Smallville
Prototype

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The Talon. Dusk. Chloe, wearing a Chloevage-friendly maroon top we've seen before, is looking mopey. "Triple-espresso mocha cappu-latte," says Lois Lane, bringing over a drink for Chloe in a huge, whipped-cream-topped mug. She says it's her own invention (she invented coffee?) guaranteed to put the "zip" back in Chloe's "doo-dah." Dirty! "Thanks," Chloe says glumly. Lois tells her it's not that bad; Jimmy is coming back someday. "Maybe," Lois corrects herself. Ugh! She says distance is good for the relationship; that's what all the guys who've moved away from her have told her. I wonder if they moved so far away they could stop hearing her loud voice in the wind. Chloe tells Lois she should stick to investigative reporting and stay away from doing an advice column. So Lois is a real investigative reporter now? Didn't see that one coming. "That's the plan," Lois tells Chloe. The awful, inevitable, unavoidable, unearned plan. Clark walks in. He's the only person in the joint wearing a big, dumb jacket. "Hey, Smallville!" Lois calls. "Love to hear about the cows and the corn." Unfortunately, she has to go chase down a dirty senator who needs to be hosed down. "See ya on the front page," she says. And, just like that, she's Lois Lane. Good thing she didn't have to work very hard for that. Clark asks if Lois is going after a senator. Chloe shrugs and says she guesses so. Lois hasn't told her much about it. "Lot of that going around," Clark whines. Oh. Just. Shut it. Chloe rolls her eyes and asks if that jab was directed at her chin. I don't see any other recognizable chins around here. Clark says he asked Papa Luthor about Lana. Chloe asks what Papa said. "Nothing. Just like you," Clark accuses. Clark says that Chloe knows what Lex is really like. He asks if she forgot what Lex did to her and her mother. Chloe, annoyed, says she hasn't forgotten. Chloe collects her things while Clark bitches that he doesn't want anything to happen to Lana. Chloe says that if Lana is staying in that marriage, she must have a damn good reason. Clark puts on the hurt eyes. Chloe just blinks. And...we have ended the scene on a rather weak note! Penultimate!

Overhead shot of the streets of Metropolis. Lois is in a back alley talking to a restaurant worker. She asks if he's sure about the reservation. The guy, sporting slick black hair, says that the Senator eats there every time he's in town. He eats slave girls! Jabba! Lois hands the ponytailed dude some money and thanks him for the tip. No, thank you for the generous tip. A town car pulls up. Lois walks right over to it. Jabba gets out and shakes Lois's hand before she has time to introduce herself. She wants to ask some questions. He tells her to schedule an interview with his office. Lois says she tried, but they never called her back. "Well. That ought to tell you something, sweet cakes." I prefer the more colloquial "sugar tits." It screams, "I am a douche" while retaining a kind of brutal, misogynistic poetry. Lois, following, asks Jabba how he was able to deposit $5 million into a Cayman account on a $150,000-a-year salary. Magic! Jabba, annoyed, turns to her. He asks what paper she works for and forgets her name. "Lane. Lois Lane," she tells him. She says she works for The Inquisitor. That gets a chuckle out of Jabba. He says it's not a newspaper, it's a cat-box liner. "Get her out of here," he says. A goon grabs Lois by the arm, which causes her to yell, "Fascist!" at him. Actually, he's a capitalist. He gets paid for this stuff. Somebody attacks the goon from behind. He falls on Lois, bloody. Another goon is thrown on the windshield of the town car, shattering the thing. Jabba picks a gun up off the ground and points it, frightened. Lois sits up. The Senator is attacked from behind. He falls with a groan, having been stabbed in the back. Standing there behind him is Keenan Wes. "Oh my God," Lois says. "Wes?" Wes notices her. We hear a siren, and he suddenly disappears into a clear shadow, like Predator. He dashes off. Lois stands. She breathes heavily, frightened out of her wits.

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