"Lois, your cooking is terrible.."

Summary:
December 17, 2014: Clark arrives to get Lois out of cooking class, then talks of visiting New York for Vanessa Johnson's funeral is had.

Macys

Its hell to a normal shopper. Pots and pans and shit. Oh god.


Characters

NPCs

  • Ivana Braum-Gorensdottir
  • Classmates
  • Chefs

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


Tuesday night. Lois left the house, and came back a couple of hours later with two bags of groceries and some random Joe from the street to help carry it up. Two hours later, she nearly burned the kitchen down with some weird jacked up surprise that she claimed her mother used to make.

Not even close.

Wednesday morning, came work. Work from home, amirite? In which Lois hit up the local stores online and ordered a new set of kitchen ware that she ruined the night before, and signed them up for a quick cooking lesson to make Chicken Cordon Bleu in order to get the 100 dollar rebate attached to the deal. Anything for a steal.

So, the phone call was placed, and she had to make it real good.

"Clark. I need help. Something's gone wrong, meet me at Macy's in the basement, silverware section, I'm trapped!" She tried to put on the waterworks, didn't help. But she did sound frantic enough to warrant alarm, she didn't want to be alone in this and Chicken Gordon Blew was good. Or was it Cordon. Whatever!

It's not too long later that Clark shows up looking towards Lois with an extremely odd look upon his face. It's not every day that someone gets trapped inside a department store. Well, perhaps that's not true, but it's rare that someone needs to make a phone call to be extricated.

Clark's head is tilted towards her as he approaches. "Lois? Is everything okay?" He's been busy this week and hasn't spent as much time as home as he'd have liked. He's worried, but he's always kind of worried about her.

When Lois turns around, it was quite the sight. Sure, there were other people surrounded by little counter tops with cookery placed atop of them, but Lois.. she's wearing a 'Kiss Me, I'm the Cook' apron, and she's actually wearing a pair of glasses due to losing a contact lense somewhere in the bathroom.

Maybe it was down the drain.

"Oh, thank god your here. I didn't have a partner. This lady is nuts."

She reaches out to try to grip his wrist to drag him over towards her station, her voice low as ever.

"So, I wanted to buy you a new set of pots and pans since I ruined the other ones. And.. this lady.."

She points to the tall russian woman who's currently washing her hands..

"..said that.. hey. If you buy this set, you get a hundred dollar rebate. So basically, I'm only paying 25 bucks. Right? Wrong. In order to get said rebate, I have to attend her cooking class. Which is fine, figure I could text some. Nope. No way. This woman is /evil/."

Clark walks slowly towards the counter and it's clear upon his face that he's wondering what in the world he has gotten himself into, or more accurately, what Lois has gotten him into. With a resigned sigh he reaches for the cuffs of his blue dress shirt and begins to roll them up.

"How is it that you always get me to do this kind of thing, again, Lois?"

He is kind of a sucker for her whims, it's true.

"SIIILENCE!" The large, robust woman snaps out, each member of the class snapping to an almost ten-hut, Lois' gaze falling darkly upon Clark. "Because I need someone to cry with me once this is all over."

"My nem is Ivana Braum Gorensdottir. And I ams your teecher." She picks up the knife, and begins to snap it against the palm of her hand. "Todayz.. ve vill be cooking shicken cordon bleu. And ve vill do it viff presicion, and ve vill ve essellent."

Lois snorts quietly, and the cool, deadly gaze of the woman shoots right towards her.

"Zomeving funny, Lewis Lene?"

"No Ma'am." Lois immediately perks out.

"Gud! Let us make vunderful food."

Clark nearly jumps as the woman yells at them. Silence? He can do silence. Far be it for Superman to be intimidated. He's stared into the face of evil more times than he can count, faced death and lived to laugh about it. He's done all sorts of things normal men cannot do, but normal man all bow to Ivana Braum Gorensdottir, clearly.

"What do I do?" he whispers to Lois, hoping that the drill sergeant doesn't hear them.

