The Line

   The explosion was deafening.  Several dozen people on the street nearby scattered—like cockroaches in sunlight, Floyd thought.
   He'd brought the bomb—just a tiny one—merely to make some noise.  He wasn't really there to rob the jewelry store.  He probably could've made more money just doing one job for a high-paying client.  Heck, robbing a jewelry store in broad daylight on a Saturday morning was just flat-out stupid.  Too many cops in Metropolis—and not the type that could be bought off, like in Gotham.  But this time, he wanted to be caught.  But not by the cops.
   "On your knees, Deadshot."
   Floyd turned to see a female silhouette standing in the smoking hole he'd blown in the side of the store.  It could only be her, he thought. Finally.
   "Hey! Princess! Been waitin' for you. And you remembered my name! I'm touched."
   Diana wasn't amused.
   "I don't know how you got out of prison, but I know how you're getting back."
   She stepped into the room, lifting her right bracelet in front of her face.  Floyd took a second to analyze what she was doing.  He figured it was a kind of dual stance, designed both to defend the user against gunfire to the upper body and to allow for quick offensive strikes with the hands.  Apparently, whoever this girl was, she had an entire martial arts style that was completely unknown to the rest of the world.  He'd be ready for her this time.
   She moved forward, both hands in front.  Floyd, already with guns in hand, fired two shots—one at her face, one at her ankles.  She blocked the one at her face, and tried to dodge the one at her feet.  It worked, but at a cost.  Running as fast as she was, twisting like that meant nearly losing her balance.  Floyd took advantage.  He dodged to the right, swinging the back of his left wrist at her head.  His metal gauntlet slammed into the side of her face, sending her crashing into the wall behind him.
   She slumped to the floor a little.  Floyd drew his guns on her at lightning-speed, firing a flurry of execution shots.  She recovered in time to twist and deflect them.  Before Floyd could squeeze off another round, she grabbed the nearby broken seat of a chair and whirled it at him like a frisbee.  It pounded into his metal mask, sending flashes of red and white swirling through his vision.  Before he could snap out of his stunned state, he felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown through the air.
   He hit the far wall with a crash.  He almost made a big enough hole to actually get stuck in it.  He sat on the floor, breathing heavily.  If he hadn't been wearing his armor, he would have probably had a few broken bones and crushed back muscle.  He sighed to himself.  This girl was a powerhouse.  But he'd made her bleed before.  And if she could bleed, she could die.
   Floyd quietly reached for his sides, still slumped against the wall.  Diana was standing twenty feet away, staring him down with her usual "piercing warrior stare." Floyd heard the click of metal clips unhooking, and felt the weight of a steel grenade in each hand.  He smirked under his mask, twisting his wrists ever so slightly in just the right position.  His thick gauntlets rotated around his wrists a few degrees, and a single metal barrel extended from the top of each.   He flicked his arms upward, tossing the grenades toward either side of Diana.  Before she could react, he leveled his wrists at the grenades and clicked a button in each glove, firing a hidden bullet out of both gauntlets.
   The bullets hit both grenades dead-center, transforming them into giant balls of fire and shrapnel.  Floyd had seen enough gunplay to be able to slow it down in his mind—to see the intricacies of weaponry in action.  From his perspective, everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion.  He saw the bits of razor-sharp shrapnel fly away from the grenade casing.  He saw the waves of heat crash over her.  He saw the panicked look in her eyes for a split-second before she brought her bracelets together.  When they touched, she shut her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on something.  But it was too late.  Whatever she was trying to do, she didn't have enough time.
   Diana fell to her knees, and struggled to fall no further.  Her ears were ringing.  She had a burn on her left arm.  Her gut felt like it'd been punched a thousand times over.  She had cuts all over her body, and silently prayed she wasn't bleeding too badly.
   Floyd slowly stood up.  He took a long look at Diana, both triumphant at his victory and curious as to how she was still alive.  No matter, he thought.  He lifted his gauntlet gun toward her head and fired.
   Diana desperately dove for a nearby overturned table.  She could barely believe that her legs still worked.
   Floyd almost chuckled to himself.  People always think that hiding behind a car door or a wooden table will protect them.  It doesn't.  Real bullets go straight through stuff like that.
   Floyd let loose a full-auto barrage into the table.  Three dozen bullets hit the table and stopped.
   "Dammit," Floyd said frustratedly.  The table was an antique, and made of super-dense wood.  One of the few household materials that would stop a bullet.
   He stepped forward, pulling a long knife out of a sheath on his shoulder.  He'd have to do this the hard way.
   Diana heard the sound of the bullets stop, and didn't waste any more time.  She immediately stood up and kicked the table, sending it flying through the air at her attacker.  He ducked under it, again surprised by her strength.  Diana winced as a jolt of pain shot through her leg; she was far too injured to be using her muscles like that.
   Floyd ran toward her with the knife.  Diana moved to block him, but found her movements slightly slowed.  She managed to hold him back, but couldn't find a way to counter him.  Suddenly, he reached his heel around the back of her knee and pulled.  She fell hard onto her back, Floyd straddling her with the knife mere inches from her throat.  Diana tried to push his hands away, but couldn't find the strength anymore.
   She looked around the room for anything she could use as a weapon.  When she looked to her right, she was shocked to see an elderly woman hiding in a tiny nook.  Apparently, she'd been there the whole time.
   Diana felt a surge of anger.  Anyone who would threaten innocent lives this way needed to be beaten to a bloody pulp.  She twisted and rolled to the side, flipping Deadshot onto his back.  She staggered to her feet, pulling him up by the shoulders, then slamming him headfirst into the metal frame of a nearby glass case.  She slapped the knife out of his hand, then punched him in the face.  Floyd's body went slightly limp.
   Diana didn't stop.  She punched him again, and again, and again.  Bits and pieces of the metallic covering began to fall away from his face, revealing bloodied and bruised flesh underneath.  She still didn't stop.  She kept beating him, over and over.
   "DIANA!"
   Diana turned to see Clark stepping through the hole in the wall.
   "What are you doing?!" he asked her, looking back and forth angrily between her raised fist and Deadshot's unconscious body.
   "What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, with more than a little venom in her voice.  "He's a criminal, Clark!"
   "He's a human being! You can't just beat him to death!"
   Diana was exasperated.  Did Clark not see what Deadshot had done here?  Did he not see what he'd done to her?
   "And why not?!" she asked. "He doesn't deserve any better!!"
   "IT'S NOT OUR CHOICE TO MAKE!!"
   Clark's voice boomed with authority.  Diana nearly staggered backwards with surprise.
   She straightened up, still holding Deadshot by the collar.  She tossed his limp and bloody body at Clark.
   "Fine.  You go clean his wounds and set him free.  See what happens next."
   And with that, she walked out of the store—limping on her right leg—and flew away into the sky.

