I just wanted to give a big, huge thanks to hero_farmboy's awesome mun for Lana's paid time. I can't begin to say how thoughtful and generous it is. And to everyone who remembered her birthday and sent her gifts.

I will go around tagging each accordingly but I just wanted to thank you. You're all so wonderful to me and mine.

<33333

Lana was getting ready for bed. Another lonely night with an empty space beside her she had grown used to. She doesn't expect much of anything these days out of her marriage. Despite the fact she'd accompanied Lex on his business trip, nothing had changed. She knew that it wouldn't.

It was back to status quo.

She sits at her vanity, combing her hair, not paying attention to much of anything. Her reflection in the mirror was one she studiously avoided, and she also avoided the chill inside her room as the window was left open.

The cold was a good companion.

They'd just gotten home from Lex's business trip and Lana was unsettled by everything that had happened while they were away. She needed some time alone, time to slip back into the skin she wore instead of the one that left her bare.

That meant vulnerability, and a Luthor couldn't afford vulnerability.

Books were her refuge, and late though it was, she ended up at the Talon. Curled up in her favorite chair and with her favorite poetry book, she sipped her coffee and was thankful the place was mostly empty.

She didn't need any other distraction.

[ooc: Happens before this. lioneluthor used with permission.]

"We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives, that it is inside ourselves."
-Albert Camus

He intercepted her in a narrow hallway. She did not care to know how Lionel knew so much about her marriage to Lex, and how terribly they had failed at it. She also knew he was aware of Lex's exploits.

And her own.

"My son and I have a rather fastidious trait, Lana. We like to keep our toys long after we tire of them, and we most especially do not like anyone else to play with them regardless if we have put them away. Luthor men are always of the possessive sort. A pesky little flaw, one that you have come to find endearing I would hope."

Hope. No such thing for a Luthor.

Her jaw set, she finally faces him. "What do you want?"

"I want you to make my son happy. Lex can become rather... difficult when circumstances don't oblige him with his desiring results and I am not very keen on difficulty."

"You've never cared much about his happiness before."

Lionel only gave her his patented smile. "Despite what you may think I am quite fond of you. Otherwise I wouldn't entertain the thought of explaining myself further - which, you should be quick to observe - I shouldn't have to."

He was right, of course, and so she bit her tongue to protest the unfathomable. She was forced to change through circumstance, and because of it she had to play by their rules.

"Lex wants nothing to do with me," Lana admits, swallowing the unbidden lump that rises to her throat.

"I am painfully disinterested in what transpired between the two of you. I could not care less about your little dalliances. Note, however, that if you must discard whoever you have been inviting to your bed to reestablish yourself into Lex's good graces then by God that is what you shall do. But whatever you have to do, you will fix this, Lana."

She remains standing there where he left her. There is no fencing suit, there is no sabre, but she feels she's just lost a match.

Lana fidgets endlessly with the brooch at her shoulder. She shifts in place, tugging at the hem of her dress. She is aware of how she looks; elegant, even refined, she wants to believe-nothing like the small town girl that she shed a long time ago.

That girl does not exist anymore. Stripped from her are the naivety and the pink headbands. She’s grown into herself. It’s another role, she knows, and she’s played it so well the past few years. Despite the weekend being a business trip, she and Lex were coaxed into attending a gala. The event of the year, some will say, until another party is thrown the next month.

Lana is wearing a Grecian white gown, draping over her like second skin, and because she took a trip to the Greek Islands recently (where she bought said gown), she has a tan that goes with the ivory color of the dress. The dance floor is rounded by dashing penguin suits and glitzy gowns that cost more some people's mortgages, and she tries to smile at each and every one of them, as if with the strength of the smile she can say, I am just as good as every one of you. I am just as important, just as able, just as worthy and you'll fall for my ruse.

She sighs deeply, plucking another flute of champagne from the closest server and almost finishing it whole. She's learned the droning hours of social events and charity functions of the rich and famous become properly entertaining after she has had several alcoholic drinks in her system. Her husband is at the moment, nowhere to be found and Lana seems to like it that way.

"I drink to drown my sorrows, but the damned things have learned to swim."
- Frida Kahlo

There's a brochure on Spain in one hand, and a glass of vodka on the other.

Lana cradles both with a certain force, as if they're lifeboats and she's shipwrecked, lost in the vast waters.

Sometimes it feels that way. It is late, and it is dark, and it means there is no real reason to pretend. The immaculate mask of Mrs. Luthor she's perfected throughout the years has lifted and in its place there is only the endlessness of her mistakes. One after another, they swarm her as wounding memories, they join her in her solitude like chess pawns even as she has lost the game.

