08

[ultimaverum]

[Have some random, tense scribbles here, where the Question has written and crossed out what appears to be several lengthy notes. You may catch the word ‘sorry’ a few times.]

[There’s a shaky breath recorded, followed by some pencil taps, then: ]

Comments

[Question]

[shrt_temper]

[has just sort of been seeeething for the last couple of days, keeping his eye on his drop point and the journal entries they've bookmarked, burying himself in their work so he doesn't have to think about how much Sunday night upset him. grips the journal a little tightly as he rereads the note. "personal belongings"? how many times would he have to tell him it was his FACE for it to sink in? until he realized that what lay underneath it belonged to someone long since gone and replaced?]

Hm.

[a few more moments of staring at the page, later, he writes back]

I should explain something to you. If you can, meet me in Room 1018. [which, if Question thinks on it, is empty...]

[Rorschach]

[ultimaverum]

[He's been staring at the page for a long time when Rorschach's response finally comes in. The second he sees it, he's on his feet and headed towards the door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, before pulling out his journal and scribbling: ]

Coming [by Rorschach's note.]

[He fidgets for a second, tries to make himself look halfway presentable then runs nearly all the way there. He slows to a walk as he turns the final corner, hesitating at the door before pushing it open]

Room 1018 Filter (mod-ok'd)

[shrt_temper]

[the vacant room is completely empty - none of the usual furniture that residents usually see upon arrival. just a stone floor and stone walls, and a window clouded over with cobwebs and dust, only letting some of the light from inside filter in. whether that's really how the rooms are when they're empty, or whether the castle changed it to Rorschach's expectations for an empty room, is probably irrelevant.

inside, Walter - not Rorschach, but his seldom-seen alter ego - is sitting in the far corner, under the window, idly, one knee tucked up to his chest, the other let stretched out on the floor. he's in dark blue pants, and an undershirt, something almost uniform-like, his right arm draped over his knee as he inspects his freshly-healed wrist. and it's silent. even more silent than an empty room in a full building should be - no echoes from outside, nothing. come on in, Question]

Room 1018 Filter

[ultimaverum]

[Stands in the doorway for a moment, inspecting the room. It's dark and gloomy and he already knows he's not going to like what happens here.]

[He steps in, solemnly, and keeps his distance, standing nearly opposite the man in the corner. He doesn't speak. He waits in the hard-edged silence, completely still. He won't prompt you. It's your story. He's just here to listen.]

Permafilter!

[shrt_temper]

[turns his head and looks up, slowly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before it's replaced by something blank, something hard, empty, and far from stable. his voice is barely a rattle at the back of his throat, but it still cuts the silence]

You wanted to know who I am...?

Yay!

[ultimaverum]

[Tilts his head, confused, trying to find that recognition again... and... he doesn't. He breathes into the quiet, knowing he should just let you tell your story.]

You're Walter Kovacs.

[But the words tumble out before he can stop them.]