Snakes & Conspiracies
Who: Rorschach, Polly
What: Since food doesn't come free and some big cat tends to eat on a daily base, the vigilante had taken on a job... Aside from vigilantism. And yet: Old habits die hard.
When: Now
Where: Mall-area
Warnings: Nothing aside from the post's lenght and finally the first theories here~
"Ye din't eat ma goods, did ye?" the elderly alien asked with a sceptical glance upwards while bending its seemingly spineless self over and around the small wooden box, inspecting it with its long-fingered hands.
Rorschach didn't reply. Only drew a little plastic card from his coat's pocket and held it out for the creature in front of him to see. The alien leaned forward, squinting its three eyes as it did so and was apparently concentrating hard to make out the meaning of this piece of plastic. Finally, it smiled widely, lifting one of its long arms to pat the man's arm "Good boy. Not ye eaten goods, ne?" it said, nodding approvingly "Many-a do eet. Not good." it shakes its head "Not a... Manners!"
And while Rorschach put away his little plastic card again, the alien started to rant on. Like it always did. He had been to this particular adress three times this week already. And two times the previous week. And every time this alien keeps repeating the same question. And every time he showed it this badge that almost magically seemed to whipe away all suspicion, replacing it with some strange trust and the eagerness to rant on about the early days of snake-delivery and whatnot.
Rorschach had never listened. It was always then, that he turned and left, not wanting to know what exactly was going to happen to the snakes he had just delivered to one of the upper levels of the restaurant-area. It was time to collect the next packet. Deliver it to the next adress on his list.
No. This wasn't exactly a job he was cut out for. But it was something to keep him going. And a way to get around. Learn more about what's going on. It fed the purple lynx he usually left in the park when he went to work. And it kept him busy. Which was the most important thing right now. Because if he wasn't doing anything, he would be idling around. Pondering. Maybe even fall asleep. And once he fell asleep, there was that dream again. Memory-like thoughts that weren't exactly part of his own memories but could very well be. They seemed to fade. Slowly. Too slow. Most of the time he was still having this headache.
That woman named Polly was responsible for this. That much he knew. Because she was the only one that had yet done anything to his head. Unasked for. And there was nothing he could do. Which was as frustrating as it was annoying. Not even his previous trip to the library got him any clues. So how to get rid of this lasting headache? And how to deal with one immortal freak among many?
Anger rose once more at that thought and the man growled to himself, hunching his shoulders some more as he rounded a corner and went for the staircase that would take him to the lower levels "Dr. Manhattan would make better addition to this place. Might have even found people with same mindset. Hrrn." he kept growling to himself as he ascended the stairs - Elevators. Who needed them?
Three floors down, he pulled forth his guide, opened the list with his assignments for today: One more to go. A simple sheet of paper would have been sufficient, but, no. A snort. Why did everything had to get done using some kind of technology? Everything that went over pushing a couple of buttons appeared to be too much work. Only fancy screens and keyboards. Communication without having to look the other into the face. Blissful anonymity for everyone. Whoever came up with this-
He stopped, eyes set onto the little screen, still, but rather staring right through it. Yes. Whoever did come up with all of this anyway? Collecting refugees from worlds that are said to have been destroyed. Why would someone do this? What was his goal? His gain? This wasn't something anyone did out of fun. And the whole ship itself obviously was designed to take aboard a large amount of people. So someone is bound to have planned this!
...it was just the ulterior motive that yet remained unclear. What motivation could anyone have to gather up all kinds of people - beings - in one giant spaceship and give them some kind of tour through the universe? All these refugees didn't even have much in common. Humans, immortals, beings that were everything but human - DEAD people...
A grimace, hidden behind latex. This was either the way some rich, old and bored person decided to amuse himself with... Or something was definitely fishy around here. Something was going on. And Rorschach could slap himself for not bothering enough until now to even properly think about all of this. One look at that guide of his, though, made him realize: Yes. They kept their people busy. Occupied them with other things. The loss of their worlds, foreign planets, all kinds of alien weirdness, jobs, ways to simply pass their time. Maybe they even had put something in the water to make these people even more oblivious.
Growling, the vigilante snapped the device shut. Further insight: That's what he needed on this. He pocketed his guide and marched on, past a couple of shops and down another staircase. He could drop that last box of slithering reptiles off on his way to... Well. Somewhere. Possibly back to the park, gather up Bubastis and then pay a few visits to some of those aliens working on the ship. Someone had to know something.
