Not A Chance

Just don't look at anybody in particular, Lane, Lois told herself as she prepared to exit the restroom. Keep your eyes moving, clear your mind. No desire. All you have to do is...

Lois opened her eyes just as the black woman came in.

There are women with skin like cafe au lait, shading down into deep, rich chocolate. Then there are the women where some trick of genetics has them darker than that. Skin so brown that it seems to actually shade to black, drinking in the light. Hair trimmed close, in sharp relief. Nostrils flared. Lips like they were carved out of raw cacao, wide and generous.

That was the kind of woman that walked into the restroom, pushing past Lois with a brief smile. In blue jeans and a tank top, no bra, the little tits pressing for the briefest moment against Lois Lane's own—then she was gone, into a stall, about her business.

Pins and needles all over. Lois had a sinking feeling as she quickly darted over to the mirror.

A face stared back at her, at once familiar and unfamiliar. Dark skin, lovely and rich as the girl who had just passed by. Her own straight raven-dark hair, purple eyes. But the nose was different, the lips, the hang of the ears. The breasts and buttocks were still there, but they were dark, and Lois knew without looking that the pierced nipples would be black as well, verging on purple.

"Shit," Lois swore. Her voice, at least, sounded the same. A little too much the same. Anyone that heard her would think she'd put on a white-girl voice just to piss them off.

I can't go back like this. I'm completely unrecognizable. I probably wouldn't even make it back into my building. Lois quickly ran through her options, ears waiting to hear if either of the women in the stalls were finished. She didn't want to be here when they came out.

Okay, if I can't go home...then I go deeper. Go back downstairs, grab the book, find some spell that will fix me.

The reporter nodded grimly to herself in the mirror. Decision made, she headed back out into the club.

Eyes up, keeping herself moving, trying not to focus on anyone, Lois made a bee-line for the elevator.