4000/The Art of the Prank

The Art of the Prank
Date of Scene:	02 November 2020
Location:	Downtown - New Troy
Synopsis:	Lois and Clark burn the midnight oil on a stakeout in New Bohemia. But what is the terrible secret of the Invisible Courier, and can our reporters stop an art theft ring before the Prankster takes it personal?!
Cast of Characters:	Lois Lane, Clark Kent

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Lois Lane has posed:
It's getting to the point of being uncomfortably late on a Sunday night and Lois was going to regret this tomorrow morning, but they had some information that she trusted to actually be good, so she's agreed to the stake out. Granted, she only agreed by saying they'd do it together. She wasn't going to be stuck in her car all alone for hours on a Sunday, not when she could be home watching football.

They taken her car. Granted, they almost always take her car. It blends into the artist area a little more, and since she bought her baby about two years ago, she's been the driver every chance she gets. She loves the big, old 1962 El Dorado like she loves few other things in the world (maybe almost as much as Superman.) It's a pretty comfortable stake out car, big bench seats and lots of room for Clark's legs. She's currently got her own feet kicked up on the dashboard and the window cracked as she's smoking out of the side of it. There's chinese take out between them and a box of donuts.

"...I swear. I'm giving them another hour then calling it. This is taking so long the General Tso's is going to start growing a colony of something before one of these idiot shows their face." She mutters between drags of her cigarette.

Clark Kent has posed:
It's a nice night in Little Bohemia. The artist community is small, out of the way, but also a brisk walk away from Tiffany's, gateway to a world class jewelry district. This dichotimy defines the district, in Clark Kent's eyes, as he watches people try very hard to emulate the Bohemian ascetic of days past while playing with enough resources to have bought all of Greenwich Village back in the 60s. It's hard not to be cynical about the increasingly busniesslike nature of high art, a problem that went all the way back to Warhol realizing you could take a picture of a soup can and sell it for a fortune the people who made the cans would never see, but like all of the best spots in Metropolis, there were amazing people working to do amazing things. This was a city that refused to acknowledge the malaise that still threatened to swallow the rest of the country...

I'm editorializing, Clark thinks to himself, feeling too big for the world again. He starts correcting his perceptions down to the palpable facts: he is here with the person who is not his partner despite their editor thinking differently, waiting to see if a local rising star (one Gertrude Huttle) is what she says she is. Gertrude made her splash recreating sets of an old, local, once-beloved childrens television show; she'd recreate the characters in daring, modern designs, explore what she claimed were obvious socio-political statements baked into characters like Aunt Sussy and Bean the Vegan Bear, and she'd contrast these works of animatronic design and feltcraft with stark, grim pictures of where their creator'd ended up.

Yes, Gertrude Huttle had made quite a career for herself off of the world of Oswald Loomis.

What he and Lois wanted to know was where she was getting the Prankster's old stuff. They suspected a dead drop delivery system, where known smugglers anonymously dropped off pieces of memorabilia. Another ingenious innovation, or so it's suspected, by our friends at Intergang. At best, this was mildly illegal. What Superman feared, was that Ms. Huttle would start wanting to work with more than Uncle Oswald's old puppets and sets sooner or later...not to mention what Loomis himself thought of the whole situation.

Clark takes a donut (apple cider, glazed) and carefully holds a white paper napkin over the treat. He dips it into his coffee with an almost dainty amount of care, especially for a big guy like Clark, but...he's not stupid enough to spill anything in Lois's baby. "They've got to show up soon, Lois. Huttle's promised a new exhibit in a few days."

Lois Lane has posed:
Another careless flick of ash out the window and she sinks down in the leather bench seat a bit deeper, stretching out legs and feet across that dash in an almost feline way, but it's mainly clear she's just getting restless as hell. Lois Lane wasn't a still still and wait kind of person. "...Doing dead drops of old Loomis Memoraibilia at midnight on a Sunday is... about as ridiculous as gang activity gets, Kansas, but I'll take your word on this one." She always called him 'Kansas' when she was getting particularly sassy, or he was doing something particularly wholesome. In this case? It's both. She side eyes him with the donut, full mouth pulling into a bit of an amused smirk. "Though, I guess if it means I watch you be almost reverent to an apple cider donut, it's worth it."

