Sep 10, 2015
First Impressions
traitorsson
Conner walks into the farmhouse, covered in grease, from his arms, to his face, to his white tank. He’d been out in the field with Krypto working on the tractor for what must have been hours in the hot, Kansas sun. Sure, he’d recharged and felt better than he had in weeks after a very long, incredibly drawn out stay in the much gloomier Gotham city. With a rag in hand, he’s wiping his digits clean, or at least attempting to do so when he stops in his tracks, Krypto behind him following suit.
Cocking his head to the side, the half-Kryptonian glares, “Alright, who the hell’s the kid, and why’s it starin’ at me?”