She's never won when fighting against Lex.

Protect your queen.

It's been a week since her trip to Morocco, a week since she experienced a freedom she so seldom remembers the taste of. It's a cage of her own making, this life of hers, and she's aware of it as she's aware of many other things. Her husband's affairs as well as her own. Their twisted games and how they feed off them.

She needs it and what does it say about her.

She sits at the piano. She can't play the piano, she can only listen, but she tinkers with the ivory keys. It's only to make a sound, to counterbalance the unnerving quiet that is lacing her thoughts together.

One glass turns into two, and two turns into three, and by then she has lost count.

She'll drown her demons in the burning liquid if she has to and come morning, she will pretend to forget they exist.

From my trip.

( Morocco is beautiful. )

There’s a kind of hunger that can eat you up.
There’s a cold and darker side of the moonlight.
And there’s a lonely side of love.

You try to remember an old-worn lullaby to sing, try to pull the words from somewhere inside you but whatever exists in your memory is drowned out by the piano and the beginning notes of Moonlight Sonata. The rage builds on as it reaches the third movement.

You're trapped somewhere within the music sheets, somewhere lost inside your husband's hands as they travel through the ivory keys and that's how you know there's anger. That's how you feel it.

Once there was love, in whatever form it was allowed. Maybe there is love still but it has been twisted into something else entirely. Your marriage has taken what innocence was left. And maybe what goodness as well. The only part of you that remains untouched and pure is the small being inside of you that you've already grown to love.

You don't move as the song begins once more, and again as the clock strikes midnight. You remain in the rocking chair beside the window, looking out into the night. The tree branches dance among the shadows and you know what that is like. Everyone you've ever loved has been a song you want to burn into your heart. A song you've wanted to keep swaying to forever.

Clark has been the slow love song and Lex has been the tango.

You've never been able to dance alone.

[ooc: Earlier today, before this].

Though she'd meant what she'd said to Allison Young when she offered to help her, and had every intention of doing so, Lana hadn't actually expected the young woman to take her up on her offer. She'd seemed so guarded despite her confusion in their conversation. Displaced and vulnerable. It had tugged at something inside Lana, something that hadn't been touched upon for years. Compassion she didn't think she had within her anymore.

She'd wanted to help immediately and offered it without thinking twice.

It was easy to bring the girl to Metropolis. She was Mrs. Lex Luthor. She snapped her fingers and made things happen. She forewent the limo and the driver, choosing to pick Allison up on her own and perhaps inspire a bit of trustworthiness. The drive to the penthouse from the airport had been completely silent, but Lana wasn't about to force Allison to say anything.

Instead she helped her with her belongings, what few Allison had and invited her into the penthouse Lana had chosen for her.

"I hope you find it to your liking."

I've made a new friend.

Her name is Allison.

She'll be staying at one of the penthouses.

I'd appreciate it if you didn't try and fuck her.

Love,
your wife

Lana does as promised - there's little she puts stock in nowadays but her word is still her word. She texts Oliver to let him know she's waiting for him at one of the many penthouses in Metropolis. It's her own little sanctuary of sorts, free from the prying society eyes and more importantly, free of Lex Luthor.

She has the private jet fueled, waiting for her word.

He did say creative, didn't he?

Mrs. Luthor's had practice. After alerting her husband of her plans for the weekend, she pours herself a glass of wine as she waits.

Lana was pleased with herself. She wasn't sure what had brought on this sudden recklessness. Maybe she was finally seeing things clearly. Whatever it was, she didn't think twice about going to Metropolis to meet with Chloe as promised. She fully intended to spend the night there. Lana was aware Chloe would grill her the second they saw each other

Chloe had given her a set of keys a while back, so she let herself in. She placed a hand on the small of her bump. Lana was five months pregnant but you wouldn't know it. Thankfully she was healthy and the baby was healthy, as her check-ups proved.

She sat on the couch, squiggling and trying to find a comfortable position. It proved to be more difficult than it usually was.

Do you and your partner share many of the same values or interests?

No.

80.4 Make a list of lies you've told to make things better.

-I love you. You've destroyed me.

-I don't love you. Please come back.

-I don't miss him. I think about him every day.

-I know what I'm doing. I'm so lost.

-I don't care where you are or who you're with. I hate what you've made of me.

-I can take care of myself. I want to.

-I don't need you. Stay. Stay.

-I need you. I need you.

-It doesn't hurt me. But it does.

-I'm happy. Does it matter?

Pregnancy can cause hallucinations, right?

Because Tina Greer is dead. I realize she faked her death once and it is possible that she did it again but...

I'm hallucinating, right? Anyone?