking the hand of a dip trying to lift a wallet, snatched a whip from the hand of a rag man about to beat the poor old horse pulling his cart and gave the man a good stripe or two of his own before throwing the whip up onto the rooftop of a nearby building. He rubbed his eyes—he'd been so angry over the incident, he'd felt like he was on fire….
@@@@@
Clark was bringing boxes of produce to the back entrance of the Hotel Luxor, where the doors to the kitchen were as well as, farther down the alley, the back door of the hotel's club. Willy always sent Clark to pick up what extras they needed because he came back on time, with exactly what he'd been sent to fetch, and no stops at taverns on the way. He glanced down the alley and saw that the fellows from the band that headlined at the club were beginning to stroll in, getting ready to rehearse. He noticed that they had a colored man in the band, and Clark stared in interest. He didn't look to be very much older than Clark--how lucky he was to be in the band, making music. The colored man looked up and caught him staring and grinned when Clark turned bright red. Clark dropped his head in embarrassment and hurried into the kitchen.
@@@@@@
He hung up his coat and scarf, water from snow instantly melting in the kitchen's heat ran into his collar. It tickled and he shivered and, misunderstanding his shiver as a sign Clark was cold, set off a round of teasing and claims that if Clark thought it was cold now, well, he hadn't seen anything yet. In fact, last year Antonio drawled, they'd lost his brother in law in a snowdrift and didn’t find him again until July.
"Whataya talking about, why, winter before, we hadda give up cigars an' such, 'cause the fire kept freezing solid. There was little piles a' frozen flames all over---fuckin' nuisance it was, when spring came 'round.…"
"That's nothing," one of the other guys laughed, and then told Clark "You think this is snow? Wait until it really starts to come down. One year, the milkman was delivering milk right through the second-story windows that's how high the drifts were, hand to God." Clark snickered but, as always, kept to himself. The teasing he received was affectionate, but never tipped over into real friendship because Clark didn't let it--he kept a distance between the men and himself. To them, there was something about Clark that made his reserve seem almost dignified and, they respected that, didn't push for more.
Still smiling over the tall tales, Clark started in chopping vegetables, washing dishes, and cleaning the prep areas for the cooks. He kept his eye out for Willy, meaning to pin him down about the waiter's job Clark had been pestering him about constantly. He'd been making noise lately that seemed to bode well for Clark's chances. Suddenly, a chill swept the room, everyone tensed. Antonio whispered, "The big boss... " and Clark looked up.
A large man walked into the kitchen with Willy in tow. He *was* big. He was tall and he was fat, and he looked down his nose as he strolled through the kitchen, looking so imposing that it made Willy look like he was fluttering along in his wake. He stopped at each station, looking critically at what was being prepared. He tasted, critiqued, he asked questions and looked the men up and down, frowning at a creased collar, an insufficiently starched coat or a grimy toque. He nodded approvingly at the stoves and murmured something to Willy, who pointed at Clark. The man looked him up and down as critically as he had the food.
Clark felt like he was being pinned by the jet-black eyes. The large man frowned, and Willy spoke again. The big boss stared at Clark and, finally, a corner of his mouth twitched upwards, his eyes looked marginally warmer. He looked Clark up and down again, more slowly this time, and it made Clark blush. Finished with his inspection, he nodded shortly to Willy...and was gone.
There was a collective sigh of relief, and the noise in the kitchen, even though it'd never really stopped, seemed to regain volume.
Willy called Clark over. "That was the manager, Mr. Louis. He runs the hotel and restaurant for the owners. Mr. Louis thought the kitchen was in tip-top shape, nice and clean. I told him you kept the place in order."
Clark smiled with pleasure. "Thanks, Willy."
"Yeah, well…I told him you didn’t want to be in the kitchen." Clark gaped at Willy. "Told him you wanted to be a waiter." Clark stared down at his feet, waiting to be told to hit the bricks. "So tomorrow, you report to Frank in the restaurant and, Clark...don't make me sorry."
@@@@@@
Clark stood at the door to the restaurant, gripping his hands together and wondering if he should go inside. It was so easy working in the kitchen, hiding out behind the pots and pans and now that what he wanted was here—he wasn't so sure he wanted it after all. He took a deep breath…Okay. Now. Walk. He tried to screw up his nerve...he thought of Whit, watching him being roped onto the cross in the field and expecting him to just fade away into nothing…Hell no. Not anymore.. He drew himself up. "Watch this," he murmured and stalked into the restaurant. "Frank?" he asked the first person he saw. The guy looked at him curiously and shifted a foul-smelling black cigarette to a corner of his mouth. He pointed to a short thin man with basset hound eyes. "There."
