Alexander caught sight of his father and Ms. Clark before he reached halfway down the ramp with his brother and Agent Raines behind him. He was about to call out when he saw the little dark haired boy leaning against Ms. Clark. He honestly wondered with all curiosity who the child was. He seemed very relaxed leaning against her and completely at ease. He turned to his brother, “Who do you suppose that is?” Alexander asked, pointing to Ms. Clark’s small companion when his brother sniggered,
“Alright, it’s been a long time but I’m not senile you goose.”
Alexander was confused when he turned back to them. The little boy was gone and Ms. Clark was just realizing it. She seemed to be calling out to him and Alexander could see the worry in her face. He quickly scanned the area and spotted a man rushing through the crowded dock, the small boy was in his arms.
“David!” Alexander shouted to Agent Raines as he took off down the ramp. The guard followed close behind him. The band began playing what only sounded like a funeral dirge to Alexander as his sharp pale blue eyes followed the escaping man. He yelled in Hindi and Urdu for the crowd to move. Like Moses, the sea of people divided for the strange looking boy.
( fireflies . . . )
The Lord Governor watched Ms. Clark’s face for a reaction. Any reaction really would have been sufficient but when for the second minute she still wore her look of quiet surprise he found himself getting too antsy for comfort.
“You must say something Martha.”
Her mouth moved and yet no sound came out.
He sighed, “You must think me quite mad.”
“I—wh-” she mumbled.
“Oh say something will you,” he implored.
She took a deep breath and said, quite calmly, “I believe you.”
( fireflies . . . )
Forgive any timeline errors in relation to real life.
Totally AU and AR so have fun. No canon to hold us down.
Will be Clex in the end.
Right now there are shades of Mionel.
Hopfully it'll be a decent and faithful bildungsroman of Clark Luthor.
“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born . . .”
“I was found.”
“We found this little beast trying to steal from Your Excellency’s store car!” The guard shouted directly into the small boy’s ears before throwing him to the ground. He was a tiny child, no more than waist high to the older man. He fell flat to the maroon and gold flecked Berber carpet of the Lord Governor, Lionel Luthor’s personal suite. The room was in the second car of a grand double decked train that was speeding out from the Indian countryside and into the heart of Bombay. The boy was perhaps six years old, maybe older, perhaps younger still. His small stature and yet, mature face, made it hard to read. The obvious malnourishment could have clearly placed him at 10 or 12 even. His raven curls were dull, lifeless and almost straight against his head. His skin was like goat’s milk and his piercing blue-green eyes were rimmed in red and smudged in black shadow.
It was his eyes that caused the Lord Governor to pay any attention what-so-ever to him at all. He’d only glanced up and over from his documents to take in the sorrowful urchin who was about to have his hands cut off when he was nearly struck dumb by the child’s gaze. He rested the papers and removed his reading spectacles.
“Your name child?” The Lord Governor asked in Hindi.
The boy looked over to the guard for a moment before turning back to him and saying in a surprisingly strong voice, “Kal-El.”
“Kalel? Sounds Muslim,” the Lord Governor pondered to himself.
The child sighed, exasperated. “There’s a pause. You’re not hearing it right,” he said in perfect standard British. “Kal. El. Though I should give allowance seeing as Hindi isn’t your first language. We’d best stick to English for your sake.”
( fireflies . . . )