14237/Welcome to my parlor sayeth the serpent...

Welcome to my parlor sayeth the serpent...
Date of Scene:	28 March 2022
Location:	Club Lux, Melville
Synopsis:	Lois and Clark are on a date! The two 'couples' wind up dancing together!
Cast of Characters:	Lucifer, Sinister, Lois Lane, Superman

---

Lucifer has posed:
Another weekday evening brings forth a crowd, but not in the usual numbers that the weekends do. This is just a fact but it does not stop Lucifer from opening the doors to Lux and letting what small crowd ebb and flow within the walls and out again. There are people drinking at the bar on the top floor and those lingering around sitting at tables and booths scattered about the lower floor, letting the wait staff serve them drink and perhaps even a bit of food.

There's no music from a DJ for the moment. Instead, Lucifer Morningstar himself is seated at the grand piano there on the lower level, just off the dance floor. He's got a glass of whiskey and a cigarette is slowly smoking away while he lets his fingers trail over the ivories in some random way that flows rather well. He's not singing though. Not yet anyway.

Sinister has posed:
Extemporizing is a thing -- when you're talented at any rate.

When you're not remotely musically talented, you can at least appreciate it. In a booth, with arms stretched out along the cushions, watching from a shadowed area, not that there are many in Lux. Blacklight sets the white of the shirt off, makes the white of eyes glow. A younger man than he often portrays himself to be, Nathaniel Essex LOOKS as if he ought to be in here, enjoying the company of the young and the wannabe famous, along with the actually famous. There's all sorts come through the doors of lux after all, for one reason, for another reason and some just because the drinks are damn good and you never know what you might find yourself in the midst of.

A smartphone sits nearby, connected to a bluetooth earpiece in his ear. It's running amok on calculations and some kind of protocol though there's no thumbs on the keyboard or swiping going on.

Lois Lane has posed:
While the 'd' word was not used at all around this evening out, Lois did want to go out and celebrate being entirely cleared by doctors to return to her normal life. Of course, returning to normal life means a night of drinking and dancing, even if it is in the middle of the work week. And she couldn't do it alone, so she invited Clark along for the celebration.

That still doesn't explain the fact that she's in a dress. A genuinely nice dress. It's a lovely charcoal number completely off of one shoulder, with faint ruffles spilling down to the mini skirt. Her long legs are clad in nude thigh-high stockings with cuban heels and backseams, and she's got a pair of spike heels on to give her some height compared to Clark. The dress is short enough it's practically entirely hidden by the long jacket she wears, but that's being taken off the moment they step into the warm club. "See? I told you this place gets classy during the week."

Superman has posed:
Half an hour before their scheduled not-date, Lois Lane receives a text on her phone from Clark Kent: meet u there might be a few min late sry thai for lunch bad idea.

A thousand miles away, on the other side of the country, Superman slips his phone into a concealed pocket on his costume, gazing toward the sputtering engine of a commercial airliner dooming it to a horrible crash over the Rocky Mountains. It blasts through the clouds as crew and passengers alike panic and fear for their life, only to see a blur in the darkening sky alongside them. Spinning out of control, the plane descends like a fallen star, the rapid rotations disorienting all involved and throwing them back and forth in their seats.

"Oh I knew it, I knew planes were bad, statistically safest mode of transportation my ass Richard you --"

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name... "

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

These voices and more sing out in chorus as flashing lights and beeping machinery announce their fate to all. Yet, the blur returns, pressing itself against the aircraft...

--

Ten minutes *after* the intended time, Clark Kent stumbles out of a cab and rushes over the curb, tripping and stumbling the last few steps toward Lois. The big lug's dressed for the occasion, sort of: he's got on a pale blue turtle neck and a turqoise jacket with slacks and dress shoes, his hair slicked back in a stylishly unfashionable fashion, his coke-bottle glasses pressed high and firm on his face.

"Golly, Lois, you're, um, looking real good," he stammers as he comes into view of her, sheepishly waving and ducking his head low. His smile is a mix of terrified and charmed. "It'd be a real shame to spoil your beauty by glaring at me like that, so how about we, eh, mosey along, shall we?"