Caring Fake-Out

   Clark stepped into the Daily Star office and was quickly greeted by a stack of papers.
   "Sort these."
   Lois handed Clark a huge stack of papers about two feet high.  It nearly fell over.
   "Um... Lois?  What are these?"
   "They're hard-copies of every article we've published over the last year.  They're all out of order.  So sort them."
   Clark awkwardly tried to give her a raised eyebrow over the stack.
   "These don't actually need to be sorted right this second, do they?"
   She turned and gave him her ultra-serious "I own your job" look.
   "You got a problem with that, Smallville?  In case you forgot, I'm still your boss.  I say when our paper crap needs to be sorted.  Got that?"
   Clark figured that Lois was probably being abrasive either because she was hurting from being dumped or because she didn't want to deal with their "moment" the night before.  Probably both.  Then again, Lois being abrasive wasn't exactly unusual, so it was hard to tell.  If anything, she was back to "normal."
   Still, however, he figured he should at least try to get through to her a little bit.
   "Lois, um... about last night—"
   "Don't, Clark.  Just don't.  I know we had a bit of a... 'moment' there, but... I have to figure some things out.  By myself.  Talk can come later."
   Clark nodded understandingly.
   "Well, y'know, Lois, I've been thinking, and I should probably take a little bit of time off from the Star.  I mean, there hasn't been much news lately, and Luthorcorp's been really quiet."
   Lois was surprised.  "Really?" she said.  "No 'hey, Lois, you know I'm always here for you,' or 'are you sure you wanna be alone' speeches?"
   Clark smirked a little.  "Nope.  None of that.  You say you need to be alone, so you can be alone."
   Lois wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or impressed.  "Huh.  Okay then, Smallville.  Take a week off."
   "Thanks, boss," he said with a sarcastic grin.
   As he turned to leave, Lois's phone rang.  She looked at the call ID: Chloe Sullivan.
   "Hey Chloe.  What's up?"
   "Hey, Lois," Chloe said, "I just got a really weird call from Clark.  He said you probably needed someone to talk to?"
   Flustered, Lois turned to Clark, who was halfway out the door, a clever grin plastered over his face.  Apparently, he wasn't going to let her mope and brood, even if she wanted to.

