Lex Luthor

It wouldn’t have been easy for any other person to break in, but he was trained by the best. And when Lex Luthor built such a high wall around a demolition site with considerably extreme security for the safety of rubble, Tim knew he just had to investigate. Even if it meant being disappointed and just leaving a message to prove he’d beaten Luthor’s security and had been there.

And just his luck, look who showed up? If only birds were less flighty.

“I raise you a ‘why’ your guard needs an automatic rifle to look after a hole in the ground and ‘why’ you’re staring at it. Drop a quarter or something?”

Lex pinched the bridge of his nose before turning his eyes up as if to ask the sky for patience. The debris at the edge of the crater, a micture of fine silt and cement bits that could be considered gravel crunched as he turned to slant the vigilante a flat look. “I’m going to assume those are the theatrical rhetorical questions you vigilante types are so fond of asking.” He took a moment to resettle his weight, tilting slightly away from the lip of the crater so he could look towards where the young man was perched.

“I always thought you were the smart one in your particular peer set.” He took a moment to really look before gesturing in a vague way to the uniform. “Does the new cowl cause periphery issues? It always seemed to be more fanciful than functional. Did you at least include hinging at the neck and armoring along the vertebrae?” 

                The extension of his hand took her off guard, while she understand that for those in the World of Man it was a means to introduce oneself; Though for her and her people the meaning held something more than simple pleasantries. In leu of being impolite she took his hand in greeting.  ❝ It’s a pleasure. ❞ The words were hard for her to speak, but given the circumstances she knew that she needed to say them.

                —  ❝ Diana Prince, curator to this wing of the Louvre. ❞

              The words she had spoken thousands of times over the years, had it not been for Steve decades ago she would have certainly never had the given last name of Prince. ❝ And what is it that you hope to see here? ❞ She inquired after a moment, brow raised with mild curiosity. Perhaps it was part of the city, or a different section of the Louvre; She couldn’t tell, and that was certainly something he had going for him — He was a hard man to read.

“A pleasure, Mms. Prince.” He tilted his head and turned back to the statues. Beautiful women were always on guard. He’d learned this from a young age and had taken careful note to not intrude into their space of become too familiar in a way that could be misinterpreted. He slid his hands into his pockets, but not before thumbing the wedding band once.

“What’s the saying? Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.” He hummed a low sound of agreement. “I love history. People do the most fascinating things. Unpredictable. But it’s more the long and glorious tale of human accomplishment and growth that holds my attention.” He started walking slowly around the statue in front of them, eyes traveling over the silhouette in marble with a detailed eye. The light in the Louvre was diffused between the soft plaster walls, the wood parquet flooring, and the high windows. Each shaft of light catching a slight sparkle in the white marble, breathing a flicker of life into the stone. He watched the shadows on the floor, the inverse of the statues in front of them. His late wife had been a sculptor and painter and he had learned to look past the initial impression into the negative space. “It’s fascinating isn’t it? That a block of marble held such perfection?”