He offers her an arm and enters the club, nodding along. "Classy. Yes, it's, um. Classy."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer dipped into a song at some point in time or another while people are coming in and exiting the club. Some going home because they do not want to be out too late, while others are just coming in to take the edge off after a long day. Either way, Lois and Clark are greeted when they step in - perhaps even being asked for their IDs (because it's just a thing his bouncers do) and then they're let inside.

Still on the piano, Lucifer is now mid-way through a song. "If I'm a Pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight. To keep the Goddess on my side, she demands a sacrifice. Drain the whole sea! Get something shiny! ...Something meaty for the main course. That's a fine lookin' high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful. That looks tasty. That looks plenty...this is hungry work...take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I'll tell you my sins, so you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death, good god, let me give you my life.." He repeats the chorus and glances towards the door, a grin and a wink to Lois before one eyebrow raises and he just .... grins again ... preparing to end the song a moment later.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's smile is superficially benign, he's heard this one before, but each rendition is a little different. And then there's the comings and the goings, the filters in his mind that just allow for the omnipresent awareness of the minds around him. Not a man that likes being taken by surprise, is Essex. Lucifer smiled to the entrance, that wicked grin he gives so very well... Sinister merely looks, reaching for a tall tumbler of fine cognac that was left at his booth, viewing the smoky gown through the haze of amber liquid, the benign smile turns a little wicked, but he doesn't interrupt, hail or otherwise.

No, far too busy looking at the lumbering oaf that came in with her doing a mental checklist that is firmly creating catagories to put Clark into, potentially none of which are accurate. And surely elsewhere, people are celebrating by kissing the ground and praising the man of steel. That'll be tomorrow's news.

His eyes travel back to Lois and he nods toward her. Gunmetal grey they are and shrewd, rather than burning ruby red. That tends to give the wrong impression when you're incognito, after all.

And in the HVaC of Lux, tiny particulates are lodged in the HEPA filters. They might do nothing at all. They're due to be changed soon anyway. Hopefully none of them dislodge, that would be bad.

Lois Lane has posed:
The ten minute warning was appreciated, even if it means Lois chain smoked outside of the club waiting for him. She certainly wasn't going to go in solo looking like this! It'd either be an insult to her outfit or, worse, make her a target for every single guy in the place with bad presumptions. Still, she looks a little surprised when he only shows up ten minutes late AND is dressed classy, if a bit old fashioned. Any annoyance behind her smile melts away as she slips a skinny arm through his elbow. "Mm... kept your word about the ten minutes. And you clean up pretty damn nice. I'll let it pass. For now. You owe me a drink, Kansas." She winks to him, heading in the door.

Once through the usual dance of IDs, coat check, and the like, Lois has let Clark's arm go but is still staying fairly close to him as they walk in on the cover of Hozier. A gently impressed nod comes from her, approving, in Lucifer's direction, but she's headed to the bar for the moment. She walks like a woman who has worn the hot underwear, knows she looks good, and knows how to work it, her hips swaying just a bit more than usual beneath that mini skirt and her heels stepping with confidence. "Ahh... start me with a dirty gin martini. Hendricks, at least, the good stuff."

She feels the brush of eyes on her, still a little paranoid after the previous week, and her head turns to toss a blue eyed look in Sinister's direction. She vaguely recognizes the man, having been to this club many times, so instead of giving the 'f*ck off' glare that she often does, he too received a gentle inclination of her head in greeting. But she's sticking close to Clark tonight. Close enough that, for the first time, Lois Lane *may* have brought a proper date.

Superman has posed:
There's an unfortunate moment where it looks like Clark may have misplaced his wallet and thus his identification, leading to a relaxed but tedious interaction with the bouncer as Clark paws at his pockets -- only to, at the end, raise his hand in a pointing voila and reach inside his jacket to an inner pocket. When they're finally waved in, he gives the other man a wink and a finger gun. "Thanks, my man," the corn-fed yokel declares. He knows how to be hip and cool. That's why his jaw only slightly drops when he enters the main lounge, gazing over the high ceilings and myriad lights. It's all so shiny and outside his typical venue.

"You know, Lois, I'm something of a dancer," he remarks as they stroll in together, listening to the pleasant piano and accompanying song. "Back at Smallville High, I was voted Most Likely To Break It Down." One hand slides toward his belt and his other arm slices through the air in staggered horizontal swipes. "I'm bad."

This is definitely a true story, and it wasn't ironic at all, and no, the vote wasn't actually Most Likely To Break It, where It can be substituted for literally anything, given Clark's notorious clumsiness.