Aren't Meant To Be

   Bruce gently sipped at his coffee, taking a short moment to mentally prepare for the day.  It was only seven in the morning, but he was wide awake.
   The elevator pinged.  A few seconds later, Clark stepped into the penthouse.
   "You're up early," Bruce said.
   "I was raised on a farm."
   Bruce caught the slight edge in Clark's voice.  "Something wrong?"
   Clark made sure to take a quick deep breath before speaking.  Even so, he had a hard time restraining the booming anger in his voice.  "You broke up with Lois! Why?!"
   Bruce sat in silence for a moment.
   "Clark, I don't exactly expect you to understand this, but Lois doesn't really fit into my life anymore."
   Clark wasn't satisfied with that answer.  "Could you possibly be any more vague?" he asked sarcastically.
   Bruce took a deep breath.  "Lois is... somewhat devoted to me.  Over the past couple of months, she's put herself in a lot of danger because of me—because she thinks she can protect me by getting Luthor put in prison."
   Clark was beginning to understand, though he still didn't like it. "So... you dumped her because you think she'll be safer if she's not worried about you all the time?"
   "It's not just that.  I... I don't think I'm that great for her to be with.  Between school, training, and everything else, I don't really have time for her anymore."
   Clark frowned.  "So make the time."
   Bruce halfway glared at him.  "She's not a priority.  She can't be.  I have more important things to worry about."
   "How can you say that?! She's not just a... a task or something you can—"
   "You left Chloe in Smallville, didn't you?"
   Clark was caught off-guard. "...What does that have to do anything?"
   "She was your best friend, and I think you know she's practically in love with you.  But you left and came to Metropolis because you knew your destiny was here.  Because being here was more important than being with one person."
   Clark thought about that quietly for a moment.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized Bruce was right.  But still, there was one hole in Bruce's reasoning.
   "Hold on a minute," Clark said firmly.  "Lois is still here, in Metropolis.  You don't need to choose between her and being somewhere else.  Even if you don't have a lot of time to spend together, at least you'll have something."
   "It's not just that," Bruce said reluctantly.  "I... I don't think I still feel the same way about her that I did before.  I... appreciate her, but I don't love her."
   They both stood in silence for a moment, thinking it all over.
   "Lois and I... probably aren't meant to be together," Bruce said. "She needs someone who can actually be there for her.  That someone isn't me."
   "Then who?" Clark asked.
   Bruce resisted the urge to give him a clever grin.  "I don't know, but I hope whoever he is, he figures it out sooner than later.  After all, now that I'm out of the way, he doesn't have an excuse any longer."
   Clark suddenly felt nervous, and conveniently remembered that he needed to be somewhere else.  Bruce had never seen Clark be nervous before—about anything.  He enjoyed watching the boy of steel squirm for a few moments. 
   "Well, I'd better get moving," Clark said.  "I've got three articles to write before nine."
   Clark stepped back into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close.
   "Clark," Bruce said, "...watch out for her, alright?"
   As the doors began to slide shut in front of him, Clark stumbled over his words.  "I...uh... what?"

