Mɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ Hᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
viced) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-07-26 08:17 pm
viced) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-07-26 08:17 pm
The kind of men you knew you'd never become
WHO: Clark Kent and Mitchell Hundred
WHERE: Hundred's Senatorial Campaign offices
WHEN: Uhhh, Sometime this week?
WHAT: Senateorial Candidate Mitchell Hundred needs someone in the Press
WARNINGS: fanboys
Few people, import or otherwise, were people that Mitchell Hundred -- candidate for Senate -- felt like he couldn't lie to.
One of whom was gone from this world. The rest left -- one in particular -- could hear his heartbeat change -- he couldn't disguise the sound of his lies, the words to protect himself, his ideas -- for imports. The things he had to do, to get where he needed to be. Protect the identities of the people who were imported into this world, too.
Which was why, at this very moment, he was cursing the idiocy that was his fondness for certain childhood heroes. And the fact that he'd opened his giant fucking mouth, and said that they should meet, talk about press -- He was kicking himself, internally -- as well as kicking himself for the fact that he was excited like a giant goddamn child. Which meant, of course, he was probably going to make an idiot out of himself, right?
Most likely.
That would be why the man who never stopped, never stopped working, never stopped moving, producing -- doing -- was now holding his head in his hands, sitting at his desk, doing nothing, while he waited for his five o'clock.
He was fucked.
WHERE: Hundred's Senatorial Campaign offices
WHEN: Uhhh, Sometime this week?
WHAT: Senateorial Candidate Mitchell Hundred needs someone in the Press
WARNINGS: fanboys
Few people, import or otherwise, were people that Mitchell Hundred -- candidate for Senate -- felt like he couldn't lie to.
One of whom was gone from this world. The rest left -- one in particular -- could hear his heartbeat change -- he couldn't disguise the sound of his lies, the words to protect himself, his ideas -- for imports. The things he had to do, to get where he needed to be. Protect the identities of the people who were imported into this world, too.
Which was why, at this very moment, he was cursing the idiocy that was his fondness for certain childhood heroes. And the fact that he'd opened his giant fucking mouth, and said that they should meet, talk about press -- He was kicking himself, internally -- as well as kicking himself for the fact that he was excited like a giant goddamn child. Which meant, of course, he was probably going to make an idiot out of himself, right?
Most likely.
That would be why the man who never stopped, never stopped working, never stopped moving, producing -- doing -- was now holding his head in his hands, sitting at his desk, doing nothing, while he waited for his five o'clock.
He was fucked.