As soon as Ivana finishes her little spiel, men and women, dressed in their chef's best ushers their way from the kitchen area, laying cutting boards in front of each student composed of two freshly cut chicken breasts. Another row of chef's return to the students, unloading the ingredients for the nights class in front of them. They look so tired, so worn, and Ivana watches them with a critical eye, each lift of her chin causes at least one of the men and women to whimper and wince.

"Uh.. I don't know! I can't cook well!" Her voice was a little cracked as she spoke, leaning a little into him with a smile towards the Chef who quickly scurries away.

"Maybe we should start a fight.. I don't need that hundred bucks back anyways.."

Clark shakes his head, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Lois. I mean, we could just wait until they're not looking, grab your pots and then go. This was really a long way to go for this sort of thing. You didn't need to replace them."

"How is everything?" he asks. It could be taken as general or be taken is, how do you find the cramped quarters of my living space and I hope it's not weird that you sleep in my bed and I sleep on the couch.

Or something like that.

"I did. I'm a guest in your apartment. And I felt bad that I ruined something that wasn't mine. Plus, Christmas is coming. I know it's not a traditional gi-.."

"LEWIS LENE!" Ivana snaps out. "Is vat you're diskussin' betta then shicken gordon bleu?!"

Lois blanches, then slowly shakes her head. Ivana gives her a mean stare, then gets to the instructions. "Slice. Chop. Cut. Like brute."

Once Lois finds the time to whisper, she does, admists instructions. "Everything is okay, really." She was lying. "I'm worried about you, though. I don't like you sleeping on the couch."

"And spread ze spices ova ze shicken.."

"Do you remember how we first met? I'd hate for a replay and to ruin your feminine sensibilities."

Clark gives her raised eyebrows before he tries to look busy. "Don't worry about me, Lois. I'm happy to help. I like you there. It's like old times."

"We were kids then. Besides, we're adults. It's not like I'm going to scream at you because you left a sock on the floor."

Lois puts the spices on the chicken.. thusly avoiding.. the hose… whut..

"It can't be like old times, Smallville. You're barely even home. I wake up. You're gone. I come back, you're gone. I think you have a story or something that you're trying to hide from me because you think I'm going to steal your glory."

"Flip ze shicken over, like baby. Zis is your baby. And spices. Even spices. Like zis."

Ivana flourishes, and the students attempt to follow suit. One guy drops his chicken on the floor, which gains a look of ire from Ivana. "Did you just drop ze shicken." Deadpan stare.

"You have no idea," Clark says back. His face turns into a deep wince, feeling badly for the man who just dropped chicken upon the floor. This is not going to be good.

"It's /kind of/ like old times. I mean, it's good to have you around. And I'm sorry I haven't been; I've just been busy that's all. I'm just happy you're safe."

Ivana marches right up towards the man, her shoulders seemingly becoming broader as she nears the mewling man. He cringes, his body shaking as she leans in; the woman was a force to be reckoned with. Yet she'd cry tears of joy if Gordon Ramsey yelled and spit fury at a mistake she made on purpose just to gain his attention. Tonight though? She was the boss.

She unleashes hell, a slew of words in languages that weren't understood, all the while Lois slowly inches towards Clark even more, giving him a nudge and gesturing towards the box of pots and pans, then grabs her coat. "Run.." She whispers..

And then cuts out.

See, Lois was fearless. She could stare down the meanest of the mean and force them to confess. She could take out five armed guards with a fancy move or two without doing any damage..

And she could leave Clark in the dust when she's somewhere she doesn't want to be. Cause if he tries to follow her with his gaze alone? He'd only see her black hair dancing in the wind.

Clark is taken by surprise as Lois jets. He sets the food down and has to pause to rinse his hands because salmonella is pretty weak sauce. And even if he's Kryptonian and has no susceptibility to it, he certainly doesn't want to look as though he's going to give himself the sickness.

So it takes a bit longer to catch up to Lois, but eventually he's closing on her without looking too fast.

Lois was out the door, coat shrugged on, stopping to look towards Clark as she catches up with a smile. "You got the pots? Good. Starting a fight probably would have went bad. She may have given us black eyes."

She begins to walk now, taking the scenic route towards the front, her hands placed behind her back and folded with a bit of thought.

