Rorschach pounded the alleyways with his brisk walk.
The night seemed thick with the stench of the city and the wasted souls aimlessly wandering in it. Rorschach heard the scream again, however. Close. He emerged from his alley. The city lights from porno shops and prostitution parlors selling "deep tissue massages" glared in his face. They reacquainted him with the city. With his city.
He assumed his position. The one people knew him by: hands deep in his coat pockets. Collar up. Brisk walk. Seemingly unaware and uncaring. Being noticeably hurried only stirred up interest and often, those nosey liberals and street thugs who pursued their interest, would interfere. And Rorschach didn't need interference.
But then he saw her, unmistakable and totally out of place. Rorschach panicked and pressed against a brick wall. This is New York City. This isn't that damn island. But then why was she here? Vanessa Bell. His thoughts raced and under his leather gloves, his palms accumulated sweat.
Rorschach pulled open his journal and raced to the back where he kept details. Where he kept the fact. He saw it in glaring letters. His own messy manuscript:
Vanessa Bell. Painter. London. 1941.
This meant the island had been real and not some lengthy dream.
Rorschach hurried to the woman and grabbed her arm. He pulled her into an alleyway, out of sight from the street and the lurkers there.
The sudden pull from the man in the mask caused yet another scream and when they were in that alley she couldn't but lean on a dirty wall for support. This was simply too much for her to cope with.
"Where are we?" She asked Rorschach. It was good, she supposed, that there was someone else there whom she knew. Though, she doubted knowing Rorschach here would do much good.
He kept ahold of her arm. Rorschach didn't want her to try and run away and end up down in the slums or turning down a wrong path. It was easy to do here.
"This isn't the island anymore. Stay close," Rorschach told her quickly as he peered around the alley wall. "You're dressed strangely. You're screaming. You'd attractive attention. It'd be unsafe," Rorschach let go of her arm and turned down the alley. He walked into the dark.
Nessa looked at herself, not seeing how her plain blue dress was out of the ordinary. It only had a light brown pattern on it, along the seems. "Well, I was... I am rather flustered. But the man didn't wait for her answer and had walked to the dark back.
Was there another option but to follow him? He was the only thing she knew, in a strange place, in an odd city.
Rorschach watched from the corner of his eye. He knew Vanessa didn't have to follow him. It'd be in her best interest for her, too. But people didn't always do what was in their best interest.
He led her across the puddled alleys, avoiding any main traffic patterns that would have put Vanessa in the public eye.
He turned back to her when he was at the corner of 5th and Madison. A well-lit neighborhood that didn't have the drug dealers and thieves.
"You'll be fine here. Don't talk to anyone and find some place to stay,"
She followed and kept her eyes mostly to the ground. The height of the buildings, the very nature of this place (or rather the complete lack of nature) was quite horrifying to her.
When Rorschach stopped again, she looked up. It was... nicer than the part of the city they had leflt behind, but that hardly said anything good about the place.
Now she may have been scared, and she may have dutifully followed the man as he asked, but this she wasn't going to allow. "What?!" She exclaimed. "You are not going to leave me here. You're the only one I know here." She looked around. "You can't leave me here."
"Can and will," Rorschach told her, pulling his coat tightly around his waist. The New York wind bit at his body and put a cold shiver through his body. A sensation absent from the island.
He turned away from Vanessa Bell and headed back for the alleyway that'd take him back to the streets he controlled. The streets he brought down criminals on.
"You can not," Nessa said, more firmly now and, above all, much more practical. She had never found herself in such a situation and though it scared her, she was willing to accept its reality and to, well... survive in it.
"This is your city, apparently, but I don't know it, don't know anything about it," she said, and followed to where he had gone. "I don't know how long we'll be here but while we are being... dumped in a lighter part of the city isn't enough. I need a coat, first of all!" She tried, continuing to talk, hoping the man would come back, not thinking of the possibility he wouldn't.
Rorschach turned around and motioned up to the skyscrapers and tall buildings above them.
"You're in New York City," His voice low, gruff. "Just like I didn't know that island, you don't know this place. So you're right," He turned away once more, hurrying into the alley and called behind him:
"You'll need a jacket."
Rorschach saw the two men standing in the dark of the brick path behind an XXX bookstore. He didn't hesitate. One punch. One kick. A slam of the man with a pony-tail's head against the brick and he fell to the ground. Knocked out cold. The man buying drugs from the victim, no doubt, ran away scared.
Rorschach bent down and took the man's thick brown jacket off of him. He checked the pockets. Emptied them of the three small bags of white powder. Of course. Drug deal, he told himself as the powder fell to the ground like snow. Rorschach stamped it into the alley concrete with his shoes. Didn't want any coke whore or junkie thinking they'd snort it from the ground for free.
Nessa witnessed the brutality with disgust. "I will not wear the coat of a man you have just beaten down," she said, not accepting the coat. It went against her everything. Violence, war, she was against it, she would always be.