"But, uh, it has been a bit since I last boogied, so maybe a bit of lubrication beforehand will help the old joints." He nods toward the bar, sensing Lois is already heading there. "I'll take what she's having," he follows up with. Clark's not much of a drinker himself, and will follow Lois' lead. When she has her brief staring contest with Sinister, mild-mannered Kent leans in. "Friend of yours, Lois?"

Lucifer has posed:
First, Lucifer finishes his song and he finishes it well. Second, a DJ finally comes on to follow Hozier with some other music from the late 90s and early 00s that are more dance-able and such. Third...

One step. Two step. Suddenly Lucifer isn't at the piano. Instead, his impeccable three-piece suit black with red undertones and a red handkerchief tucked in the left breast pocket can be seen behind the bar. Right where Lois and Clark have walked up to and he gives his signature grin(tm) that could make cold butter melt. "How dirty do you like your martini's Miss Lane?" He asks this simply before his eyes shift to Clark who asks for the same thing. "Ah, I guess the same question goes for you as well. Lois, you didn't tell me you'd be bringing along a tall glass of charmingly handsome with you..."

As for Sinister? The cognac was from Lucifer, of course, and it's very likely that since Lucifer has moved, Sinister will as well. Though it's going to be a wonder how Lucifer moved from bottom floor to top floor and behind the bar so quickly.

Sinister has posed:
It will take Sinister a little while to get there, he has stairs to march up, after all. The swift arrival of the Host though, is no surprise to him. The phone is picked up, glanced at and with the press of a button he locks the screen, sliding it into his waistcoat pocket. Then he and his glass of cognac are sallying forth, moving in a perhaps semi-familiar way if Lois watches at all -- gliding through people as if he just knows where they'll be in advance of them moving. Never once a collision, only composed grace.

He dallies to greet one of the wait staff on the way up as they're coming down and arrives precisely as he means to, well put together and owning his personal space as he slides onto the end of the bar, fishing for cigarettes that he does not bother to light. It just sits on his lips as he looks along the bar to the visiting dignitries of the night.

This is Lucifer's spotlight after all, he does the schmoozing so well.

Lois Lane has posed:
As Clark extoles his virtues at dancing, Lois tries not to wince. There's a creep of a blush up her cheeks, however, that isn't about her being flattered. Maybe pulling him to this club wasn't the best idea, but they're here now. She gives him a smile of her own that almost mirrors his awkwardness. "Clark. We... uh... They don't call it 'breaking it down' any more. Or boogeying. But, we *can* dance. And take it slow. But, a few drinks might be a wise idea. Careful with the gin, it'll hit you faster than you realize, even at your size." Lois seems fairly certain she's got more tolerance drinking than he does, even if he's easily twice her size. She has more experience.

Then she's looking back to Lucifer who almost magically appears behind the bar. The awkwardness melts out of her smile to something more sly and nearly flirtatious. She clearly knows the man, "Oh, darling, you know I like things dirty but don't sully the good gin *too* much, hmm?" She teases him softly, "And go gentle on Kansas here. He's new. To martinis, at least. Clark Kent, meet Lucifer Morningstar. Lucifer... this is my, ah... Colleague? I'd say apprentice, but he's learned pretty well, I suppose he's graduated the school of Lois. Clark." She winks at Clark as he remains at her side. Blue gray eyes then flicker over his hulking shoulder, tracing Sinister's movements through the crowd. She is curious if he's joining them or not.

Superman has posed:
Up until this moment, Clark Kent was not self-conscious. He's been to school dances growing up, and there was that wedding he attended a few years ago in Smallville when a former schoolmate invited him, so he's confident in his moves -- but when Lois stares at him in secondhand embarrassment and barely suppresses a wince, he realizes all at once that his finely-honed social instincts might be slightly maladjusted here.

He sets himself down on a stool and places his hands in his lap and sits up straight and tense like a boy being lectured by a schoolteacher. "I-I'll be fine, Lois," he reassures her, shoulders slumping. He's just a big lump of meat now. "Really, they don't say boogie anymore?" His breath releases in a heartbroken sigh and he melts into that stool, practically fusing with it as he goes all limp noodle. "But..."

