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Now, she was no stranger to being on the defensive. Being a General's daughter and growing up without a mom, that right there earned her quite a bit of. . . animosity. Add in her own somewhat, occasionally, maybe, slightly, abrasive personality and what you ended up with was. . . one badass reporter who could, on par with the best skeletal model out there, not only strut in those heels, but also stab a guy with 'em if necessary. . . again, like one of the best skeletal models these days.
She was one tough cookie and proud of it! She was a modern woman and she didn't need a man. She had a great career that was finally taking off (So long glass ceiling!), and no strings to hold it down.
Unless you counted Lucy, but that girl was slowly straightening out. Lois blamed boarding schools for mucking that one up. Nothing good ever came from those fancy academies. She'd done plenty of exposés on the rich, raunchy and ruinous in her time down in the lower ranks and one thing those folks all had in common: boarding schools, academies, private education.
Well, that and being no good. But she had her theory on that, too. Rich people shipped their kids off and paid other, not-so-rich people to "look after" 'em. Disaster. Lois had never met anyone rich who, nine times out of ten, wasn't crazier and more messed up than your average Joe or Jane. Hands down. Unless you counted crazy ol' Rantin' Ralph down on the corner next to The Bean Broker (best coffee in downtown Metropolis!), in which case, Lois would just make the point that no one really knew that guy's story. Heck, maybe Rantin' Ralph was some rich CEO's kid, grown tired of all the bullshit and finally making an attempt to hack it out in the real world. Maybe, maybe Rantin' Ralph was some former CEO, gone crazy because of some big deal that fell through back in the day and the ensuing plot to assassinate him over the plunge in quarterly profit!
Point was, rich people were nuts, and private fancy schools just ensured that. Lucy was made of stronger stuff, though. She was a Lane, for cryin' out loud! She'd bounce back outta that entitlement and apathy funk in no time! But all those other schmucks, those offspring of millionaires and billionaires and cultural elite. . . they were pretty much doomed from birth, in Lois' opinion. Fancy academies were just the nails in the crazy coffin for those poor bastards. Or. . . rich bastards.
Case in point: the man standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her right now. Lois flicked her eyes over and back again, really quick and stealthy. She was an ace at quick and stealthy, had years and years of practice. That's what made up about 85% of reporting. A big scoop wasn't worth much if someone saw you getting it and then managed to get it in print before you! Information was good; getting information first was better.
So Lois was very good at being very sneaky, but this guy. . . he was like the Grinder to her Iron Outlaw: always upsetting her smooth sailing and making all the fans root for him. Wait, no. Bad analogy. He was like that kid back in Intro to Journalism her second semester at Met U: sitting one row ahead and fucking up the curve every single time! Every time! She hated that guy!
Okay, maybe another bad analogy there. Cos Lois?
Really, really didn't hate this guy next to her (well, the guy pressed up to her right. . . however, not so fond of Mr. BO over there on the left, nuh-uh! Pee Yoo!). In fact, she kinda really liked him. Even if he were pretty much the poster boy for money equaling dysfunction.
Lucas was. . .
She went to peek at his profile again, and instead came nose-to-nose with him.
"Eeep!" she exclaimed calmly, quietly, and in a most adult manner.
Lucas' face instantly switched to what Lois mentally referred to as 'Grin Mode.' He pulled back a little, like two inches, and then raised his eyebrows pointedly.
"Did you want something?" he whisper-shouted, managing to project his voice over the blaring music, various hoots, hollers, screams and moans from the crowd, and yet not shouting right in Lois' ear like that one newsie had on that one date awhile back. Another mark in his favor: Lucas was a gentleman, and somehow always managed to do everything right. It would be incredibly annoying and irritating if it were anyone else, she was sure. Lucas, though. . . well, he was just different.
The rules didn't really apply to Lucas, now did they?
The band was still chugging away up on-stage and between Lois' elbows and Lucas' sheer. . . slinkiness, they'd managed to claim and hold this particular spot in the name of the double LLs since damn near the start of the set (cos Lucas wasn't really a Luthor, not. . . technically, but he also sorta damn well was, too). This wasn't really her scene exactly, but let it never be said Lois Lane wasn't willing to try new things! A little weird, kinda-punk-kinda-emo-indie music jam? Sure! Bring it on!