"I'm taking a funeral leave for a week. I know eventually Danver's is going to fire me or put me on some sort of probation for leaving so much, but this one is important."

"Funeral?" Clark follows behind and his mood goes from "I'm trying to catch up, here!" to somber in a split second. He hadn't known of any family or friends who had been sick. "Lois, I'm so sorry. Who was it? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It was a friend of mine from military school. We were thick as thieves but.. she had gotten sick over the years and we lost touch." She looks down as she continues to walk, looking up towards him. "Vanessa Johnson. Think it was some rare form of cancer. And I'm fine. I.. just haven't seen her in years and it's bad that the last image I'm going to have of her is her being put into the ground." She smiles for a moment, then looks up towards him. "I plan to be in New York by tomorrow night. So can you at least stay home? I enjoy being alone sometimes, but not if I'm not going to see you and the crew for a week or two."

"Vanessa Johnson?" Clark says. He hasn't heard of her, but that's not surprising. When Lois actually talks about something personal, she's usually on to the next thing so fast your head will spin. "New York? Lois? I'm not sure you should go by yourself. I mean, with everything you've been going through lately. Maybe you should at least let me take you up there and hang out till you get back."

"Yeah. She was one of those deaf friends I spoke to you about a long, long time ago. Taught me sign language."

"Clark, no. I don't need you to babysit me at every turn. Besides, I don't think that guy will follow me all the way to New York. And I'll be surrounded by her family. So there's really nothing for you to worry about."

"Lois," Clark has the full knowledge of what this guy is about, who he works with, and exactly how dangerous he is. How do you explain all that without explaining how you know? You can't. You just come off like a stalker. "I insist. Really."

Lois lets out a sigh. It's not that he was being bothersome, but if she were to get mixed up into something bad, she didn't want him to get hurt or be involved. Not by a long shot. But how can you tell a 6 foot 2 guy that you're protecting him? You don't.

"Alright. Fine. But you're telling Danvers. And you're carrying the luggages. /And/ cooking dinner for tonight. I swear, we're going to get fired, you know that? We're like the only two people who take off more than.. what's that one guys name?"

She's snapping her fingers now..

"You know, that one guy who takes off for every religion that he doesn't practice."

"Smith. He took off for Ramadan, even though Muslims don't take off for Ramadan," Clark says. Suddenly he comes to a stop, "I'm not worried about being fired, Lois. I'm worried about you." He looks back at her as she undoubtedly walks a few paces ahead.

"Listen, I don't know how to tell you this. But I really need to be honest."

"Smith! That's right. Did you know he tried to claim something about a National Zenu holiday and tried to get a months leave for worship? That guy is a piece of work."

She speaks as she walks ahead, then stops with a slight turn, a smile upon her face as her head tilts a little.

"Honest about what?" She takes a few steps forward, the smile she once had fading rather quickly. "Are you alright? Is it something I did?"

Clark shakes his head, looking downward as if trying to find the words.

It comes out of the blue. The need to tell her. The realization that this cannot go on any longer. He's doing his best to not keep things from her but it's so hard given the circumstances, and harder for them now that she lives in his apartment.

"Lois?" he says, his face almost trembling slightly.

"Your cooking is terrible."

Lois thought that some horrible secret was going to be spilled. That the world was going to turn backwards once he tells the honest to goodness truth… but hearing those words.. her face drops.

"Are you serious right now?" She lets out a slight scoff, then leans over to punch him right upon the arm. There was no dodging it, he was going to take it like a man.

"Don't be such a tool, Clark." But, she couldn't really help herself, she had to laugh a little, turning to walk on towards the apartments. "I'll get us all packed and ready. And.. you're just going to have to be careful of her cousins. Real sharks. If they see a tall drink of water like you, they'll pounce."

And Lois will laugh.

"Come on, Lois," Clark says with a smile. "I'll already be there with the prettiest gal in the whole place." He nods over to the right. "Let's go get some takeout. Please?"

Lois starts randomly jabbing at his side for good measure, light hits of course! "My cooking is /not/ that bad!"


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