"Please, can't you just take me with you for the duration of... this, whatever this is. I am certain it will not last, I believe I have heard about these occurances. It has happened before, to others."
She couldn't see his face, which was frustrating. "I'm scared, dear. I need a chair, a cup of tea, and a moment to compose myself, not the coat of a vagabond."
He looked at her than dropped the jacket to the ground. It landed in a puddle and street water soaked it. Even if she wanted the jacket, it was too late. It'd be too muddy and wet to wear now.
"What's happening then?" He asked, hoping in vain for answers. "This is a trick of the island?"
Rorschach turned away and massaged his knuckles through his gloves. The punches were the first he'd thrown since his fight with the dark-eyed stranger on the island. And they hurt. If this was a dream or hallucination of the island, would those punches have hurt him? Rorschach was getting angry at his confusion.
"Stay in my apartment if you want," Rorschach told her, starting to walk. He didn't like to remain stationary for long enough to develop a conversation. He also didn't tell her that he wouldn't be staying there with her.
Nessa followed. Again. It was getting rather annoying, even to the normally calm of heart. Though Nessa's heart from calm. And on top of every new and freighning sound and look, she couldn't help but think; what of Julian?
What if he had suffered the same? What if he was caught somewhere else, or - possibly worse - here? Suddenly great worry overcame her.
"Have you... you wouldn't have seen anyone else around, would you? From the island, I mean?" She asked, but almost knowing it was futile to ask him.
"No," Rorschach told her. He remained walking forward and didn't turn to look at the woman.
Just as Rorschach turned down the street to his apartment, he had an idea.
If this was a figment of my imagination or some trick the island is playing on me, there wouldn't be any of the others here, right? Any of the Crimebusters? Rorschach stopped and looked to the woman.
"We're going to visit a friend. He'll be able to help us." He would have taken her the direct route, but he wanted to avoid the people that would be along the route. He didn't want questions. He didn't want interaction. Vanessa Bell was already too much.
Rorschach stopped when they reached Dan's brownstone. Rorschach snorted out of jealousy. How did you end up here, Dreiberg?.
Rather than knock, Rorschach took the door handle tightly in his hand and busted against the door with his shoulder.
It popped open successfully. The door handle, however, came off in Rorschach's hand.
He stepped into the darkened walkway of the apartment. Rorschach turned to Vanessa.
"He's an old friend."
Rorschach stayed where he was, close to Vanessa and cleared his throat.
"Daniel, it's me, Rorschach. You need a better lock."
She didn't ask anything else, and fretted on the inside instead. Julian, caught here? She didn't dare think of the possibility.
It was cold and she rubbed her arms as she walked, unable to look away from everything she saw as she passed it. The pornographic shops, the covert dealings in the half shade, the writing on the walls, the screaming propaganda. It was everything that her world was not (one oddly-shaped stain on the wall aside, that looked all too much like a man and a woman having sex, to which she may have smiled a little).
Eventually they came to a nicer sort of apartment, that Rorschach opened forcefully. She walked inside and hoped this Daniel was was a nicer person too.
"Rorschach?" A man walked in, in a bathrobe, narrowing his eyes as approached. Then he put on the glasses he had been cleaning with a sleeve and gave a small smile. "You need a little more patience. I would have answered the door."
Nessa sighed in relief visibly. Thank heavens this man seemed saner.
The night seemed thick with the stench of the city and the wasted souls aimlessly wandering in it. Rorschach heard the scream again, however. Close. He emerged from his alley. The city lights from porno shops and prostitution parlors selling "deep tissue massages" glared in his face. They reacquainted him with the city. With his city.
He assumed his position. The one people knew him by: hands deep in his coat pockets. Collar up. Brisk walk. Seemingly unaware and uncaring. Being noticeably hurried only stirred up interest and often, those nosey liberals and street thugs who pursued their interest, would interfere. And Rorschach didn't need interference.
But then he saw her, unmistakable and totally out of place. Rorschach panicked and pressed against a brick wall. This is New York City. This isn't that damn island. But then why was she here? Vanessa Bell. His thoughts raced and under his leather gloves, his palms accumulated sweat.
Rorschach pulled open his journal and raced to the back where he kept details. Where he kept the fact. He saw it in glaring letters. His own messy manuscript:
Vanessa Bell. Painter. London. 1941.
This meant the island had been real and not some lengthy dream.
Rorschach hurried to the woman and grabbed her arm. He pulled her into an alleyway, out of sight from the street and the lurkers there.
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"Where are we?" She asked Rorschach. It was good, she supposed, that there was someone else there whom she knew. Though, she doubted knowing Rorschach here would do much good.
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"This isn't the island anymore. Stay close," Rorschach told her quickly as he peered around the alley wall. "You're dressed strangely. You're screaming. You'd attractive attention. It'd be unsafe," Rorschach let go of her arm and turned down the alley. He walked into the dark.
"Follow me."