Something There

Lois sat on her bed, knees pulled up so she could bury her head in them.
   "Lois? Are you okay?"
   Lois abruptly lifted her head and looked to the left.  Her bedroom had an attached mini-balcony, and someone was standing on it.  She couldn't see who it was at first, her watery eyes muddling her vision, but there was something calming about the stranger's voice that kept her from being startled.  She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times.
   It was Clark.
   "Clark...What are you doing here?"
   "...I heard you crying.  What's wrong?"
   She wanted to try and change the subject; to ask him how he'd possibly heard her crying from wherever he'd been earlier—and wasn't he supposed to be at Diana's right about now?—but she knew he wouldn't let her slide like that.
   "Bruce... he broke up with me."
   Clark was completely surprised, and more than a little angry.  Why on Earth would Bruce break up with Lois? They cared so much for one another; it just didn't make sense...  Why would Bruce hurt her like this?...  No.  Lois was the one hurting right now; Bruce could be dealt with later.
   "Lois, I'm..." Clark didn't know what he could say that would help. "...I'm sorry."
   Lois managed to chuckle a little at him. "Heh. It's okay. Come in."
   Clark stepped inside, moving to sit next to Lois on the bed.
   "What happened?" he asked.
   Lois took a deep breath.  "He called me a little while ago.  He said that he was sorry, but—and I quote: 'a relationship wouldn't really fit into his life anymore.'  I tried to argue with him, but... he just said that it wasn't working between us anymore."
   Clark sat quietly without saying a word.  He remembered his mom telling him something about girls not actually wanting people to solve their problems when they were venting, but just to listen.  It sounded ridiculous, but he decided to try it anyway.
   "...I guess I should have seen it coming," Lois said. "It just... it happened so fast. We started arguing a month or two ago, and... I don't know.  Maybe... maybe I was too hard on him about the Diana thing, or... I don't know."
   "You don't like her, do you?" Clark asked.
   "Not entirely," Lois said without hesitation.
   "I figured as much," Clark said.
   "But Bruce sure seems to."
   Clark squinted a little. "What are you talking about?"
   Lois's head sank a little lower again.  "He spends hours every day with her.  And... I mean, look at her. She's gorgeous."
   Clark frowned.  "Bruce never even gave Diana an extra glance.  He trains with her because he wants to learn to fight, but I really don't think he likes her that way.  At all.  Actually, I'm not sure that he cares about her in the slightest."
   Lois's head sunk all the way back to her knees.  "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice muffled through her sweatpants.  "It was only after he met her that we started arguing."
   She lifted her head again, exasperation on her face.  "I mean, how am I supposed to keep him when he's got miss beauty-goddess staring him in the face every day?!?  Why would he even want me when I look like crap next to her?"
   Clark was a little taken aback.  He'd never seen Lois fuss over her physical appearance much; it was something he liked about her.  She just looked naturally beautiful the way she was.  No makeup, no hair-color-switching.  She wasn't beautiful like a movie star, exactly; but there was something in her eyes—a fire of sorts.  Diana had something similar, but it was different.  Diana's eyes burned with a solid gaze; resolute and firm.  Lois's eyes, even when they weren't moving, seemed to show a thousand things flying through her head at once.  Her mind was a flurry of intensity.
   "Lois," Clark said gently, "You're not any less attractive than Diana."
   Lois gave him a disbelieving raise of the eyebrow.  "Sure I'm not.  You don't have to sugar-coat it, Clark.  I'm not exactly the most—"
   Clark put his hand on hers, stopping her in mid-sentence.  "Lois, you're beautiful.  Don't ever think otherwise."
   Lois's eyes went wide and her cheeks burned a bit redder.  She felt like a stunned, embarrassed little girl.
   Through the bedroom door, Lois and Clark heard the apartment's front door open.  A few voices could be heard shuffling inside.
   "Sounds like your family's home," Clark said.
   "Yeah," Lois said, shaking off her stupor.  "They've been gone all night at my sister's play."
   "Alright, well, I'd better go," Clark said with a gentle smile.  He stood up and walked to the balcony again.
   Lois sat in the same place she'd been when he got there, watching him as he looked up towards the sky, ready to fly away again.
   "Wait!" she said, jumping up and running over to him.
She squeezed onto the tiny balcony next to him, and looked up into his eyes.  For a moment, it was as if something passed between them—a spark.
   "Clark... thank you," Lois said quietly, moving forward to hug him.  He gently put his arms around her and hugged her back.  They held each other for a quiet moment, perfectly still in the open air.
   They pulled back slowly.  Clark gave her one last caring smile before flying up and away.

