[ Clark has fallen from heights before. It has become rather commonplace once he picked up flying. It is easy to get knocked out of the air, but rarely has he felt the air knocked out of him as his body hits the sandy beach with a loud thud. Disoriented, Clark blinks the sun out of his eyes, shielding his face with his hand. His ears were ringing with the ambient noises. Panic, fear, worry, shock, horror, something is wrong, something is very wrong —
Focus, his mother's voice comes to him, make it small.
His vision clears up as Clark pulls himself onto his feet. Focus. He may not fully understand what just happened, but he can still help. One thing at a time. There is sand in his hair and grit in his eyes, but his expression is clear; hopeful. He zeroes in on the person closest to him, a frantic heartbeat cutting through Clark's own concerns ]
Are you all right?
( 2. the winter festival )
[ Every kind of festival needs volunteers. Help. And Clark could use the work. Journalism isn't exactly necessary to the everyday going ons of Xistentia. He's used to making a difference, not simply working to keep himself occupied. Whether it is small or big tasks, Clark has always felt it was necessary to put himself forward. In small bars or in large oil rigs. It isn't an itch or a desire. Or even a need. It is almost subconscious, the way he automatically signs the form and hands it over with a small smile, ducking his head so no one looks at him too closely.
He can be seen all over Xistentia, in fairly nondescript clothes and a beanie, hanging up lanterns, lights and even mistletoe though he looks a little sheepish about that. ]
clark kent | dceu
[ Clark has fallen from heights before. It has become rather commonplace once he picked up flying. It is easy to get knocked out of the air, but rarely has he felt the air knocked out of him as his body hits the sandy beach with a loud thud. Disoriented, Clark blinks the sun out of his eyes, shielding his face with his hand. His ears were ringing with the ambient noises. Panic, fear, worry, shock, horror, something is wrong, something is very wrong —
Focus, his mother's voice comes to him, make it small.
His vision clears up as Clark pulls himself onto his feet. Focus. He may not fully understand what just happened, but he can still help. One thing at a time. There is sand in his hair and grit in his eyes, but his expression is clear; hopeful. He zeroes in on the person closest to him, a frantic heartbeat cutting through Clark's own concerns ]
Are you all right?
( 2. the winter festival )
[ Every kind of festival needs volunteers. Help. And Clark could use the work. Journalism isn't exactly necessary to the everyday going ons of Xistentia. He's used to making a difference, not simply working to keep himself occupied. Whether it is small or big tasks, Clark has always felt it was necessary to put himself forward. In small bars or in large oil rigs. It isn't an itch or a desire. Or even a need. It is almost subconscious, the way he automatically signs the form and hands it over with a small smile, ducking his head so no one looks at him too closely.
He can be seen all over Xistentia, in fairly nondescript clothes and a beanie, hanging up lanterns, lights and even mistletoe though he looks a little sheepish about that. ]
( wildcard your adventure )