Clark shrugs out of his coat as Bruce speaks, the last of the (first) sandwich seized between his teeth as he does so. He hangs his coat on the edge of what looks like a captain's chair, eats that last corner of sandwich, and scans his eyes over the strange organic structures that imply themselves as some kind of interface.

He touches a raised, palm-sized protrusion, the key already settled in the lock.

"Set main computer language recognition to Kryptonian, exclusively," he says, and the burbled voice of the computer echoes around them.

It will take a moment, to reshape one's brain around theory and practical application when it comes to language, but the reply is straight forward enough, the sibilant, complex patterns of Kryptonian syllables affirming this new setting. The sideglance to Bruce is not self-conscious, but,

well maybe a little. Still, Clark clears his throat, and requests, "Run through the Kryptonian letter-system," in what is probably not entirely grammatically sound fragments, but enough to have the computer obey, patiently naming each letter while the symbol attached to it bristles across the silver panel, three-dimensional and topographical.

"We should come up with a song."