Scribe's POV

Ya know, I actually have a soft spot for cliches. No, really, I like them. I've been known to speak in nothing but cliches for over an hour. *pause* All right, that was when I was drunk, but I knew enough to go on for an hour, so you can see that I'm up on them.

I like cliches in movies, television, and literature, too, as long as they're knowing cliches. You know *wink wink, nudge nudge* Say no more. But those dippity-doo-dahs with the guns were living a cliche that I'd have rather passed up.

Deep inside I'd know it was going to happen. It was tempting fate, all those rich, famous and semi-famous people together in one place, glitz out the wazoo, and all in the name of a good cause. We were a terrorist attack waiting to happen. The only thing that could have made the invasion more certain would have been if they'd had an orphans' choir supervised by a couple of crippled nuns entertaining us.

The problem was, this was cliche mixed with, you should pardon the expression, real life. Those bullets had been real, people. I could hear glass from the shot up chandelier danglies crunching under people's feet as they moved toward the stage.

I took the opportunity to sidle to the edge of the stage, to where Clark was standing, watching the proceedings narrowly. I went to him instead of Bruce or Dick, because, even though I could see they were coiled for action, watching the bandits narrowly, I didn't think they'd brought along the rubberized suits, and they'd have to be kind of discrete in whatever they did to avoid blowing their secret identities. Clark, on the other hand, had that 'so fast you can't see him' bit going. "Gee, Clark, do you suppose Superman will figure out what's going on and kick the crap out of the bad guys?"

"He would, if he were here, and if he were pretty sure that he could get into his uniform without anyone noticing. But the goons are keeping a pretty close eye on the men in the crowd."

"Let me have your glasses."

"What? I need..."

"No, you don't. Don't argue with me, just give them to me." *ominous pause* "I have a plan."

"That bothers me, but I really don't have any choice right now."

"Look, you need a diversion?" He nodded. " Say no more."

Oh, I can give you diversion.

I went off the side of the stage, over to one of the long tables that had been set up for our supper later in the evening. I stayed at the end farthest into the room, knowing that if I wandered too far down, toward the door that led to the kitchen, I might find out how real those bullets were.

I climbed up on the table top. Nice sturdy furniture they had there, none of those chintzy folding tables, I'm glad to say. I really didn't want to fall on my butt, doing what I intended to do.

No one was really paying much attention to me right then. I guess the baddies figured I either wanted a good view, or was operating on the principle of a woman who's spotted a mouse.

I took a deep breath and muttered, "My mother will never know. My mother will never know. I hope to God, because I'd never hear the end of it."

Using a trick one of my uncles had taught me, I put two fingers in my mouth and gave a sharp, ear-splitting whistle. "Yo! Villains!"

Beady eyes peering out of holes in hoods in every part of the room all focused on me. I smiled brightly. "As they like to say in the newspaper business..." I jerked my top down. "Flash!"

Don't have a heart attack. I was still wearing my strapless bra.

Still, I think I heard jaws hitting the floor. It got real quiet. I saw Clark sneaking toward a little supply closet. The crowd was starting to murmur. Shit, more diversion needed.

I hopped down, landing right next to Lois, who was gaping as much as anyone else. I grabbed her around the waist. "Quick impression. Madonna." I bent her backward and laid a deep soul kiss on her.

When I let her up, Clark was gone. Unfortunately, all the goons in black were beginning to make their way toward my section of the room, and...

How do I put this delicately?

They were wearing very tight trousers, and I was given cause for alarm about the retention of my maiden state.

Time for the escape plan. I turned my back, pulled my top back up, slapped on the glasses, and turned around again. They stopped advancing, and started to look around, bewildered. I heard one of them call, "Where the hell did the babe go?"

One of his compatriots answered. "I dunno. She was right over there next to the reporter and the one in glasses."

Lois whispered, "My God, Scribe! You're super power is working again!"

"Yeah Lois. Right. You know, I really think we should bug out of here."

"Are you kidding? This is the story opportunity of a lifetime. But you had better go."

