Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken

[dyingwings]

 Who: Didi and Rorschach
When: Monday, Four AM
Summary: Rorschach discovers Didi just as the virus overcomes her.
Rating: R for blood, violence, and zombie creepiness

Comments

[ronchronchronch]

He hadn't meant to come in here.

He hadn't meant to even walk by the door.

But he recognized the voice on the other side of the door into the suite. And really, whether or not he was psychopathic (he wasn't, he was certain, but some would argue) he knew he couldn't just walk by. Rorschach was no longer Walter Kovacs, but Rorschach did not leave a stone unturned, and Rorschach did not let the undeserving suffer.

And so he opened the door, and there she was -- black and white, but there was something new. Red, too, blood he could only assume was her own. He stepped carefully, face shifting as the gears in his mind turned, trying to come up with a scenario that would match what was going on here.

Rorschach did not post on the network often, but he did watch it like a hawk -- the fact that people were getting sick didn't get by him. It was an easy leap to guess she was one of the ill.

She wasn't dead. He could see her breathing.

And so he crouched, reaching forward to push her hair from her face -- it was stuck there, drenched in sweat.

"Hrrm."

[dyingwings]

Death's face felt the touch.

Warm. Even through the leather gloves. Warm meant beating, thump thump, pushing the red through wet bag bodies.

She looked up, eyes blurred and bloody but still finding the shifting face of the other. it was covered, like the rest of him, but she could see the cracks in the armor, where she'd have to tear to get at the skin, and the red.

Didi's powers were based on want, and need, and they served her even now, when all she wanted was a way to rip, and tear, and free the red.

Her nails grew, long and hard and sharp, and she let out a single hoarse growl, rattling in her ravaged throat. One of her hands lashed out, seeking the gap in the trenchcoat at the collar, where the neck was hidden, with nails spattered with her own infected blood.

[ronchronchronch]

The black and white and red girl lunged, and he did the only thing he could -- throw himself backward. He was fast enough to move before she could injure him, but she did manage to unravel the scarf at his throat, and he shoved it into his coat with a frustrated growl.

She wasn't right.

Rorschach moved, putting the couch in between himself and the bloody girl on the floor. There wasn't much in the room for improvised weapons -- suites were kept relatively spartan. However, he thought the TV might do the trick, and so he positioned himself near it, prepared to tear it from the wall if he had to. There was also a chair in the corner he could use -- not an armchair, just a regular desk chair. That'd do, too.

[dyingwings]

Didi crouched, drawing in a long breath from her nose, trying to get a fix on where her prey had gone.

He was fast. He'd ran. He'd... There! There was a thing between them, a barrier.

Death leapt, letting out a shriek as she vaulted over the couch, hands outstretched. Unfortunately, the illness seemed to still be affecting her, and the physical activity upset her stomach, causing hot bile and blood to roll up from inside her, spill out of her as she jumped.

[ronchronchronch]

The couch was enough of a barrier, bought him enough time to whirl and fling the television in Didi's direction. It blocked most of the vomit, but Rorschach grunted as a bit of it splattered his coat.

This was getting a little bit ridiculous. But the television was spent now -- he'd have to find another improvised weapon, and frankly, there wasn't much.

Except the couch. He wondered if it was bolted down.

[dyingwings]

Didi let out a plaintive howl, the TV struck her on the left side of her torso, and she wasn't a big woman. She reeled back for a moment, stumbling from fever and pain, and lashed out again with her right hand, lengthened nails seeking to rip, cut, anything...