At this point, the Morningstar has arrived, and Clark lifts his eyes. Through the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes appear a moist and faded blue, and larger than they really are. He's got a face that near everyone thinks is familiar, but ultimately can't put a finger on it -- he's just Mr. Generic. The man next door, wherever next door happens to be. When Lois' tone becomes so flirtatious, the ox of a man fidgets and looks away. "That's, gosh, one hell of a name, pardon my French," he says, forcing a chuckle and a lopsided smile. "Clark Kent, journalist for the Daily Planet. It's a pleasure to meet you, um... Mr. Morningstar."

No, there's no way he's calling someone Lucifer.

Lucifer has posed:
"Oh you know me, I'd never dirty your *gin* too much..." Lucifer offers to Lois after a moment and then skillfully goes about taking top shelf gin, dry vermouth, and olive juice into a shaker. Some ice and then it's a click, shake, pop and drain of gin and mixer into a chilled martini glass. Good thing he's made enough for two since Clark didn't really answer his question concerning the drink. One more chilled martini glass filled, two olives on a toothpick placed in each and then he's serving them to the lady and gentleman.

"For knowledge's sake, we never charge for the first drink. Always on the house. After that, you can pay per drink or open a tab. If you decide to only drink the one that's fine too. We also offer a selection of the best bar food this side of the bridge and...I think that's it." His grin never fades and he serves himself a glass of whiskey - despite his other being on the piano still Or is it?

A shift of his blue gaze to find Clark's own even behind those thick frames, he tilts his head but only just. "Please. Mr. Morningstar is so...formal. But I think there's an aversion to my actual name. I can't help to have the name I was given. Family legacy and all that." A laugh comes from him then before he shrugs. "So what can you call me, hmm? There's always Baelzebub - that's a popular one. Ah...Satan? Which is really just an anagram of Santa..." He could go on listing names. Really. Don't underestimate him.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister definitely was joining them. Did join them, he's there at the end although apparently this is not the place he's going to remain. He was just waiting until -that- punter moved their butt out of the stool to go dance or use the washroom, to slide along and occupy a closer spot. His cognac is raised to the dirty martini's and he leans closer toward Lucifer, unlit cigarettes a'dangling. There's two, you see. "There's also the Lightbringer, which might be a better overall nomination, Luci," Utterly English, just like the devil, but about as chalk and cheese as you can get with the tone and overall speechpatterns, Essex looks along the bar to the two reporters, now much closer. "Good evening, miss Lane. Mister Kent..." and here he leans a little toward the oafish one "...I advise just going with it. It might be an affectation, it may be a stage name, it might just be godgiven, but he gets utterly precocious and irrepressable if you give him a soft underbelly to poke at."

Lois Lane has posed:
While Lois wasn't the most kind about Clark's dancing, as she sees the big man slump at her side with her words, there's a flicker of guilt through her eyes. "But... hey. I brought you here because I *wanted* to dance and I'm sure it'll come back to you easy. So, boogie or not... *Will* you give me a dance tonight, Clark?" She doesn't even call him Kansas. That is as warm, respectful, and hopeful as Lois Lane ever gets. It was practically a formal invitation from a very informal woman, but she's trying for him. He might actually matter to her. Lucifer hasn't ever seen her act like this before.

Then Lucifer is going on about his name, and Lois winces just a bit. She can only imagine what good, god-fearing, midwestern proper raised Clark Kent is thinking. She scoops up her drink as pale eyes flicker between the two in a half panic. "Ah... Clark is a little old fashioned, Lucifer. Don't worry much about it. And Lucifer likes... well... He likes to show off his supposed family legacy, Clark. All in fun and entertainment, of course!" She practically echoes Sinister's words, but she gives the man a nod in agreement as he's giving Clark some good advice. And a small, thankful look across the bar top.

Superman has posed:
"I don't mean to be rude," Clark apologizes, rubbing the back of his head as Lucifer goes over various names. "But I'm a little uncomfortable with all of those. Do you have anything less infernal?" His fingers curl against his nape as he scratches. "Or, um, your birth name? I know, themed club and all, the name was clever, so I get needing a stage name, but, uh." Clark Kent's got the usual reaction Lucifer's probably found in the genuinely religious but non-confrontational sorts: vague discomfort with no desire to make a scene.