She then flicks her cigarette out the window, grabbing her DSLR that she's got balanced in her lap. She shifts it up onto her knees, using the display basically as binoculars. She can see things far closer through it, the zoom function truly miraculous, and then she can snap photos if they do see something. "Place...still looks dead. And needs another coat of paint."

Clark Kent has posed:
'Kansas', Clark thinks, 'I've got about fifteen minutes, at best, before she just charges in there demanding information.'

"A lead on the new gray market for supervillain toys isn't worth the wait for you?" Clark asks, mildly, aware his not going for Lois's bait is just going to get her more upset. In the back of his mind, Clark's real concern is that everything is going so slow because Loomis has already killed everyone involved for daring to exploit his work without cutting him in on the profit or credit. It's leaving him a little antsy in his own, block-like way, worrying away at his donut like a mouse slowly chewing its way through a wooden block.

Clark notices he's doing this when Lois points it out. Massive shoulders shrug. "I'll kill myself my way, you kill yourself yours, I suppose." A quiet look at one of Lois's preferred vices.

Lois Lane has posed:
That last comment of his gets another smirk from her, but also a fond, quietly side eyed look that makes that smirk look something a little closer to a smile. "...it's cute, Kansas. You're being *cute*. It makes this... bearable. I guess." That's the closest thing she's gotten to a compliment in a long while, but the tone of her voice and breath says she genuinely means it. Even if her normal hard as nails attitude had to add that little 'guess' at the end. Just so he doesn't think she's getting soft.

Then she's going back to focusing the camera. She's shifted to manually focusing, even if the modern camera could do most of the work for her. She still has some old fashioned habits and insists she gets more out of the focus when she's doing it hands on and not letting the computer do the thinking. "...How likely you think it is Loomis has just already offed everyone for usin' his work?" It's like she's reading his mind. They really have worked together too long.

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark is a little surprised by Lois's sudden sincerity. It's not unwelcome, of course, just...well he does a double take, before putting on a warm smile of his own. "No one I'd rather freeze in a car made before central heating was invented than you, Miss Lane." It'd taken a year of knowing Lois to wean Clark off of calling her 'Miss Lane' and he still likes to tease her a little with the formality. You know, like friends do.

Clark sighs as Lois puts his fears to words, as eloquently as ever. "I don't..." Clark trails off, wondering how knowledgeable of Superman's enemies he wants to seem. It's Lois, though, and he is a Daily Planet staffer. No one who's done the crime beat hasn't studied the varied and horrific super-villains who see in Metropolis what a thrill seeking skier sees in a triple diamond slope. You had to know, or you'd be dead. "...it's kind of subtle, for him, isn't it? You'd expect a big show where he electrocuted them on national television, or shows off the fine details of the nerve gas he slipped into their salt shakers while they were asleep."

"But maybe. Money does things to him-remember his first caper, where he just wanted to write a book about fighting Superman?" Clark doesn't need cameras, but his super-vision isn't picking anything up either, yet. He wonders if Intergang's thought of a way around that, too.

Lois Lane has posed:
The Miss Lane gets a good roll of her eyes, the usual reaction, but she's hiding a smile behind fussing with her camera. She likes it, when he gets like that, even if she wouldn't admit it. "Makin' me feel old again, with that Miss Lane shit." She mutters teasingly. But then it's back to work, the consideration of the old super criminal's habits. She makes a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat, no suspicion about the man at her side and his seeming knowledge of all this. They'd both been studying the old cases for a while.

"....Yeah. Shit. Really subtle. If he wants revenge, he's gonna pin her up in one of her own installations using his stuff. Though... " Lois looks momentarily uncomfortable at just how likely that is to be. "...I hope she's got some body guards, messing with this stuff. Maybe I should try to get in on her staff. keep eyes closer to the projects, see who she's working with that way. Perry would let me go in long term undercover... Right? If I asked real nice?" Or didn't tell him she was doing it at all!

Clark Kent has posed:
Here we go.

Clark leans back, not liking the idea of Lois playing bodyguard for a rogue artist. But...well, it's a good idea, and what is he going to say? 'I can't imagine what I'd do if you got really hurt this time?'. Their splitting up is ideal, even, giving Clark enough distance from Lois to switch identities at will, something he might need to do for this case. 'It's not as fun when we're split up?', she'd laugh in his face.