What: Since food doesn't come free and some big cat tends to eat on a daily base, the vigilante had taken on a job... Aside from vigilantism. And yet: Old habits die hard.
When: Now
Where: Mall-area
Warnings: Nothing aside from the post's lenght and finally the first theories here~
"Ye din't eat ma goods, did ye?" the elderly alien asked with a sceptical glance upwards while bending its seemingly spineless self over and around the small wooden box, inspecting it with its long-fingered hands.
Rorschach didn't reply. Only drew a little plastic card from his coat's pocket and held it out for the creature in front of him to see. The alien leaned forward, squinting its three eyes as it did so and was apparently concentrating hard to make out the meaning of this piece of plastic. Finally, it smiled widely, lifting one of its long arms to pat the man's arm "Good boy. Not ye eaten goods, ne?" it said, nodding approvingly "Many-a do eet. Not good." it shakes its head "Not a... Manners!"
And while Rorschach put away his little plastic card again, the alien started to rant on. Like it always did. He had been to this particular adress three times this week already. And two times the previous week. And every time this alien keeps repeating the same question. And every time he showed it this badge that almost magically seemed to whipe away all suspicion, replacing it with some strange trust and the eagerness to rant on about the early days of snake-delivery and whatnot.
Rorschach had never listened. It was always then, that he turned and left, not wanting to know what exactly was going to happen to the snakes he had just delivered to one of the upper levels of the restaurant-area. It was time to collect the next packet. Deliver it to the next adress on his list.
No. This wasn't exactly a job he was cut out for. But it was something to keep him going. And a way to get around. Learn more about what's going on. It fed the purple lynx he usually left in the park when he went to work. And it kept him busy. Which was the most important thing right now. Because if he wasn't doing anything, he would be idling around. Pondering. Maybe even fall asleep. And once he fell asleep, there was that dream again. Memory-like thoughts that weren't exactly part of his own memories but could very well be. They seemed to fade. Slowly. Too slow. Most of the time he was still having this headache.
That woman named Polly was responsible for this. That much he knew. Because she was the only one that had yet done anything to his head. Unasked for. And there was nothing he could do. Which was as frustrating as it was annoying. Not even his previous trip to the library got him any clues. So how to get rid of this lasting headache? And how to deal with one immortal freak among many?
Anger rose once more at that thought and the man growled to himself, hunching his shoulders some more as he rounded a corner and went for the staircase that would take him to the lower levels "Dr. Manhattan would make better addition to this place. Might have even found people with same mindset. Hrrn." he kept growling to himself as he ascended the stairs - Elevators. Who needed them?
Three floors down, he pulled forth his guide, opened the list with his assignments for today: One more to go. A simple sheet of paper would have been sufficient, but, no. A snort. Why did everything had to get done using some kind of technology? Everything that went over pushing a couple of buttons appeared to be too much work. Only fancy screens and keyboards. Communication without having to look the other into the face. Blissful anonymity for everyone. Whoever came up with this-
He stopped, eyes set onto the little screen, still, but rather staring right through it. Yes. Whoever did come up with all of this anyway? Collecting refugees from worlds that are said to have been destroyed. Why would someone do this? What was his goal? His gain? This wasn't something anyone did out of fun. And the whole ship itself obviously was designed to take aboard a large amount of people. So someone is bound to have planned this!
...it was just the ulterior motive that yet remained unclear. What motivation could anyone have to gather up all kinds of people - beings - in one giant spaceship and give them some kind of tour through the universe? All these refugees didn't even have much in common. Humans, immortals, beings that were everything but human - DEAD people...
A grimace, hidden behind latex. This was either the way some rich, old and bored person decided to amuse himself with... Or something was definitely fishy around here. Something was going on. And Rorschach could slap himself for not bothering enough until now to even properly think about all of this. One look at that guide of his, though, made him realize: Yes. They kept their people busy. Occupied them with other things. The loss of their worlds, foreign planets, all kinds of alien weirdness, jobs, ways to simply pass their time. Maybe they even had put something in the water to make these people even more oblivious.
Growling, the vigilante snapped the device shut. Further insight: That's what he needed on this. He pocketed his guide and marched on, past a couple of shops and down another staircase. He could drop that last box of slithering reptiles off on his way to... Well. Somewhere. Possibly back to the park, gather up Bubastis and then pay a few visits to some of those aliens working on the ship. Someone had to know something.