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Was there another option but to follow him? He was the only thing she knew, in a strange place, in an odd city.
She followed.
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He led her across the puddled alleys, avoiding any main traffic patterns that would have put Vanessa in the public eye.
He turned back to her when he was at the corner of 5th and Madison. A well-lit neighborhood that didn't have the drug dealers and thieves.
"You'll be fine here. Don't talk to anyone and find some place to stay,"
Reply
When Rorschach stopped again, she looked up. It was... nicer than the part of the city they had leflt behind, but that hardly said anything good about the place.
Now she may have been scared, and she may have dutifully followed the man as he asked, but this she wasn't going to allow. "What?!" She exclaimed. "You are not going to leave me here. You're the only one I know here." She looked around. "You can't leave me here."
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He turned away from Vanessa Bell and headed back for the alleyway that'd take him back to the streets he controlled. The streets he brought down criminals on.
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"This is your city, apparently, but I don't know it, don't know anything about it," she said, and followed to where he had gone. "I don't know how long we'll be here but while we are being... dumped in a lighter part of the city isn't enough. I need a coat, first of all!" She tried, continuing to talk, hoping the man would come back, not thinking of the possibility he wouldn't.
Reply
"You're in New York City," His voice low, gruff. "Just like I didn't know that island, you don't know this place. So you're right," He turned away once more, hurrying into the alley and called behind him:
"You'll need a jacket."
Rorschach saw the two men standing in the dark of the brick path behind an XXX bookstore. He didn't hesitate. One punch. One kick. A slam of the man with a pony-tail's head against the brick and he fell to the ground. Knocked out cold. The man buying drugs from the victim, no doubt, ran away scared.
Rorschach bent down and took the man's thick brown jacket off of him. He checked the pockets. Emptied them of the three small bags of white powder. Of course. Drug deal, he told himself as the powder fell to the ground like snow. Rorschach stamped it into the alley concrete with his shoes. Didn't want any coke whore or junkie thinking they'd snort it from the ground for free.
He handed the coat to Vanessa.
"Here."
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"Please, can't you just take me with you for the duration of... this, whatever this is. I am certain it will not last, I believe I have heard about these occurances. It has happened before, to others."
She couldn't see his face, which was frustrating. "I'm scared, dear. I need a chair, a cup of tea, and a moment to compose myself, not the coat of a vagabond."
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"What's happening then?" He asked, hoping in vain for answers. "This is a trick of the island?"
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"Why else would I be here with you? I've never seen such a city in my life."
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Rorschach turned away and massaged his knuckles through his gloves. The punches were the first he'd thrown since his fight with the dark-eyed stranger on the island. And they hurt. If this was a dream or hallucination of the island, would those punches have hurt him? Rorschach was getting angry at his confusion.
"Stay in my apartment if you want," Rorschach told her, starting to walk. He didn't like to remain stationary for long enough to develop a conversation. He also didn't tell her that he wouldn't be staying there with her.
"It's this way."
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What if he had suffered the same? What if he was caught somewhere else, or - possibly worse - here? Suddenly great worry overcame her.
"Have you... you wouldn't have seen anyone else around, would you? From the island, I mean?" She asked, but almost knowing it was futile to ask him.
Reply
Just as Rorschach turned down the street to his apartment, he had an idea.
If this was a figment of my imagination or some trick the island is playing on me, there wouldn't be any of the others here, right? Any of the Crimebusters? Rorschach stopped and looked to the woman.
"We're going to visit a friend. He'll be able to help us." He would have taken her the direct route, but he wanted to avoid the people that would be along the route. He didn't want questions. He didn't want interaction. Vanessa Bell was already too much.
Rorschach stopped when they reached Dan's brownstone. Rorschach snorted out of jealousy. How did you end up here, Dreiberg?.
Rather than knock, Rorschach took the door handle tightly in his hand and busted against the door with his shoulder.
It popped open successfully. The door handle, however, came off in Rorschach's hand.
He stepped into the darkened walkway of the apartment. Rorschach turned to Vanessa.
"He's an old friend."
Rorschach stayed where he was, close to Vanessa and cleared his throat.
"Daniel, it's me, Rorschach. You need a better lock."
Reply
It was cold and she rubbed her arms as she walked, unable to look away from everything she saw as she passed it. The pornographic shops, the covert dealings in the half shade, the writing on the walls, the screaming propaganda. It was everything that her world was not (one oddly-shaped stain on the wall aside, that looked all too much like a man and a woman having sex, to which she may have smiled a little).
Eventually they came to a nicer sort of apartment, that Rorschach opened forcefully. She walked inside and hoped this Daniel was was a nicer person too.
"Rorschach?" A man walked in, in a bathrobe, narrowing his eyes as approached. Then he put on the glasses he had been cleaning with a sleeve and gave a small smile. "You need a little more patience. I would have answered the door."
Nessa sighed in relief visibly. Thank heavens this man seemed saner.
Reply
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