"You could probably make the case." Clark says, mildly, "As long as you pay for your own disguise kit. None of her public appearences have involved a bodyguard..."

Clark's eyes narrow as he sees a subtle change in the wall against Huttle's apartment. "Check out by the fence." Clark whispers, trying to pick up on what exactly dropped what he suspects is a package off. The figure isn't coming up on X-Ray, Microscopic, or Macroscopic vision, he can't even see any radio waves or any figure's impression against the air flow!

Lois Lane has posed:
The question of playing bodyguard is immediately dropped as they might actually have a lead. Lois moves quick but subtly, no jerky motions to pull attention from people outside the car to the fact they are inside. She's remarkably sleek when she wants to be, pulling her feet down and setting that camera up on her dash instead. She doesn't have microscopic vision, but she does have a 1,000 zoom lens and over a decade working the camera for journalism.

"...Something's there. A package, it seems. I'm trying to get a focus on what dropped it but... shit. Maybe I can move us a bit closer. Do a drive by, if you can keep the camera looking out. Hate to turn the car on now, though, and maybe spook them..." Adrenaline starts thrumming through her body now, heart quicker, body ready to work. It's the mood she gets when she's tempted to just dash out into the night and stalk after their mysterious package leaver. She's not *doing* it. Yet. But she's impulsive, sharp, and excited. She's ready for excitement.

Clark Kent has posed:
Of the Daily Planet trio, Clark knows he is absolutely the worst at the camera. Sometimes he and technology just don't get along, which is kind of weird when you think about it, but it is what it is. He takes the camera anyway, nodding to Lois to move the car. This is their best chance to get proof.

He also keeps liberally irradiating the area with his various vision powers. If it was Gate, or another criminal teleporter, he'd notice right? It must be some kind of suit...

...there, Clark thinks, as he desperately tries the slightest amount of heat vision. He can see the heat reacting with a vaguely humanoid form that's booking it through an alley. Intergang really has developer a nearly perfect invisibility suit.

All of this staring means Clark is fumbling with the camera as they get in close, and the artist herself works her way out of her apartment, looking around nervously like a total novice having made a deal with the black market.

Lois Lane has posed:
The moment Lois gets the thumbs up, she starts the engine, the old thing giving a quietly rumbling purr, as she starts the drive past the place. "If you get sight of anything, just tell me what corner to take to keep eyes on it. I think I can fit down that side street in this thing, it'll just be...Close." Lois has gotten her ridiculously large car into tighter places before. She knows how to handle the thing like no one else. It really is her baby.

"And looks like our artist is out for the pick up too. So, she's definitely getting drops from someone. Get a few shots of her if you can. It'll add to the expose` no matter what we print." Lois' voice is all business now. For as much as she screws around, sometimes, feels like a slack ass on the job, and experiments with more vices than your regular rave kid, when the time for work comes, she's one of the sharpest in the business.

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark's mind is racing. They have something like that and they're using it for drop-offs? Is it a test, or do they just have that many suits? How is he supposed to trace the untraceable? And if it is a test, how much longer do they have before the idea of mass production is a serious threat? Should he contact the League? Karen, at least...

Oh, right, his other job. Clark almost squeaks; he always does his best work alone, sometimes from the most embarrassing places. Slow, methodical, but insightful enough that Perry's yet to find an excuse to fire him. Still, Lois's talking snaps Clark out of his Superman thoughts, and he takes four pictures in rapid succession as they drive by. One, he hopes, might even be useable, thanks to how ridiculously expensive this camera is. Auto-focus is a hell of a drug.

"What now?" Clark whispers, as if the artist was the one with super-hearing, "Do another pass around, or get out of here?"

Lois Lane has posed:
"Well, did you see something? Who the hell did the drop off? Let's try to catch them, if we can. Which way do you THINK they went?" Lois has no clue about his worries, is just as confused about how little she could see of who dropped the package. At his best guess, she turns the car down that side of the street, half watching the street and half watching the side of the road. She truly looks ready to half jump out of the car and go dashing after the person who did the drop, if she could find them. Fortunately, she's not seeing a target.

"...If we lost'em, we did. I guess at least we got a photo of her. I'll see if I can get in with her operation tomorrow. But hell. Now I'm awake." Lois has all that restless energy, hours of doing nothing saved up and spilled into these five minutes of adrenaline and it's already over? Her ice pale blue eyes narrow at the block again, looking for any glimmer of someone else to follow. Another bit of action.

