Though they've yet to pick a pace, Clark has idled into a position that can be considered sidelong. This, after a tip of his head in return to silent communication about what they were meant to have been doing: you're telling me.
Donning the cape is sort of instant gravitas, his suit a strange armour that nevertheless demands a certain physical decorum. Here, however, he is more Clark Kent than the statue-like alien from the stars, an absent fidget where he works his knuckles a little with his other hand, as if remembering-- something. They are, after all, talking about punching, and not other things.
As for Diana being sweet, his smile twists. Rue. "She told me to come back," he allows, but wait for it, "after you quit being stubborn about my training."
Her words, not mine, is communicated with eyebrows.
no subject
It is.
Though they've yet to pick a pace, Clark has idled into a position that can be considered sidelong. This, after a tip of his head in return to silent communication about what they were meant to have been doing: you're telling me.
Donning the cape is sort of instant gravitas, his suit a strange armour that nevertheless demands a certain physical decorum. Here, however, he is more Clark Kent than the statue-like alien from the stars, an absent fidget where he works his knuckles a little with his other hand, as if remembering-- something. They are, after all, talking about punching, and not other things.
As for Diana being sweet, his smile twists. Rue. "She told me to come back," he allows, but wait for it, "after you quit being stubborn about my training."
Her words, not mine, is communicated with eyebrows.