dovelike | [AU] SV Futureverse

"I think that's something I didn't need to know." About the trunks, that is.

But he smiles again at her last comment. "Me too." And it's all he can do to resist the urge to pick her up and speed them the rest of the way, but discipline dictates he value discretion with his abilities over, well, adorable goddess girlfriends.

"Oh, good. I was starting to worry you'd found some Inuit girlfriend up there to trade eskimo kisses with." She's teasing, part of her attention centered on the stores they pass on the way to his apartment.

Discount clothing. Fabric. Hardware. Obviously, these are signs. And ... "Oh, wow!" Yep. There's a small arts and crafts hole in the wall not a block from his place.

It's not the highest quality store - nothing in this neighbourhood is - but it's clean, at least.

"Go on," Clark nods her toward the entrance. "You'll pout the rest of the night if I don't give you at least five minutes."

"No, I won--" Is the automatic response, but halfway through it Eirene stops and blushes. "Yes, I will." She darts straight into the shop and while it's a little more than five minutes (we'll be nice and say fifteen), the blonde is back out on the sidewalk in a reasonable amount of time. Holding a stuffed shopping bag.

Clark will get another brief kiss for his patience. "Thank you."

She'll find him waiting patiently outside, hands in his pants pockets, looking up at the sky, though his gaze is drawn immediately back to her when she returns.

"Did you leave anything for anyone else?" He jokes, offering to carry the bag for her.

"Yes, I did." She sticks out her tongue at him, and draws the bag closer to her. Eirene is extremely protective of her art supplies, or maybe she's purchased something Clark isn't supposed to see.

"Very interesting place," is all she comments, before offering her free hand back to him.

There'd have been a time he would have insisted, but as it is now, he just nods and leads her the rest of the way to his apartment.

The building, like much else int he vicinity, is old and run down. There's little in the way of security on the way inside and Clark heads up a small flight of stairs to the second floor to his door.

The apartment itself is as bad as his narration promised earlier. To the far right is a small kitchenette, as clean as it'll probably ever get. There are a few dirty dishes by the sink, which Eirene may recognize from her visits to the Kent farm when the Kents still lived there. On a small opposite counter, there are a series of simply framed photographs: Clark and his parents, Clark with Pete and Chloe. Clark and Eirene.

To the left is what should be the living room, but true to previous description, the only real piece of furniture if the Kents' old couch situated in the middle of the room. In a corner, a closed laptop is recharging and kitty corner to that is a small lamp.

"I told you it's not much," he says, ushering her in, immediately apologetic.

He's learning! Eirene likes old things, architecture and the like, so the buildings on either side of his are given a thorough visual inspection before she even gets to his. The designs, some of them, date back to the Art Deco rage in the twenties and thirties, although there are same across the street built at a later date and left to moulder.

After setting the bag next to the couch, and deliberately not looking at the papers scattered across the surface, she eyes the space involved, mentally pacing through what the room could look like with more things in it (but not too many), and then peers into the kitchen. An absent snap of her fingers takes care of the dishes, and the little fridge garners a squeak of delight. Hey, it's cute.

And then she sees the pictures. Johnathan and Martha, expected. The Three Musketeers? Definitely. Her and Clark? There may be a sigh and a sniffle. "Mrs K took that one, didn't she?"

"What?" Clark is momentarily distracted by the dish trick but he peers over her shoulder easily enough to see what she's referring to, already starting to loosen his tie.

It's the two of them sitting on the steps of the Kent farmhouse, hands clasped, Eirene leaning her head on his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. I think so. Mom gave me a boxful. You know how she is with pictures." Clark comes by it honestly, at least.

It's handy to date someone with magic who doesn't use it on him, the narration points out, while Eirene tilts her head back to grin up at him. "You should put them in a photo album. That way, none of the memories will get destroyed." Just ignore that blush.

Beat.

"Ok, you go get out of the monkey suit and I'll rifle through my bag."

:D

"I'll put it on my list of Things to Do," he says, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. "Be right back." And with that, he heads to the short hallway just beyond the kitchen, to where the bedroom presumably is.

"Take your time, dear heart." Eirene stands where she is for a few moments after he leaves, absolutely not imagining the cupboards with brighter paint, and then wanders back into the living room where she flops down on the floor and removes her sandals.

When Clark eventually does emerge from the inner sanctum of his lair, he'll find her sorting through a pile of paint swatches, and occasionally holding up one of the colors and comparing it with the couch.

It takes him a few minutes, if only because he's careful to put his suit away, but when he does return he's in jeans and a simple white t-shirt.

"I knew you were up to something," he accuses teasingly, dropping down beside her.

"Hey, you're the one who dated an artist." Eirene tosses a smug look in his direction, before shuffling through the cards until she finds a deep, oceanic blue one and holds it up.

"I don't know what the policies are on painting apartments here, but if it's okay, I was thinking we could paint one wall in each room a different color. Whatcha think of this one?"

"They don't mind." He only knows this because Chloe asked.

Clark frowns a little and leans in to try and see it from her point of view. "It's too... green. Can't I just paint everything beige?"

"Good." Yep, that's definitely a dangerous sparkle in her eyes, that spells woe for his poor walls while she's in town.

"Huh. Too green, okay." She tucks it back into the pile and shuffles through them again until producing a sky blue one.

"This?"

"That's better," he replies, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Still not beige, though."

"You really want beige?" She slides the rectangle card in with the others again and rifles one last time before coming up with three different shades that could presumably be called 'beige'.

Light, medium and dark.

"Ok, boss. Pick what you want."

Oh sure. Call him on it.

"The light one." Which is near about what the walls currently look like, although they're likely a yellowed white as opposed to actual beige. "What I'm really going for is not feeling like I'm walking into a rainbow every time I come home."

Duh. Artists do things like make client pick colors for their walls. "Don't be knocking rainbows now. I'm related to one." Or, at least, the goddess of them.

She does set aside his preferred shade, though, before scooping the rest up and leaning across him to shove them back into the bag.

"Relatively painless, right?"

Client, huh? "I have nothing against rainbows, I just don't want to live in one."

He stretches his legs out, toeing some papers out of the way with a sock clad foot and leans back on his elbows, glancing up and around the room. "I could do with a picture of the Northern Lights or something. I sort of got used to them."

Yeah, client. Except she's not going to charge him for the work, because she doesn't do that. Ever. Eirene is probably the worse businesswoman in history.

"Aurora Borealis. Those are really pretty."

After making sure everything is secured away in her supplies, she reaches over and gently tucks that elusive lock of hair away from his forehead -- where it stays for exactly four point eight seconds before flopping down again.

"Oh well. I suppose it's cute."

"You should have seen me when I first got back. I t was pretty shaggy. I've cleaned it up since then." He studies her face, a faint smile on his. "Although it never did really cooperate for you, did it?"

Oh, damn. Eirene closes her eyes briefly, trying to muffle a whimper. It may take a second or two to recover her bearings and trying to ignore the blush and the quickened heartbeat.

"No, it never did. Your hair does not like me."

"My hair doesn't like anyone, if it helps." The eyeing is becoming more wary now. "You okay?"

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