It was good while it lasted, the gig working for Harvey, but once it was over, Simon did his best to vanish again. Sorry, Jack, Jon, or whoever you are. Sell your own LSD. Hide your own corpses, if you make any. Simon has no desire to be caught if, God forbid, Mr. Dent decides to tell people where the bodies went
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It's on the way back to his car from one of these, scarf tight around his face and heavy canvas bag rattling with bits of sharp, cold metal, that he passes by that street corner.
He knows that voice, that pale, big-eyed face. And he almost freezes in the middle of the street, staring -- only barely turns it into a pretense of checking his bag. What do I do? What would Rorschach... he'd run after him and probably get stabbed again. Jeez, look at him, out here in just that coat, he must be freezing. No wonder he was... God, what'll he do for a place to stay if someone else offers? He's just a kid. Even he doesn't deserve...
He takes a deep breath, and approaches Simon. This is such a bad idea. "Hey." He stutters a little, eyes cast down as he tries to stave off the irrational fear that he'll be recognised, and scare the poor kid off. "Y-you need a place to stay? Something to eat?"
He just has to be sure to get him fed and out of the house by the time Walter gets home from work. That shouldn't be hard, right?
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"No one's that generous." Just the right amount of suspicion. "What do you want?"
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Archie's a cheap car, boxy and brown, but the seats are soft and the heater works. And it gets them to his apartment in good time -- just as warm and a little bit more spacious. "Just a second, I have to put this away..." He darts toward the workroom, to crack the door and toss the bag inside, closing the door right up again, while still keeping an eye on the kid. (He's naive, not stupid.)
"What kind of soup do you like?" He doesn't mention Walter just yet. He has enough time that he probably won't need to, right?
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"Nice place," he says quietly. Could be diffident, could be distracted. What type of soup does he like? "Um. Chicken. Anything thick? Or do you have pork and beans?"
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"Yeah. I have a roommate, but he's at work. You, uh..." He really wishes there was a polite way to put this. "You should probably be gone by the time he gets back. He's sort of weird about people."
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But he's dealt with blows to the head before, and he swings at Simon past the sudden constellations, looking pained in more ways than one. You idiot. Why did you think this would be easy? "You don't have to do this..."
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He raises an arm to ward off the blow, rushing forward to tackle Simon. If there's one advantage he has over this kid, after all, it's size.
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