Considering what I'd just overheard one of the bandits saying they intended to do with me once they caught me, I thought that might be a good idea. I slowly sank to my hands and knees, and edged under the table.

There was a long table cloth hanging over the front, and I crawled the length of the table without being apprehended. I was hoping to get out of the room and call 911, or police headquarter, or send up a flare, or just run around screaming myself silly for help. Whatever seemed most appropriate at the time.

I managed to sneak the last few feet to the door without being noticed, and slipped into the kitchen. It was empty. The kitchen staff, being badly paid but no fools, had scarppered a long time ago. The only person there was a burly guy in a suit wearing a SECURITY tag. "Whoa, are you ever needed! Dude, we have, like, a raid or something going on in there!"

"Yes, Miss Scribe. We're aware of it. Reinforcements are on their way now. We need to get you safely out of the way, in case there's any violence."

"I have friends back in there."

"We'll take care of them. Please, I know you mean well, but you'll just be in the way."

Ah. Well, not like that's never been said before.

"We have a car outside. You can wait there." Another SECURITY guy had come in from outside. Number One and Number Two flanked me, urging me toward the door. What the hell? Maybe I could marshal troops or something outside. I'd already proved I could attract attention.

In the alley just outside the back door of the hotel kitchen, a huge, dark car was waiting. I think what first gave me pause was the fact that the engine was idling. I dug my sensible height heels into the pavement and said, "Waitaminit. I'm not going anywhere till this broo-ha-ha is settled."

"You don't have to," SECURITY One assured me. "We just want to be prepared in case the situation escalates." SECURITY Two opened the back door, and SECURITY One put a hand on the small of my back to direct me. "Please be reasonable, Miss Scribe."

"A, I have seldom been accused of being reasonable. B, how the hell did you recognize me?" That was what was wrong. The guy had known who I was instantly, a perfectly normal reaction for anyone from my home universe, but very unusual here, since I was wearing the ultimate disguise: glasses.

One and two exchanged glances, and chorused. "Uh..."

"Thought so." I started to turn around and head back into the kitchen. All kinds of nice, pointy self-defense approved things in a kitchen.

I heard a sigh. A familiar voice from the interior of the car said, "Oh, for God's sake. Just heave her in."

I was heaved. I didn't want to be, mind you, but there were two of them roughly the size of SUVs, but faster. I was sort of scooped up and flung into the backseat. I landed across someone, and heard the door slam behind me. I was up and around in a flash, tugging at the door handle. No go, of course, but that didn't stop me. I heard the front seat door slam, and the car was put into gear. My hand skimmed over the door, but I couldn't locate a lock. "What the hell? Isn't this against safety regulations, or something? Ralph Nader is gonna be so pissed!"

"The legal department will handle Mr. Nader, whoever he is."

I stiffened, my back to my fellow passenger. Finally I turned around and looked at the man sitting on the other side of the car. "Tell me why I'm not surprised."

Lex Luthor smiled charmingly. "Because you are a remarkably intelligent woman."

"Look, last I heard, Bruce had the highest bid. Better take me back, or there will be SUCH a scandal in the society columns." I will not panic. I will talk very, very fast, but I will not panic.

"My dear girl, I've been caught trying to instigate the downfall of democracy in America, cause mass destruction over petty irritants, and foster what amounts to genocide. I believe I can survive fixing a celebrity auction. In any case..." He waved a hand negligently. "It was just a matter of time. I would have outbid him eventually."

"Says you. Old Bruce can be pretty damn stubborn himself, and he doesn't like to lose, either."

"Do you admire that in a man?"

Shit. He sounds far too interested. "Missed the demonstration I did just before running into the kitchen, didn't you? I don't admire anything in a man. I'm gay." There we go. The old 'Bug off, I'm a lesbian' ploy. Uh oh, he's shaking his head.

"I very much doubt that. Bi-sexual, possibly. And I did see you're charming embrace with Miss Lane." His eyes glinted. "Highly stimulating."

Oh, crap. I forgot that girl-girl stuff turns on a lot of guys. "I'm a heckuvan actress. You dounderstand acting, right?"