Clark walked over, his back a straight steel rod. He towered over the shorter man, and thought belatedly that looming over your prospective boss might not be a smart thing to do. "Fra—Mr—"
The man held his hand up. "Clark Kent. You come highly recommended," he said sourly. "Follow Henri and do what he tells you. Welcome to the Luxor Grill. Now, get out of my sight." He walked away and Clark stared after him, open-mouthed.
The man he'd spoken to earlier shrugged. "He's like that. But once you get to know him, you'll really hate him. Just do your work—"
"And keep my head down," Clark said. "Got you."
@@@@@@
Clark found out that the stairs at the end of narrow hallway outside his room led to the roof. It was a pleasant discovery, and he soon came to rely on that little patch of tar and gravel—his private haven. He enjoyed lying out there on his back at night, no one to see that he didn't need a coat or scarf, watching snow swirl down towards him out of the black like dancing stars. He sometimes wondered just how far he would be able to see into the heavens--but he never tried. The thought was just too unnerving.
Clark was comfortable. He'd even say he was happy. He had a job, one he'd wanted and gone after, he had a nice room and was making it really his own. He'd taken pictures from movie magazines like --Modern Screen and others, and tacked a few on the wall, he had a chair he'd found on the street that was in pretty good shape, and a crate that did double-duty as table and bookshelf. He liked the way it all looked, like it was someone's home. At night, he'd either laze about on his rooftop haven or walk. As the days rolled forward, more nights found him walking from one end of the city to the other because he didn't really need much sleep, he didn't really need to stay in his room, and…he heard so much…so he walked.
While he walked, he tried to keep his eye on the helpless— he pulled a cat or two dozen out of trees, and fought fires. Too many times he stopped dips and cons and goons. There were times too, that all he did was bring something to eat to someone who needed it. Sometimes all he did was sit with someone who just needed a person to listen and, in a way, those nights were harder than the nights that ended with him dropping an unconscious crook on the jail steps. Things happened. He stopped a car crash by stepping in front of a speeding cab, and leaped three stories high to catch a falling toddler to whisk him back inside his apartment before anyone could see. He even blacked the eye of a loan shark who'd beaten a gambler in front of his family, even though Clark kind of wanted to take a shot at the deadbeat, too. The kids in that shabby freezing apartment were skinny as greyhounds and dressed in rags, and the wife was a hopeless shadow…he'd wanted to let him have it, but he couldn’t do that, not in front of his kids.
This evening he'd knocked out a guy trying to rob the little green grocers down a few blocks. He'd had to move pretty fast, and he really didn't like doing stuff like that in the open, where it could be seen. There were already rumors of an 'angel of the streets.' He shook his head. He'd have to be more careful, charging around like the Green Hornet or The Avenger. He laughed at himself—course, they didn't have to be home in time to get cleaned up to wait on tables. In a way, he felt like all this, everything he could do, he owed to Whit because without…hating him...just a little...for what he'd done, Clark wouldn’t have been able to make any of it happen.
The sun was beginning to shine over the top of the Daily Planet globe. He watched it rise, painting the bronze globe with gold and fire, thinking.
He let Reggie go; it was high time to let Whitney go.
He took a deep breath, let it out, long and slow and headed back to the boarding house.
part 19
TBC in part three
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/people, eventually clex
Rating:PG
Word Count:2319
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era. Sure, it's weird—it's me!
Many, many thanks to
danceswithgary for beta duty, and the beautiful cover!Clark worked all day, and was in his room every night, waiting without really waiting. There was still a part of him that thought that maybe Reggie was coming back...or maybe it was just a feeling he had that something was heading in his direction. He needed to stay in Metropolis; he needed to know what that something was.
In the meantime, Christmas was coming and, as much as he felt the need to stay in Metropolis, he missed home, missed his family. He began writing letters home—letters that never left his notebook—but it was a comfort to write to Hannah, tell her what was in his heart. Of everyone, she was the one that understood best what it was he felt.
