Bald-Faced Truths
Jan. 18th, 2011 08:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
man-of-stee-ll.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
jla_watchtowerThe suite in which former US President and current fugitive Lex Luthor has been installed is a far sight from the Science Cell that was his home back with the Oans. Everything is more comfortable, he has room to roam, and God knows the food is actually palatable.
Yet something is amiss.
Physical fitness has become one of Luthor's fixations, and when his mind is set on something, that fixation does not waver. So he has found himself in the best condition of his life, chest powerful, arm muscles rippling, endurance building...and he has little comprehension of why. A lack of self-control is completely unacceptable.
Yet in the late reaches of the night, not long after retiring for the evening, Lex invariably gets out of bed and starts some sort of exercising. Tonight? Running. For two hours, he has run in a single-minded manner, letting nothing clutter his conscience beyond the need to run. That, too, will become unacceptable: since when does his peerless mind turn off?
Drenched in perspiration and exhausted, he returns to his quarters, strips and drops the sweat-soaked clothing on the floor on his way to the shower. A forearm passes over his temples as moonlight shimmers off the polished metal of the bathroom door, and he freezes, then runs a hand over his hairless pate. His head turns to the right, then to the left, as he studies the reflection for a long, long time.
Because the face in that reflection is not his.
Yet something is amiss.
Physical fitness has become one of Luthor's fixations, and when his mind is set on something, that fixation does not waver. So he has found himself in the best condition of his life, chest powerful, arm muscles rippling, endurance building...and he has little comprehension of why. A lack of self-control is completely unacceptable.
Yet in the late reaches of the night, not long after retiring for the evening, Lex invariably gets out of bed and starts some sort of exercising. Tonight? Running. For two hours, he has run in a single-minded manner, letting nothing clutter his conscience beyond the need to run. That, too, will become unacceptable: since when does his peerless mind turn off?
Drenched in perspiration and exhausted, he returns to his quarters, strips and drops the sweat-soaked clothing on the floor on his way to the shower. A forearm passes over his temples as moonlight shimmers off the polished metal of the bathroom door, and he freezes, then runs a hand over his hairless pate. His head turns to the right, then to the left, as he studies the reflection for a long, long time.
Because the face in that reflection is not his.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 01:20 am (UTC)What...did he talk to Henshaw about again? Genetic engineering?
Right. Time to get to work.