Of Girls and Men

Diana finished her tale.
Clark frowned.  "So... your mom is prejudiced against men because of a cultural thing?"
"Clark! You don't understand; she was the Amazon queen in that story!  She lived through all that torture; all that pain, and she's been alone with our sisters on Themyscira for the past three thousand years."
Clark nearly took a step backward in surprise.  He should have figured that out already, but he hadn't realized just how old Hippolyta really was.  She only looked to be about forty.
"You've got to understand... my mom... she's seen the absolute worst of mankind.  Up until about a year ago, she hadn't even seen a man in—literally—ages.  When we first came to America, it was really hard for her to get over the idea that all men weren't out to harm her—and me."
"What was it that changed her mind?"
"Nothing," Diana sighed. "Just time.  She's still got a bit of anger, as you noticed.  But at least she doesn't snap at the slightest thing a man says or does anymore.  She's normally a pleasant person with them, actually."
Clark frowned again.  "Then why did she just treat me that way?" he asked.

Diana scrunched her face and sighed again with resigned frustration.  "It's because you're with me."
Clark suddenly felt a little embarrassed. "Uh... what?"
"The last boy I brought to meet my mother was Hal," Diana explained.  "She decided to trust him, and... well, after Hal and I broke up, I was... I was hurt.  So she got really mad.  I think she's worried that you'll do the same thing to me."
Clark was feeling even more uneasy.  "Uh... Diana, we're not... 'together'..."
"I know," Diana said in a slightly hushed tone.  "But you're taking me to the Christmas Formal, so that's close enough for her."
Clark wanted to roll his eyes.  From his perspective, it seemed more like she was taking him to the formal.

"I'm really sorry," Diana said apologetically. "I know you don't deserve her judgment."
Clark wanted to throw his arms in the air and yell "REALLY? YOU THINK?!" but he restrained himself.
"I mean, you're practically the only guy on the planet who's completely honorable," Diana joked.
At this, Clark took offense.  "What?" he said, half-squinting his eyes at her.
Diana shrugged, as though she was surprised he didn't agree.  "Well, you kinda have to agree, Clark.  Most men are chauvinistic and self-centered."
Clark was shocked, and more than a little ticked off.  He didn't know what to say; his head was spinning.  He was disappointed in her as a friend, but in other ways, too.  Whether or not he'd admitted it to himself, he'd come over for dinner at the Princes' not only because Diana had "asked," but because some part of him was actually somewhat interested in her, and wanted to know if perhaps she was someone he could see himself dating.  As it was turning out, however, that possibility was getting less and less likely.  Even if she wasn't nearly as bad as her mother, Diana was simply too judgmental and closed-minded.