Dear Hannah,
I miss you. I think about you and Mom and Dad and hope that you are well. I'm fine. I have a job and a place to live. I have friends. I work in the kitchen of a fine hotel. It's good work, easy—you know why. If you were here, I would treat you to a day in the city. First, we would go to breakfast maybe at Woolworths, and then we could walk down Bessolo Boulevard, that's the street where all the plays are. It's very bright, and there's music everywhere. This is where they broadcast the radio shows too, they make Doc Savage right here. Maybe I can see if they have tickets for the radio shows. The hotel has a club and, every night, a band plays. I haven't seen the band yet, but I will. Waiters make more money than kitchen help and I have my cap set on being a waiter.
Yesterday, I watched them light the tree in Centennial Park. It was pretty neat. There were so many people everywhere, a band played Christmas carols and the tree was enormous. You've never seen so many lights in your life and, at the top, there was a giant stuffed cat, waving at everyone and dropping dust bunnies everywhere. I'm kidding! The top was a lighted star, but it should have been Mr. Beans. (wink)
I have to go, it's bedtime, but I'll write again.
Love, Clark
Christmas was a few days away and Metropolis was wet and gray with sleet, but in almost every doorway and window, wreaths and ropes of evergreen hung. Clark walked the few blocks away from the boarding house to look in the windows of the department stores. He liked walking the street before work, happy to window shop and people watch. The decorated windows were wonderful, brighter and more colorful than anything he'd ever seen in Smallville. Some windows were outlined in colored lights, some had Christmas village displays, and Metropolis' biggest, fanciest store advertised the 'real' Santa. He smiled; remembering the time Hannah explained to him how Santa Claus was an impossibility. He shook his head and wrapped his scarf around his neck. The sleet was taking turns with snow now; real flakes fell to melt in the slush on the streets. Clark lifted his head and sniffed. There would be more snow tonight...he could smell it. They might have a proper Christmas snow yet, he thought. He put bare hands to his cheeks and felt how cold his skin was, even though he barely felt the chill inside. In fact, chilly weather had always felt comfortable to him. He had to remember constantly to wear a coat or a hat and gloves, to keep buttoned up when everyone else was shivering from the cold.
He'd been delayed a couple of times on the way to work. He stopped just short of breaking the hand of a dip trying to lift a wallet, snatched a whip from the hand of a rag man about to beat the poor old horse pulling his cart and gave the man a good stripe or two of his own before throwing the whip up onto the rooftop of a nearby building. He rubbed his eyes—he'd been so angry over the incident, he'd felt like he was on fire….
@@@@@
Clark was bringing boxes of produce to the back entrance of the Hotel Luxor, where the doors to the kitchen were as well as, farther down the alley, the back door of the hotel's club. Willy always sent Clark to pick up what extras they needed because he came back on time, with exactly what he'd been sent to fetch, and no stops at taverns on the way. He glanced down the alley and saw that the fellows from the band that headlined at the club were beginning to stroll in, getting ready to rehearse. He noticed that they had a colored man in the band, and Clark stared in interest. He didn't look to be very much older than Clark--how lucky he was to be in the band, making music. The colored man looked up and caught him staring and grinned when Clark turned bright red. Clark dropped his head in embarrassment and hurried into the kitchen.
@@@@@@
He hung up his coat and scarf, water from snow instantly melting in the kitchen's heat ran into his collar. It tickled and he shivered and, misunderstanding his shiver as a sign Clark was cold, set off a round of teasing and claims that if Clark thought it was cold now, well, he hadn't seen anything yet. In fact, last year Antonio drawled, they'd lost his brother in law in a snowdrift and didn’t find him again until July.
"Whataya talking about, why, winter before, we hadda give up cigars an' such, 'cause the fire kept freezing solid. There was little piles a' frozen flames all over---fuckin' nuisance it was, when spring came 'round.…"
"That's nothing," one of the other guys laughed, and then told Clark "You think this is snow? Wait until it really starts to come down. One year, the milkman was delivering milk right through the second-story windows that's how high the drifts were, hand to God." Clark snickered but, as always, kept to himself. The teasing he received was affectionate, but never tipped over into real friendship because Clark didn't let it--he kept a distance between the men and himself. To them, there was something about Clark that made his reserve seem almost dignified and, they respected that, didn't push for more.
