The Death Knell

The thing was deceived from the troublemaker, and Harley didn't bother to watch his arrogant performance. The little man looked like a bald old man in his fifties, and the remaining hair looked like airplane wings. With its ribs sticking out to both sides, it can be said that it has no cuteness at all.

She took the drawing board and handed it to the executioner's daughter beside her, then nodded towards Superboy:

"Come on, Clark, you are also Superman and are very familiar with that story. You will tell it and she will draw it."

"Okay, wrap it up on me." Little Superboy patted his chest. The S letter didn't even tremble at all. His muscles were so strong. He walked around the large tray of multi-layered cakes and came to the woman in the black skirt: "But I My cultural level is not high, so I may not be able to convey my meaning. Madam, please bear with me."

"Oh, I'm really not a painter, haha, but don't worry, I will paint well." The young girl was beaming at this moment, and even through the translucent black gauze, you can see the joy on her face. At that time, she was trying out the ability of the drawing board: "Then let's get started. Please give me more advice, Superman."

When he heard people calling him that, Superboy-Prime's face suddenly lit up. He actually liked others to call him that, but people usually just called him Superboy to distinguish him.

But where am I too small? Whether it's chest muscles or biceps, are they bigger than the other Clark from Earth 0?

In this way, Superboy recalled the Superman origin comics he had seen back then, and retold the composition and storyboards, as well as the lines and stories.

He may not have advanced academic qualifications, but he is still a superman, and his memory is needless to say, and it is guaranteed to be exactly the same as the original story.

The executioner's beautiful daughter is good at oil painting, but now that she has a five-dimensional drawing board, she can only draw simple comics, which couldn't be easier.

However, it still takes a little time. After all, no matter how magical the drawing board is, it is just a tool and cannot replace the role of people.

"Harry, what do you think?"

The boy approached the acquaintance with the pungent perfume and asked in a low voice. He knew that this woman knew what he meant. Everyone in Old Gotham knew that Harley was indeed crazy, but she was never stupid.

"Me? Hehe, you shouldn't ask me this. You know, I've never been interested in art unless it's super valuable." Harley continued to pick up her cake plate and cut the strawberries with a small fork: " If you want me to review this guy’s paintings, you’re talking to the wrong person, you should be talking to Catwoman, she’s the real art thief.”

Little Sugar Bean may have understood what the boy meant, but she didn't continue. Instead, she talked about irrelevant things and started to pretend.

"I didn't ask you about the value of the painting, but I wanted to know if Superman is really trapped in the past as we suspected? And will our plan be used by the enemy?"

The cloak covered the boy's small body, but the dark shadow he cast made him look very tall and strong.

"Don't worry, dear little bird, if there is a problem with our plan, Deathstroke's contact will pop up. You see, by now, the canvas has started to be painted, and the adjutant has not popped up, which means there is no problem. We Just have to wait."

After saying that, Harley saw that the boy didn't eat the cake either. In order to avoid wasting food, she gave the cake on his plate to the raven:

"Be calm and think about it carefully. How did the death knell do it when there was a need to wait in the past?"

"...Smoking and drinking." Damian immediately had an answer. Every time he had to wait for someone or wait for things to progress, Deathstroke was really not in a hurry at all. He should learn: "I understand. Do you have a cigarette?"

"You're still a kid, are you sure?" Harley didn't have a cigarette, but someone else did. She stretched out her hand and rubbed her fingers, and the film man not far away threw the cigarette and lighter.

He used to be a pilot in the U.S. Air Force and flew high-altitude strategic bombers. The mental pressure he had to face was there, and smoking was naturally a habit.

Although now he is just a ball of negative energy wrapped in bandages and even his body is gone, he still has to smoke.

Even though he is fooling around with other team members, he has actually been eavesdropping on the progress of the matter. He is the most reliable in the Doom Patrol.

Rice replaced his answer with actions. He skillfully took out a cigarette from the box, lit it in a cool manner, and then started to smoke it properly. Even if he wanted to cough, he was suppressed by his willpower, but his voice was a little bit... Change:

"It does feel better this way, like I have someone to rely on."

"It's purely a brain reaction caused by chemicals." Harley pinched the boy's face and stuck out her tongue with a smile: "But happiness is the most important thing. If we die next, won't you be missing another person?" Such a regret? Hahahaha..."

"Don't move your hands. Do you really think of yourself as my aunt?" Damian had already adapted to the cigarette. He slapped Harley's hand away. His eyes were looking at the canvas through the wisps of green smoke. The picture gradually becomes complete.

"I prefer you to call me sister or crazy woman." Harley knocked the boy on the head, and then rubbed him: "I'm still young, at least compared to Gin and Xiao Dai, I'm much younger."

"Ha." Damian laughed like his father, a sound that Batman never made.

At this moment, the boy seemed to be more like that person. He didn't slap Harley's hand away, but seemed to acquiesce to something.

The argument between Luther and the chief is still going on, and the noisy laughter of the Doom Patrol is also going on, but these seem to have nothing to do with the painter. Every time she writes, the soft brush will form a gorgeous light and shadow, just like a real photo. .

Superboy-Prime, who seems to have no artistic taste, admires such a painter. Even the tone in which he describes the scene and story is somewhat respectful.

As for the fifth-dimensional man and the raven, although they were also eating cakes and waiting, they were also paying attention to the painting process, but the dwarf was obviously more excited because he had already determined that this method was feasible.

At least the drawing board wasn't lent out in vain.

It was the powerful effect of this prop that greatly shortened the painting time. After about five minutes, the executioner’s beautiful daughter drew a comic book, which was the origin story of Superman.

"It's amazing. The drawings in the hand-drawn book are like photo albums. It's so real." The troublemaker was the first to read it. His eyes were like cartoon characters, and they fell out of their sockets in surprise, and they became even bigger.

"Thank you for the compliment, I'm really not a painter, hehe!" The woman in black robe gently covered her mouth with her hand, and smiled as if she was shy: "Come on, everyone please come close to me, let's go back to the time when the story should have happened. go."