Clark turned to lean over the balcony, taking a deep breath.
Girls were constantly frustrating for him.  Lana Lang, the girl he'd had a crush on back in Smallville, hadn't really given him a second look.  Chloe was an amazing friend, and Clark knew that she had romantic feelings for him, but he wasn't sure that changing their relationship would be a good idea, especially since she was in Smallville and he was consciously trying to spend as little time there as possible.  Diana was stunningly gorgeous and had powers like Clark, but, as Clark was now discovering, she had some nightmarish beliefs about humankind.  The only other girl in Clark's life was Lois.
Lois was a constant enigma to Clark.  Ultimately, she was Bruce's girlfriend, and that was the end of it.  Clark would never even let himself think about Lois as long as she was still with Bruce.  And yet, it felt as though something was... there.  Clark couldn't understand what it was, exactly.  He figured most people would call it chemistry, but that didn't quite match up.  He found himself constantly aware of where she was and what she was doing.  It was as though his super-hearing somehow locked onto her, and wouldn't let go.  Even though he normally heard all the city noise—every car horn, every TV set, every voice—as one constant blaring jumble, he could distinctly hear her scream from across the city.
Lois had a tendency to get herself into trouble.  Clark figured this was the reason his brain seemed a little fixated on her: she, more than anyone else, seemed to be in danger very often—the kind of danger he could probably save her from.
Clark mentally winced at his own mental phrasing. "Save her from."  He hated thinking of himself as a savior.  Even though he had incredible powers, he liked to think that he was only doing what he could with his personal ability, just like every other person on the planet.
Clark now wondered how long he'd been sitting there thinking without saying anything to Diana.  He could never tell; he was pretty sure his brain ran a little faster than humans' brains did.  He guessed he'd been there for about three seconds.

Suddenly, he heard something—something terrible; something painful.  It cut through the city night like a knife, digging what felt like a hole in Clark's heart.  Clark almost turned back to Diana to ask if she'd heard it, too, but he stopped when he realized that he was the only one who could hear it.
A half-mile away, alone in her parents' apartment, Lois was crying.

Clark forced himself to remember what Diana had said a few seconds ago: "Well, you kinda have to agree, Clark.  Most men are chauvinistic and self-centered."
He turned to her, a determinedly serious look in his eyes.  "No, they're not.  Not the way you think.  The sooner you realize that, the better.  I'm sorry; I have to go."
And with that, he lifted off the floor, floating up into the night, leaving Diana speechless.

The Amazons

This is the legend of the Amazons.


Three millennia ago, North of the Mediterranean Sea, there existed a nation of warriors.  Both men and women, they fought side-by-side as equals on the battlefield.  There existed no greater army in the world than theirs; no stronger warriors than theirs.  They understood the true nature of combat: the reality of bloodshed, bravery, and death.  Every man and woman would give his or her life to protect his brothers and sisters; there were no cowards among them.  The name of this nation is long lost to history, but its fall is legendary.

An enemy nation, using deceit, trickery, and unnatural power, completely conquered the warrior nation.  They slaughtered all men and children, leaving only the women alive.  Those women were enslaved, tortured, and raped.  For two long years, the wives, mothers, and daughters of a once-great nation were subjugated by evil men.  Finally, led by their queen, the women planned a resistance against their captors.  The queen knew that without aid from the gods, their plan would fail.  Every day, she prayed to the goddesses—Hestia, Aphrodite, Demeter, Athena and Artemis—for the strength and fortune to defeat the men that held her people captive.  And, on the day the battle was to begin, her prayers were answered.  The gods of Olympus saw this great injustice, and granted each woman the strength of a dozen men.
The queen was given special gifts, crafted by Olympus' royal craftsman, the god Hephaestus himself:
An indestructible golden lasso, laced with undeniable magic that caused anyone in its grasp to speak only the truth.
A red corset, stronger than any steel armor, topped with an eagle-shaped golden chestplate.
Twin silver bracelets, forged from the shield of Zeus, able to shatter the shaft of an oncoming arrow or stop a mighty bolt of lightning in its path.
A golden tiara, unable to be bent or broken by any man.

The women took the name "Amazons"—meaning, literally, "warrior women."  Retaking their stolen armor and weapons, they rallied against the men who had dishonored them.

The battle was fierce and bloody; it lasted for three days without end.  The evil army summoned all manner of supernatural beasts to aid in their fight, but to no avail: the Amazons were unstoppable in their rage.
In the end, no man was left alive; only the Amazons stood, sheathed in blood but still alive.