Still smiling over the tall tales, Clark started in chopping vegetables, washing dishes, and cleaning the prep areas for the cooks. He kept his eye out for Willy, meaning to pin him down about the waiter's job Clark had been pestering him about constantly. He'd been making noise lately that seemed to bode well for Clark's chances. Suddenly, a chill swept the room, everyone tensed. Antonio whispered, "The big boss... " and Clark looked up.
A large man walked into the kitchen with Willy in tow. He *was* big. He was tall and he was fat, and he looked down his nose as he strolled through the kitchen, looking so imposing that it made Willy look like he was fluttering along in his wake. He stopped at each station, looking critically at what was being prepared. He tasted, critiqued, he asked questions and looked the men up and down, frowning at a creased collar, an insufficiently starched coat or a grimy toque. He nodded approvingly at the stoves and murmured something to Willy, who pointed at Clark. The man looked him up and down as critically as he had the food.
Clark felt like he was being pinned by the jet-black eyes. The large man frowned, and Willy spoke again. The big boss stared at Clark and, finally, a corner of his mouth twitched upwards, his eyes looked marginally warmer. He looked Clark up and down again, more slowly this time, and it made Clark blush. Finished with his inspection, he nodded shortly to Willy...and was gone.
There was a collective sigh of relief, and the noise in the kitchen, even though it'd never really stopped, seemed to regain volume.
Willy called Clark over. "That was the manager, Mr. Louis. He runs the hotel and restaurant for the owners. Mr. Louis thought the kitchen was in tip-top shape, nice and clean. I told him you kept the place in order."
Clark smiled with pleasure. "Thanks, Willy."
"Yeah, well…I told him you didn’t want to be in the kitchen." Clark gaped at Willy. "Told him you wanted to be a waiter." Clark stared down at his feet, waiting to be told to hit the bricks. "So tomorrow, you report to Frank in the restaurant and, Clark...don't make me sorry."
@@@@@@
Clark stood at the door to the restaurant, gripping his hands together and wondering if he should go inside. It was so easy working in the kitchen, hiding out behind the pots and pans and now that what he wanted was here—he wasn't so sure he wanted it after all. He took a deep breath…Okay. Now. Walk. He tried to screw up his nerve...he thought of Whit, watching him being roped onto the cross in the field and expecting him to just fade away into nothing…Hell no. Not anymore.. He drew himself up. "Watch this," he murmured and stalked into the restaurant. "Frank?" he asked the first person he saw. The guy looked at him curiously and shifted a foul-smelling black cigarette to a corner of his mouth. He pointed to a short thin man with basset hound eyes. "There."
Clark walked over, his back a straight steel rod. He towered over the shorter man, and thought belatedly that looming over your prospective boss might not be a smart thing to do. "Fra—Mr—"
The man held his hand up. "Clark Kent. You come highly recommended," he said sourly. "Follow Henri and do what he tells you. Welcome to the Luxor Grill. Now, get out of my sight." He walked away and Clark stared after him, open-mouthed.
The man he'd spoken to earlier shrugged. "He's like that. But once you get to know him, you'll really hate him. Just do your work—"
"And keep my head down," Clark said. "Got you."
@@@@@@
Clark found out that the stairs at the end of narrow hallway outside his room led to the roof. It was a pleasant discovery, and he soon came to rely on that little patch of tar and gravel—his private haven. He enjoyed lying out there on his back at night, no one to see that he didn't need a coat or scarf, watching snow swirl down towards him out of the black like dancing stars. He sometimes wondered just how far he would be able to see into the heavens--but he never tried. The thought was just too unnerving.
Clark was comfortable. He'd even say he was happy. He had a job, one he'd wanted and gone after, he had a nice room and was making it really his own. He'd taken pictures from movie magazines like --Modern Screen and others, and tacked a few on the wall, he had a chair he'd found on the street that was in pretty good shape, and a crate that did double-duty as table and bookshelf. He liked the way it all looked, like it was someone's home. At night, he'd either laze about on his rooftop haven or walk. As the days rolled forward, more nights found him walking from one end of the city to the other because he didn't really need much sleep, he didn't really need to stay in his room, and…he heard so much…so he walked.
