County Unfair.

Clark winced as Faora reached for the hammer with eager glee in her eyes.

"Farrah?" He coughed, "Just don't break the thing." He reminded with a nervous laugh.

The carny in charge of the high striker seemed amused by his comment at least. "Buddy, I ain't ever seen a man hit the top bell. No offence ma'am, but-"

DING!

Clark wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as the bronze bell at the top cracked nearly in half, a nasty split in the metal.

Faora was already busy humming over the prizes, wandering a few steps away to examine the shelves...

Clark had to remind himself that staring at a lady was rude. Least that's what Pa said... Then again, Ma said it was rude not to stare at least a little, if you're on a date...

He rubbed his head, confused as to how much he should be staring. She'd knotted her shirt to expose a... lot of midriff which was quite distracting.

Dick and Kara melded out of the crowd, his cousin giving him a light pat on the wrist.

"She asked you a question." Dick pointed out.

"Huh? Sorry?" Clark blinked. Super hearing can't overcome a wide set of hips it seems.

"You enjoyed that Stitch movie at the drive in, yes?" Faora quizzed him, extending a large plush toy of the fluffy blue alien at him.

"Y-yeah." He nodded, "Thanks Farrah."

He noticed Dick pulling his phone out, tapping on it without actually typing... 

Morse code.

'Get it together big guy.'

He nodded at his young wingman... Nightwingman?

No, even he thought that pun was too lame to voice. For now.

He tucked the plush toy under his arm, before clearing his throat. Clark Kent; man's man. Deep voice.

Still wasn't entirely sure if this was really what he wanted. Lois was... complicated, but beautiful, funny, clever, a real shot caller.

Then again, Faora is hardly a pushover. And she was clearly starting to see him as more than a baby dispenser, if she remembered his taste in Disney movies.

"I wanna show Dick the hay ride." Kara told him, "You guys have fun."

They both flashed him discrete thumbs up behind Faora's back as they retreated.

"Do you want to go check out the roller coasters?" Clark offered.

"Do they do anything for you?" She asked.

"Not really. The effect's not that impressive when you can swoop faster than the sound barrier." He admitted. "Uhhh, how about the pig races?"

"Hm." She considered it for a moment, "Sounds interesting. Why pigs of all things?"

He shrugged, laughing a touch more naturally, "Hey, we're not the weirdest, some places do duck races."

Faora shivered. "Horrible creatures." She groans. "I've scoured the galaxy for bounties on monsters... But ducks might be one of the most unpleasant things I've ever encountered."

Animal talk! Now this he could handle.

"Yeah, they're nasty little buggers." He chuckled, leading the way to the races. "Cannibals... among nastier habits in regards to their carnal life."

They swapped talk on critters for a while, his date regaling him quietly with talk of creatures she'd hunted across the stars. For money, for food, for the Kryptonian military...

"I- uh- know it's impolite to ask a lady such a thing." He admitted, "But just how old are ya exactly?"

She rolled her eyes skywards. "Time spent outside suspended animation?" She had to think... "Seventy Earthling years."

He choked on a bite of corndog, "Sevent-" He pounded his chest. "I mean... it's just, you don't look a day over thirty."

"Our people age slowly under yellow suns." She nodded. "I suppose it's one benefit of my forcible exile."

"So... I'm gonna look like... this for the next forty odd years?" He asked her. "Shoot, that's gonna be hard to explain to folks."

She actually laughed at that one, a surprisingly gentle sound from the lifelong soldier. "How very... you, Clark." She snickered. "You find out you're going to live in your prime for the next half a century... and you worry about explaining it to the humans."

"Guess I'll say the Kent genes keep strong." He rubbed his neck. "Pa still hasn't gone grey after all these years, after all. Just a bit of salt is all."

She snuck his corndog off him and crunched into it, spinning the stick it was impaled on between her fingers as she chewed thoughtfully.

The starter bell rang, and the pigs were released from the starter line, squealing and oinking their way down the track. 

"I've been thinking." She mused quietly. "I know I told you I don't plan to join in on your... capes and tight business. But... well..." Her cheeks took on a rosy glow in the late afternoon sun, "Your mother... made me... a suit to match yours. The symbol of the house of Ul in place of El's."

"And how'd she pick that up?" He asked. 

"I... supplied her with the design."

"Well." He took a long sip of coke, watching the race for a moment. "Thanks. Glad to hear you'll have my back Faora." 

She leaned her head against his shoulder, scooting a little closer on their bleacher seating. "Call me Farrah." She reminded him gently, twisting her head and giving him a gentle peck on the cheek.