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark holds on for dear life as Lois abuses physics to squeeze them into the alley. He has no idea how she does it, she's worse than Bruce when it comes to big physics defying car tricks. The mopping of his brow isn't entirely exaggerated.

"I don't see anything." It's not a lie, for once. "Could be a teleporter? Intergang's got that guy, Warp, on the regular payroll, but he's not exactly invisible. I don't see any footprints or anything..."

Identity. "...but my eyes aren't what they were." Clark admits, rubbing the back of his head. "Used to be able to hit a can from across the back 40..."

Clark frowns as he tries to think of options that don't put Lois in deadly danger. "...you're going to be careful, this time, at least? Please? Prankster's gotten more lethal over the years, it's like he's taken the Gotham set personally."

Lois Lane has posed:
As there's nothing more to chase, Lois lets out a little huff and finishes getting them down the alley, back onto the next street over, but things are dead and quiet now. They got a few pictures. It's better than nothing. She swings back into traffic, heading back towards the Daily Planet on habit alone, though it's horrily late. She'd probably work into the night prepping a few click bait pieces for the morning so she could get her daily quota out.

"That's... an awful lot of shit to go through -- teleporter or something -- just to drop off some old momentos. Damn. So...who is to realy gain by leaking this stuff out? That's the question." She drives with a single hand as the other taps out one of the Newports from the soft back in her car door. She uses lips to grab the filter and then her free hand to light it, window half cracked open. "Careful?" She flashes him a teasing smile, "...As careful as I ever am. I'll watch my back. Really, don't you worry. How dangerous can weird art *really* be?" She tosses him a wink. That flirtaious, most certainly daring sort of wink that says she's probably not going to be much careful at all. But she'll get the job done.

Clark Kent has posed:
"Maybe a test?" Clark theorizes, leaning back in the car himself as he gets a bit frustrated. It doesn't make sense, unless there's another actor here. An unknown element. Deadly danger for the Daily Planet crew!

Another day on the job, Clark reflects, blowing air out of his nose in what he hopes is an adequate response to Lois very nearly lying to his face. He wishes, sometimes, he could say no a little longer to her. She's just...

"Well I guess that makes me Jimmy for this story." Clark says, smiling a little. "Say, does that mean I finally get to drive your car?"

Lois Lane has posed:
His comment about driving her car gets a momentary, dead pan look. "...Clark. This is my baby. I gotta be unconscious or dying in that seat if you're driving it. Otherwise, I take care of baby." Lois grins to him, her free hand stretching over and patting the dash reassuringly, like the car might be worried she's talking about it. She really did love the thing.

"But, you can be Jimmy for the story, if you insist. Perry shoved us on this together and I'm not a complete asshole to leave you behind. I promise. Though..." She frowns out the window, realizing she had turned down the street for the Daily Planet just automatically, like it's programmed into her body. "I was going back to the office. Get a head start on a bit of tomorrow. You want me to drop you off at home? ONE of us should get sleep."

Clark Kent has posed:
Clark pauses. A relaxed evening drove home sounds...well, it sounds pretty nice, even if ten years experience says it isn't going anywhere. Maybe some actual, non-work conversation would clear his head enough to figure out what Intergang's up to.

"Look at it this way, I can call Superman for you when something goes wrong." Clark says, giving Lois a little smirk he usually doesn't do around...much of anyone. "That actually sounds..."

Clark's ears perk. Halfway across the city, the one man Riot has broken into what can only be thought of as a flash crime, dozens of his duplicates breaking shop windows, exploding ATMs, and even stealing cars in horrible precision. It's a job for Superman.

"..but I think I need to take the bus. Got to pick up my laundry." Clark says, apologetically, moving to step out of the car. "See you in a few hours?"

Lois Lane has posed:
"...Bus? Laundry... What?" Lois pulls to a stop, fairly used to, at this point, the strange moods and excuses that Clark gets on occasion. It's not uncommon, it's always just a little weird. She double parks, setting her flashers on and unlocking the doors, though she's frowning after him. "If you insist, uh... Yeah. Do that. But I could take you home, really..." She knows the protests aren't going to much help. "...Well, see you in a few hours. Do get some sleep, sometime in there." Advice she could take herself, probably.