While he walked, he tried to keep his eye on the helpless— he pulled a cat or two dozen out of trees, and fought fires. Too many times he stopped dips and cons and goons. There were times too, that all he did was bring something to eat to someone who needed it. Sometimes all he did was sit with someone who just needed a person to listen and, in a way, those nights were harder than the nights that ended with him dropping an unconscious crook on the jail steps. Things happened. He stopped a car crash by stepping in front of a speeding cab, and leaped three stories high to catch a falling toddler to whisk him back inside his apartment before anyone could see. He even blacked the eye of a loan shark who'd beaten a gambler in front of his family, even though Clark kind of wanted to take a shot at the deadbeat, too. The kids in that shabby freezing apartment were skinny as greyhounds and dressed in rags, and the wife was a hopeless shadow…he'd wanted to let him have it, but he couldn’t do that, not in front of his kids.
This evening he'd knocked out a guy trying to rob the little green grocers down a few blocks. He'd had to move pretty fast, and he really didn't like doing stuff like that in the open, where it could be seen. There were already rumors of an 'angel of the streets.' He shook his head. He'd have to be more careful, charging around like the Green Hornet or The Avenger. He laughed at himself—course, they didn't have to be home in time to get cleaned up to wait on tables. In a way, he felt like all this, everything he could do, he owed to Whit because without…hating him...just a little...for what he'd done, Clark wouldn’t have been able to make any of it happen.
The sun was beginning to shine over the top of the Daily Planet globe. He watched it rise, painting the bronze globe with gold and fire, thinking.
He let Reggie go; it was high time to let Whitney go.
He took a deep breath, let it out, long and slow and headed back to the boarding house.
part 19
TBC in part three
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
3/23/08 04:47 am (UTC)And there's Clark for you. Even after all that Whitney did to him, he can't hate the guy. Angel of the streets, indeed. *G* I'm glad to see him using his powers to help people, and feeling a sense of accomplishment. . . even if he is so terribly lonely and alone. Hopefully, though *eyes you* that will change in part four. right? *crosses fingers*
Another excellent chapter, here. Though I am sad to see Clark away from those warm guys in the kitchen. I thought their banter really helped him in a way. *sigh* I look forward to the next update, and wish you a happy holiday!!!
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:08 am (UTC)And there's Clark for you. Even after all that Whitney did to him, he can't hate the guy.
even when he thinks he hates him, he doesn't really. I think that the show skirts around this a bit--that Clark's basic nature is all about hope and forgiveness. He does look for the good in people, even if it's not a safe thing for him to do.
(no subject)
3/23/08 05:07 am (UTC)Will he ever write to Hannah? I hope so, she will enjoy hearing from him.
I'm glad he's finally made it to the club. I'm sure he'll be a good waiter. He's kind and polite and gorgeous.
What's not to love!
And we'll hopefully get to see him finally meet Lex. I can't wait.
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 05:14 am (UTC)And Hannah, explaining the impossibility of Santa to Clark - absolutely adorable.
Lovely chapter.
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 05:50 am (UTC)The sun was beginning to shine over the top of the Daily Planet globe. He watched it rise, painting the bronze globe with gold and fire, thinking.
He let Reggie go; it was high time to let Whitney go.
He took a deep breath, let it out, long and slow and headed back to the boarding house.
Just beautiful.
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 09:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:21 am (UTC)i'm trying to decide if I should tell the rest all from Lex's pov or change up. *hmmm*
(no subject)
3/23/08 11:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 12:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 02:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 03:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 04:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:31 am (UTC)*g*
(no subject)
3/23/08 04:31 pm (UTC)Lex next, yes?
:D
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 08:59 pm (UTC)LOVE your icon, btw. ;D
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/23/08 10:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:38 am (UTC)Anyhoo, Clark and Lex will be crossing paths soon--as in tonight, lol!
Hell no. Not anymore
3/24/08 01:30 pm (UTC)love the letter he wrote to his sister, though its too sad, he didnt send them :(
Re: Hell no. Not anymore
3/25/08 04:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/24/08 04:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/25/08 04:40 am (UTC)Thank you!!!!
(no subject)
3/24/08 05:12 pm (UTC)I wonder if Whit is going to show up eventually--was that Whit that Lex had sex with near the beginning of the story?
I love all the detail you give to the settings of your stories. It really makes the places come to life. :)
(no subject)
3/25/08 04:43 am (UTC)was that Whit that Lex had sex with near the beginning of the story?
No, the guy in the beginning was just a random person. :)
I'm really pleased that you're liking what's happening!
(no subject)
3/25/08 05:08 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing it.
(no subject)
4/7/08 03:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/7/08 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/21/12 03:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/21/12 09:05 pm (UTC)