Plus, who wouldn't be into it with a good lookin' man as escort?
"No!" she called back sultrily (and not shrilly or backwoods-like in the least). "Just wondering if you were having a good time!"
Lucas' face shifted again at her words. Ah, 'Smirk Mode.' Lois had a certain fondness for that smirk. It was one of her first memories of the guy, after all. Whack to the forehead, notes every-fucking-where on the sidewalk, and Lucas Dunleavy's. . . dirty, flirtatious smirk.
That curl of his mouth right there, that affected her on a gut level more than. . . well, more than some of her exes' so-called charms, skills, and wiles in the sack combined. The smirk did that, never mind the eyes.
Lucas had amazing eyes, and she kinda thought he knew it, too. But that was all right. Lois knew how to use all her skills, so who was she to begrudge a handsome man for doing the same thing? He wasn't a jackass like some of the other "gorgeous-es" she'd. . . dated. He just knew how the world worked.
Poor guy. Or, well, rich guy. Poor, rich guy.
Ridiculously rich guy. Insanely wealthy guy. Incredibly handsome, charming, genius-y, insanely wealthy guy, who worked on motorcycles in his spare time and loved rock music. . . well, more than she did, to be honest. And that was quite a lot. Just ask any of those exes. Lois loved her classic rock and her hair bands.
Lucas sorta loved everything, though, in a refreshing, childlike and surprisingly not at all uncomfortable or creepy way.
"I am having a very good time," Lucas replied. . . this time putting his mouth right up to Lois' ear and kind of just breathing the words to her.
Whoo, boy!
"Well, that's good!" she responded intellectually. "This is certainly an. . . interesting band!"
"Thank you for coming, Lois," Lucas said, doing that whispering thing again. She could feel a bit of movement and thought he might be chuckling at her, too. "I know this isn't really your scene. . . exactly."
Weird. Hadn't she just thought that a few-- It was like he was. . .
Nah.
He was just really good at body language, or something.
Or maybe he just knew her really well. That was a kinda creepy thought, or at least it should have been. She'd only been on a handful of dates with the guy, after all, and his history was pretty much anyone's guess at this point. Not much known about the 'Early Years of Lucas Dunleavy.' Not really anything at all, in fact.
All of which should make her internal alarm system go on red alert and her inner General shout, 'Lane! Get your ass outta there now or I'll come over and drag it out myself, goddamn it!'
But it wasn't creepy. It was the opposite of creepy. Lucas was the opposite of creepy. He was a complete unknown, and usually that, too, elicited a different response from her entirely. Unknown meant a story. Unknown was synonymous (Thank you very much, Perry! How do you like that word choice, huh?) with exposé and not. . . whatever this thing was gradually turning into between her and Lucas.
They were dating. He was charming and kept asking her out. She always said 'yes' and really fucking meant it. He was the most interesting person she'd met in. . . a long time. He was also hotter than the sun and could do just about everything, it seemed.
Except sing. But Lois wasn't exactly in a position to critique someone on that. She loved music. That didn't mean she could, or should, be the one making it. Nuh-uh.
The song ended, for which she was grateful. The bass guitar was a wonderful instrument, but sometimes enough was enough! Less is more and all that.
"One more band," Lucas breathed into her ear. It was a good deal quieter than it'd been before, so he probably wouldn't've actually needed to lean over in order for her to hear him.
But Hell if she was gonna complain!
"Oh, no rush," she returned, this time actually managing to somewhat pull off. . . sophisticated and worldly, as opposed to loud and braying. "I'm in no hurry to leave."
Lois turned up her own 'Smirk Mode' to high voltage, and Lucas, God bless his gentlemanly-like heart, put his arm around her. By the time the next, and final, band of the night was all set up to play, Lois had managed to stealthily sneak her way over even more into Lucas' space. Although, from the slightly amused version of 'Grin Mode' that took up residence on his pretty, pretty face. . . he might have been onto her plan.
If he asked, she'd just say she was moving closer to get away from Mr. BO over there. No reason to jump into things too quickly.
She was in no rush, after all, and he didn't seem to be, either.