She is driving me crazy!

*sigh*

So what else is new? I suppose I'd be feeling her forehead if she wasn't driving me crazy. Insanity inspiring is Scribe's natural state.

I'm a female investigative reporter. Hello? Investigative? Female? And she won't give me a freaking hint about what she's going to wear to the gala! She's enjoying it, too. I can hear her giggling in her room while she's doing... whatever it is she's doing.

All I know is that it involves a great deal of swearing. And pain. Her fingers have been just dotted with needle punctures. I'm getting worried. Still, she seems pleased with how it's going.

I think Jimmy wanted to ask her to the gala, but since she's going up for auction, she'll be going 'stagette, or possibly stagelle or stagine. One of those politically incorrect gender specific terms.', as she put it. I asked her to explain 'politically correct', and she just made a gagging sound.

I'll admit I was a little worried that Luthor would keep bothering her. He isn't a man to be put off lightly, so I'm a little surprised that he hasn't been in contact again, trying to wheedle her into a private meeting. Well, perhaps surprised is an improper term. Or would that be 'politically incorrect' term? Maybe I shouldn't try to use Scribe lingo till I have it fully explained. Anyway, I think a better term would be 'suspicious'.

Oh, Lex Luthor can remain quietly in the background, but he only does so when it suits his purpose. And it's more the quiet of a jungle cat crouching in the greenery than actual peace. He's up to something. The only question is, is it world domination, or Scribe domination he's planning this time?

When I tried to explain to her the lengths this man was willing to go to gratify even his smallest whims, she more or less patted me on the head, mentioned something called an exfile, and said I would get along marvelously with someone named Fox.

"Or maybe Byers, Langly and Frohike. Plots, plots, plots. On second thought, you should stay away from Frohike. I think you'd end up creaming him."

And she says our world is strange.

Bruce Wayne is coming into Metropolis tomorrow, arriving a little early to do some sort of business for Wayne Enterprises. I've managed to wrangle an interview.

Oh, okay, I'll be honest. There wasn't any wrangling on my part. It was handed to me on a silver platter. Yesterday I got a phone call. I was a little wary about answering it. I'd had the number changed twice to protect Scribe and I from cranks. It still wasn't one hundred per cent effective, and I kept a police whistle next to the phone, just in case. Scribe really liked that. Every time I see a man on the street, looking confused and poking his finger in his ear while he asks someone to repeat something, I wonder...

Anyway, the voice on the other end of the line was... interesting. It was very precise and dignified, with an English accent. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Lois Lane?"

"Yes, this is Lois Lane." I picked up the whistle and held it ready, in case he took that 'pleasure of addressing' bit to unseemly lengths.

"Miss Lane, this is Alfred Pennyworth. I am calling on behalf of Mr. Bruce Wayne. He will be in your city in the near future. The Daily Planet has previously expressed an interest in an interview. If they are still interested, he would be pleased to speak with you."

"Yeah, right, pull the other one."

"I beg your pardon?" The voice remained polite, but somehow the tone managed to convey 'Young woman, you are obviously deranged.'

"As if Bruce Wayne would call me to set up a meeting. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Pennywhistle, but..."

"One moment, please, Miss."

There was a pause. I don't know WHY I didn't just hang up. There had been no vulgarities so far, so I guess I was just curious to see where this would end up. Scribe came out of her bedroom, shaking her hand, then sucking on a fresh pin prick. "Whassup?"

"Some guy named Pennywise claiming to be from Bruce Wayne..." I didn't get to finish my sentence. She squealed like a kid on Christmas morning, spotting a bicycle behind the tree.

"Pennyworth! Oh, goody goody gum drops! I was wondering if Bruce was really going to be around. Seemed like too much to hope for."

"Scribe, this isn't him! This is just some guy..."

A... well, mellifluous is a good word. A mellifluous voice flowed out of the receiver, oozed into my ear, and send a bolt of warmth down past my belly. "Right you are, Miss Lane. It was shamefully remiss of me not to contact you personally. What must you think of me?"

Scribe had leaned close, and caught the words. Her eyes rolled up briefly, and she whispered, "Oo, I can't say what I think! I believe it's still illegal in most of the states around here."

I shushed her, hoping he hadn't heard, but I could hear a dark, liquid chuckle. "That would be Scribe?"

"Yes, it would. Sorry about that." I tried to shoo her away. She stuck out her tongue at me, and put her head on my shoulder, the better to hear. "She's eavesdropping. A shocking habit of which her public knows nothing."

"But would most likely forgive her. Hello, Scribe," the voice lifted a little.

"He-llo backatcha. How's things in Gotham?" She'd leaned her face very close to mine to speak into the receiver. Her mouth was only about an inch from mine. It was very distracting.

"Dull. That's why I'm going to be attending the gala instead of just sending a donation, as usual. I hear that you are going up on the block."

"Yup. I have been wheedled into participating in a shamelessly archaic flesh vending ritual. An anthropologist might be interested in the mystical ties to sacrificing oneself for the greater good. Personally, I think it's an excuse for rich horny people to indulge in a little fantasy role playing."

I pushed her away. "Please forgive her. I think she lost her self censorship ability when she came over."

"I never had one," Scribe said archly.

"No problem. She's very refreshing."

"You know, Lois, sometimes I get the feeling that I'd have to talk nasty about people's mamas to be considered rude around here." She leaned toward the phone again. "It's all ya'll's fault, you know. You will keep letting me stretch the envelope."

"Scribe! Go away!"

"No, Miss Lane, please. I wanted to ask if she'd mind coming along when you do the interview. I know she'll probably be swamped with admirers at the gala, and I'd like a chance to meet her beforehand. Dick will be accompanying me, and I know he wants to meet her." Another rumbling laugh. Scribe fanned herself. "I think he wants her to sign a poster, or something." His voice lifted again. "Would you mind, Scribe?"

"Ooh, I don't knooow... Lemme think... yeah. Be happy to meet you and Burt... no, Richard, right?"

"Right. Dick. Well, then. I need to finalize a few things. Shall I call back tomorrow to set up a time frame, Miss Lane?"

"That would be fine. Oh, and tell Alfred I'm sorry I doubted him."

"Will do."

Raised voice. "Good bye, Scribe."

"Buh-bye."

As I hung up, I said, "Scribe, that was so totally rude..." She grabbed my head and kissed me. "Mph. Thank you." I kissed her back. I really enjoyed it, but I'd come to the conclusion that Jimmy or Clark probably stood a better chance with her. She cared, but I wasn't ready for someone who was still vacillating about their sexuality. I was always going to love her, but we weren't going to be a couple. I think she knew that, too, but she's just a physically affectionate person. She's kept it bottled up for so long, she's about to explode all over some lucky SOB.

"Sorry Lois. But I yam what I yam, and that's all what I yam. Whatever the hell that is. The filter between thought and action is about as effective as a slice of Swiss cheese after a mouse got hold of it."

"Do you promise not to embarrass me if I take you on the Wayne interview?"

She looked at me as if I were crazy. "No."

I sighed. Things were normal.