Yet that mouse-meek spirit hides the stubbornness of a mule. Clark chews and locks his jaw, lips pressed into a firm line as Sinister speaks and he considers the matter with all due seriousness. His hand reaches down and wraps around the drink and he drains it in an instant, face puckering for only a moment. Alcohol will always be an acquired taste, and it is clear he's not acquired it.

"Right. I guess if it's your name, it's your name. A pleasure to meet you, Lucifer." In the end, being polite has won out over his distaste for invoking the Devil himself. He reaches out and offers his hand to shake. Clark's got the look of someone with a strong, firm handshake, but if put to the test he has a shockingly timid grip made all the worse by his earnest enthusiasm -- the arm pumps, but the hand kind of flops.

"And good evening, sir. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name. Is it themed, too? Abadon? Belphegor? You don't look like an Asmodeus.." Clark chuckles and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, before nodding to Lois. "Well. Any friend of Lois' is a friend of mine. I'm very happy to meet you both. And I would be happy to, Lois."

Lucifer has posed:
"Well. I'm not considering it rude, per se..." Lucifer offers while glancing to Kent, taking that hand to shake gently. "However, even a religious person, would know that my name is in the bible as either Lucifer, or a name that I must admit is a private name that I don't really give out to just anyone.." He winks Clark's way then. "I mean, you're handsome...a catch, really...but you're just not the one who is deserving of knowing that name."

A glance of his eyes to Lois then and he bows his head. "Of course... there's Lightbringer. You can simply call me Morningstar without the Mister..." He shrugs then and lifts his glass for a sip of whiskey. Shifting forward to take one of the cigarettes from Sinister - a snap of his fingers produces fire which they use to light the cigarettes. Don't let that fool you. New York is home to many a mutant, witch, or metahuman.

"Amadeus. That'd be an interesting name to have. Especially if that same person is a lover of Mozart." He grins still. "So...Lois...did you bring your date here to officially make me jealous? Cause...it might be working."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister arches one eyebrow at Lucifer's last words, sucking on the cigarette and easing back to exhale it through his nose, blinking once, slowly, then with a twitch of lips in amusement, he looks along the bar toward Clark. "My name is not remotely infernal, good sir. My name is Nathaniel. Doctor Nathaniel Essex, in its fullest. I'm something of a bar fly here, I find the place conducive to thinking and getting work done, because I'm quite probably a little cuckoo, when it comes down to it. The guy in the corner, people watching and writing equasions for the synthesis of intracellular enzymes. I consider it an exercize in focus, I suppose..." he smiles more genuinely. But he's still studying the pair with his shrewd greys.

A couple of particles of dust dislodge, drift through the ventilation system, blowing their merry way where the air-flow takes them. There are calculations of significance that might shed light on the probability of some of that dust landing on fertile ground, but wouldn'tcha just know it, dirty martinis make for an infinitessimally small splashlanding. One got stuck on an olive. The other might be lost to being vacuum'd up later, by the janitor.

Sinister downs his cognac and sets it on a bar mat, flicking ash into one of the perpetually present trays.

Lois Lane has posed:
As Clark stumbles over things with Lucifer, Lois' eyes get a little more frantic. She wanted to have a nice night, and now he's more worried about Lucifer's name than accepting her invitation to dance. She's about to protest just a bit more when he does, finally, say he's up for the dance. That gets a bit of a smile from her. "Then...we'll dance. Finish our drinks, and we'll dance." She reassures him, like that could soothe any ruffled feathers from the controversy of Lucifer's name.

Then her pale eyes are turning back to Lucifer, practically BEGGING him to play nice as she takes a long, deep drink from her martini. She half coughs on it as he asks about her date, shaking her head too firmly, "W-what? No, no, I mean, we're... we're colleagues. Co-workers. I wouldn't... this isn't exactly a... I mean, I asked *him* to come out. It's not really a ... date date." She's just dressed the nicest Lucifer has ever seen her.

Utterly oblivious to the dust in her martini, and on that olive, Lois reaches the toothpick of olives to her lips. She pops two of them off, munching happily on salt before she rambles on more and more about this not being a date. Sinister is given a smile and a little salute with her now-empty toothpick. She clearly is on at least vaguely familiar terms with the doctor. Probably from both of them being bar flies here.