As a final recompense, the gods gave the Amazons a sanctuary from the chaotic world of man: the island of Themyscira, shrouded from the outside world.  No human eye nor technological wonder could detect the secret haven, hidden safely in the Aegean Sea.
The Amazons, left to themselves in their new refuge, did not let their warrior spirit become soft.  They continued training in the ways of war, never letting their resolve weaken.  They forgot the good men of their homeland, but did not forget the crimes of the wicked men who enslaved them.  Soon, the Amazons fell into a singular belief: that the patriarch-dominated world of mankind was inherently corrupt, and that only one's sisters could truly be trusted.  They became closed-minded and mistrustful, never venturing beyond their shores or allowing others to discover Themyscira.

Although the Amazons were not invulnerable, they were immortal: they would never die of old age. The same women who fought back against the army of evil never died.  They live on, secluded on their Paradise Island, even to this day.

Dinner

Clark actually felt nervous.
Although Hippolta's eyes were currently set on her dinner plate, Clark could somehow still feel her judging stare.

It had started as soon as Clark had walked in the door.
Diana greeted him excitedly, her smile beaming.  Over her shoulder, however, Clark could see Diana's mother giving him a completely unemotional, cold stare.
"Clark, this is my mother," Diana said politely, taking him by the hand and walking him over.  Clark, awkwardly being pulled along, did his best to keep his composure.  "It's nice to meet you, Miss Prince."

Hippolyta nodded with a stiff smile.  "It is... nice to meet you, Clark."
Diana, surprised at the coldness of her mother's greeting, slowly turned her head and gave Hippolyta a "what was that?" look.
The rest of the night went downhill from there.

Back in Smallville, Clark had been over to a dozen different families' homes for dinner.  In a small town like that, it was the kind of thing that happened all the time.  But Clark had never felt so uncomfortable at any of those dinners as he did here.
Without even making eye contact, Hippolyta managed to convey the message that she was not particularly pleased with Clark, despite the fact that she didn't know him.  Perhaps it was the lack of eye contact—or any other type of politeness—that was so off-putting.  Hippolyta just stared at her plate, slowly working her way through her meal, not saying a word unless spoken to.

Eventually, Clark was tired of waiting.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, have I done something wrong?"
Hippolyta slowly raised her head and looked Clark in the eye.  For a split-second, Clark thought he caught a glimpse of a fiery hatred—as though her eyes were screaming "YES, YOU HAVE. BURN IN HELL."  She quickly regained control of herself, however, and shook off her initial reaction.  She did her best to actually give him a genuine smile. "No, Clark, you haven't done anything.  I must apologize; we haven't had a guest to our home since we moved to Metropolis."
Clark smiled back at her. "Well, as far as I can tell, you don't have anything to worry about.  The Metroplans don't bite.  Most of them."
Diana smiled slightly at Clark's joke.  Hippolyta's smile faded, as though she were suddenly reminded of a grim memory.  "I apologize, but I must retire for the night," she said, slowly standing up and walking out of the dining room.
Diana was aghast.  She quickly stood up and chased after her mother, following her down the short hall into the next bedroom.
Clark awkwardly sat at the table alone, twirling pasta around his fork.  He tried to block it out, but even someone without super powers could hear the shouting coming from across the house.  Eventually, Diana stormed back out of the room, stomping her feet as she paced back and forth across the apartment, muttering her frustration.
"...HOW could she be so simple-minded?!?..."
"...what gives HER the right to..."
"...as if ALL men are like the one that..."

Diana walked out onto the apartment's balcony, leaning on the railing as she tried to let her frustration flow out into the cool night air.
Clark followed her.  "So... what happened?" he asked.
Diana sighed heavily and slumped her head into her hands. "...I'm sorry, Clark.  My mother is a bit sexist."
Clark was slightly surprised.  "You mean she didn't like me because I'm a man?"
Diana smirked a little at Clark referring to himself—a sixteen-year-old boy—as a "man", but she couldn't really argue with it.  "Yeah, basically."  Diana turned toward him.  "Clark, the Amazons have a long, bloody history with men.  There's a reason we only allow women on our island."
Clark's eyes narrowed.  "Tell me."