"Of course. I'm a sociopath, not a psychopath. The difference is that the sociopath can act normal for extended periods of time, thus enabling him to function in society at large. I'm so glad you act. Role playing is so much fun. Why don't we play 'evil genius and helpless captive'?"

"I'd rather play 'Harry Houdini'." I jerked frantically at the door.

"Oh, you're interested in handcuffs, are you?"

I groaned. I don't think I can say anything that this man won't find suggestive. "Let me off here, and we'll forget about the kidnaping charges."

"I don't think so. In any case, what's one more felony, more or less? Particularly when you consider what I intend to do."

"I'm stating here and now for the record that I do not agree to anything that you have in mind."

"You're statement has been duly noted and will be duly ignored." He held out his hand. "Why don't you come over here?"

"N-o-o. I think I'd rather do something safer, like say... cuddling a black mamba."

"Ah, the deadliest snake on earth! You know me so well, you flatterer."

*groan* I started kicking the door, wishing for my engineer boots. Oh, heck, I'm realistic enough to know that I couldn't have kicked the window out, but they would have made me feel more comfortable around Luthor.

"Well, this won't due. You're scuffing the paneling, and it's such a bother to have the car detailed. We'll have to get you calmed down a bit." He touched a button, and a panel slid down in the barrier that cut us off from the front seat. *Yes, there was a barrier. You think I would have hesitated to haul my butt over that front seat and jump out the passenger door? I'm not that worried about flashing my panties.* There was what looked like a little bar set up: bottles of various fluids, glasses, even a little ice bucket.

He took a decanter and poured something alcoholic over a couple of ice cubes. "You don't honestly think I'd be stupid enough to drink anything you gave me now?"

"Perish the thought. No, this is for me. A little celebratory libation."

"Choke on it."

"Cheers to you, too." He drained it, then pulled a pristine white hankie from his jacket pocket. It was monogrammed *naturally*. I'll give him this, the linked double Ls were pretty classy looking. Folding it into a tight pad, he took another bottle from the cabinet, opened it, and pressed the pad to its mouth. Tipping it up, he waited for the liquid to soak the pad. He was humming Brahm's Lullaby.

"You're not." He recapped the bottle. "No, I mean, that is so Pearl Pureheart."

"Sometimes the old fashioned methods are the best." He wrung the pad out over the ice bucket. "Now then." He turned toward me, pad in hand, and inquired politely. "How shall we do this?" I screamed and jerked on the handle again as hard as I could. "Fine. The hard way it is."

He lunged at me. Damn, you wouldn't think someone that big could move that fast.

I don't know... Maybe in an open space I would have had a chance, but I'm probably fooling myself. In any case, I got thrown back into the corner, and ended up with him on top of me and the rag over my mouth and nose.

Luckily I'd been drawing in a breath to scream just as he landed on me, so I had a gulp of oxygen, but it didn't last long. Especially since I was using it up trying to hurt him. Not much success there. It was like trying to pound on a brick wall, and he managed to keep my nails from landing. Pretty soon I was having lights flash in front of my eyes, and feeling like my lungs were about to burst. It was either breathe, or pass out anyway, so I breathed. God, chloroform smells nasty. I lived around chemical plants and refineries most of my life, and I can recognize smelly.

The first whiff made me lightheaded. The second, and the fog started to roll in. The third, and I was having a hard time remembering why I was so upset.

The guy on top of me was talking. "That's the ticket. Just a few more breaths, Scribe. You'll be much more relaxed. There's been far too much excitement in your life these days, so I'm just going to remove you to a place where you can take a little time to relax. Well..." A shark smile. "In a way. Now, I don't want you to worry. I'm not going to do anything while you're unconscious. It would hardly be sporting, and I know it wouldn't be as much fun. I mean, if I wanted that kind of action, all I'd have to do would be warm up a corpse, wouldn't I?"

He'd pulled the pad away, and I mumbled, "Necrophilia. Squick."

"Yes, I've found it rather disgusting. You just get some rest. I won't do anything. Except... Well..."

I felt his hand creep up under my skirt as I started to pass out. "You really won't be needing these panties, will you?"