Superman has posed:
Even an infinitesimal mote of dust is perceivable by Clark when he cares to look for it -- but there is a difference between the ability to do something and actually doing it. To let his senses rampage unchecked at all times would be a chaotic and mind-numbing overload of stimuli, and besides, dust is dust; if he let his vision behave telescopically at all times, he would put himself in a state of perpetual nausea from the sheer enormity of tiny, gross things in the universe.

And so, when Lois chews the toothpick and the olive, there's no reason for Clark to look too deeply at it. It happens without a care in the world.

"It's more a thank-you than a date," Clark mentions, though he's noticeably less embarrassed by the suggestion than Lois is. "If I'm being honest, I'm a little bit of a workaholic, and my social life's a bit..." He trails off and lets the implication speak for itself. "But Lois here, well, she decided to pull me out of my cave. Winter's over, Clark, hibernation's done." He smiles once more, his lips lopsided and uneven -- only the left side of his mouth really lifts, dimpling his cheek.

"A doctor? Well, that sounds very impressive, Nathaniel. I'm not sure what synthesizing intracellular enzymes involves, but there's nothing more noble than the pursuit of wisdom, if you ask me. It's the knowledge-seekers and the builders that bring mankind forward."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer lifts a finger and gives Lois a smirk. "Lois Lane. This is the Twenty-first century. You can just as easily and openly ask a man out on a date as a man could ask you on a date. And I think it's pretty sexy that you would do such a thing in a forward way." He grins then, taking another sip of his whiskey and drag off his ciagrette. The smoke goes upward towards the ventilation system that sucks rather than the other that blows.

Eyes drift back over to Clark after a moment and he tilts his head one way and then the other. "So you work your fingers to the bone, likely in the same way that Lois can tend to get lost in her work..." A pause. "By the by, I read the article from your last visit here. Nicely done. Shame it had to be ran in the Enquirer rather than the Daily..." He offers this much and then grins.

To what Clark says in regards to Sinister, Lucifer doesn't comment. He just tosses a grin towards his lover and gives the man a wink. "You know, I think a dance sounds fun. What about you, Nathaniel? Care to cut a rug?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister clicks his finger and points toward Clark. "I like this man!" he declares, with a chuckle. "Sometimes, I wish that more people heeded that kind of credo, I swear... not enough people follow the science and there's certainly not enough STEM foundations out there." He says with a look toward Lois there, with a wink though he does not comment on the last scoop from her previous visit. He wasn't there, of course. Leastwise, not with this face on. The chances are reasonably strong that he's encountered mockery or worse, the abject rejection of logic and evidence a time or two in the past. "I'm a neurosurgeon, though I've done my fair share of cardio-vascular and general surgery, and I'm a geneticist." <<A>> Geneticist. That might be the king of understatements for the night, but he says it matter of factly. "Although I can't claim to have any accolades under my belt in the public eye, at any rate." Imagine the controversy if Sinister had won a nobel prize, that would have been a strange day in bizarroworld.

But then there's the queston "Oh, I think I could be persuaded, darling" he hands his spent cigarette over to the devil and slips gracefully from his seat, offering an open palm to the Host of Lux, glancing to the not-on-a-date pair of reporters. It might be encouragement. It's a catchy tune.

Lois Lane has posed:
"I mean, if you *wanted* it to be a date, it... well, yes. It's still good to get Clark out of his cave. And after I made fun of his boogey-ing earlier, he's probably going to wipe the dance floor with me because the universe has a funny sense of revenge like that." Lois is only half teasing there, but she does seem to be more genuinely relaxed in the presence of this hunky mid-western goodie two shoes. Lois Lane might actually have a proper best friend, if not more.

Then Lucifer is mentioning the article from her last time here and Lois gives a husky little laugh, shaking her head, "No way Perry White is printing anything about Owl people, whether it's REAL or not. I got it printed. We'll see if SHIELD comes after me or not, but I suspect they don't give a shit about the Enquirer. So... got printed and paid. I'll take it as a win." And she lifts her glass, motioning it in a toast to both of them before knocking back a last deep gulp of her martini, finishing the thing off.

Then the proper dance invitation between the pair of gentlemen come, and Lois smiles a bit wider. She looks from Sinister back to Clark, offering her hand palm up with a wide smile, "Come on, Kansas. If they're going to break the ice on the dance floor, least we can do is give support. Show me those moves, Kent." She winks to him, hopefully eager to follow the other pair out onto the dance floor.