[OPEN] - Ain't gonna win
Who: coldbeansnsugar and enough_bodybags
What: Rorschach spends some time on the planet, trying to figure out what to do with himself and somehow managing to get himself drunk. And yet, he still refuses to acknowledge being as lost as he apparently is. Problems, anyone?!
When: Eh... Nighttime I guess...
Where: Somewhere on Juswaldi
Warnings: Random log~ Lots and lots of hardly interesting, but depressing text... More for character development, because he's just so terribly lost... hrn.
He had left the ship about a week ago.
At least that was what he guessed. Rorschach hadn't been paying attention much to the time passing. He just wanted to keep some distance to the ship itself and all those certainly not normal people dwelling on it.
And approval for his decision he had gotten a few days ago, when one disturbed little girl made a live show out of slaughtering another kid.
This was, when the vigilante had last looked at his guide. Before closing it. Muting it. Storing it in one of the less accessible pockets of his coat and heading for a small, dusty village at the base of yet another giant mountain. Before, he had been climbing over rocks, rocks and even more rocks, but at least had a clear sky over his head, fresh air around himself. It was better than being in that ship. Decidedly.
But even the motivation to just stay under the open sky had faded together with the feed and all that was left was the realization that once more he was unable to do a thing. This wasn't right. This wasn't how he used to be. This wasn't who he used to be. Something was just... Off.
The mask was off, when Rorschach had entered the village. In the local bar, that was more used to serving drinks to their local miners than being confronted with a tourist, he rented himself a room which the vigilante stayed in for the rest of the day, glaring quietly at the ceiling as he recalled the previously seen images, worked them over in his head.
No. He wouldn't have been able to do a thing. Just once again, he'd be too late.
35 minutes too late.
Late enough as to only find the sparse remains two shepherds left of a six-years-old girl.
Always too late.
That night, sleep wasn't exactly an option. And if it was, it was one to be refused anyway. Instead, he had been down in the bar long before it would actually open, open notepad in front of him on the table, pencil in hand, eyes fixed stubbornly on the paper.
He had no idea what he even wanted to write down.
Rorschach tried writing down his thoughts, for that usually helped him organize them. Locate the problem and head for a solution. Come to a decision as to what he should be doing next. As to what to do with himself and this new life given to him, disregarding the fact, that he had never asked for it. And yet, as soon as the pencil's tip touched the paper, there was nothing there. Nothing but empty grimness.
So instead, he decided to write down his feelings. But the only thing he managed to get down onto the paper was a single word. Four letters scribbled down in his own, barely legible handwriting: LOST.
The man scowled down at the notepad, a low growl forming in his throat.
No. That wasn't right. He wasn't lost. Snarling, he grabbed the page and ripped it out of the notepad, shoving it deeply into one of his pockets, so it could join his gloves. The sudden, angry movement seemed to have drawn attention, though, for any other possible action was abruptly cut off when a voice called out for the vigilante.
"Hey! Do you play?"
Rorschach flinched a little, but turned anyway, still scowling. A little group had settled down at a nearby table for their usual little card game. Miners, obviously. Human or not, these people believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Good men. Rorschach hadn't been aware, that he had been sitting here all day without really getting to some kind of decision.
"Come on and join us for a little game. Don't worry. We'll teach ya!"
The scowl remained, but softened slightly. He joined them for their game, if only for the distraction. He wasn't the best, but neither was he the worst. Won some rounds, lost others. The alcohol, he didn't like, but it was bearable. And it got more bearable as the time passed and the evening carried on, slowly numbing his very thoughts and allowing his mind at least some sort of rest right there.
Soon, the night had settled in. And as the miners left for their homes, so did the vigilante.
Home, which now seemed to be some giant space station shaped like a turtle of sorts.
Drunk and not exactly sure as to where he was or which direction he should be heading to, the man staggered out into the night, leaving the village for good. Being just as lost as before, but with a mind too clouded to keep him busy with these kinds of thoughts for a change. Rather, there was blissful oblivion. And it was welcome.
What: Rorschach spends some time on the planet, trying to figure out what to do with himself and somehow managing to get himself drunk. And yet, he still refuses to acknowledge being as lost as he apparently is. Problems, anyone?!
When: Eh... Nighttime I guess...
Where: Somewhere on Juswaldi
Warnings: Random log~ Lots and lots of hardly interesting, but depressing text... More for character development, because he's just so terribly lost... hrn.
He had left the ship about a week ago.
At least that was what he guessed. Rorschach hadn't been paying attention much to the time passing. He just wanted to keep some distance to the ship itself and all those certainly not normal people dwelling on it.
And approval for his decision he had gotten a few days ago, when one disturbed little girl made a live show out of slaughtering another kid.
This was, when the vigilante had last looked at his guide. Before closing it. Muting it. Storing it in one of the less accessible pockets of his coat and heading for a small, dusty village at the base of yet another giant mountain. Before, he had been climbing over rocks, rocks and even more rocks, but at least had a clear sky over his head, fresh air around himself. It was better than being in that ship. Decidedly.
But even the motivation to just stay under the open sky had faded together with the feed and all that was left was the realization that once more he was unable to do a thing. This wasn't right. This wasn't how he used to be. This wasn't who he used to be. Something was just... Off.
The mask was off, when Rorschach had entered the village. In the local bar, that was more used to serving drinks to their local miners than being confronted with a tourist, he rented himself a room which the vigilante stayed in for the rest of the day, glaring quietly at the ceiling as he recalled the previously seen images, worked them over in his head.
No. He wouldn't have been able to do a thing. Just once again, he'd be too late.
35 minutes too late.
Late enough as to only find the sparse remains two shepherds left of a six-years-old girl.
Always too late.
That night, sleep wasn't exactly an option. And if it was, it was one to be refused anyway. Instead, he had been down in the bar long before it would actually open, open notepad in front of him on the table, pencil in hand, eyes fixed stubbornly on the paper.
He had no idea what he even wanted to write down.
Rorschach tried writing down his thoughts, for that usually helped him organize them. Locate the problem and head for a solution. Come to a decision as to what he should be doing next. As to what to do with himself and this new life given to him, disregarding the fact, that he had never asked for it. And yet, as soon as the pencil's tip touched the paper, there was nothing there. Nothing but empty grimness.
So instead, he decided to write down his feelings. But the only thing he managed to get down onto the paper was a single word. Four letters scribbled down in his own, barely legible handwriting: LOST.
The man scowled down at the notepad, a low growl forming in his throat.
No. That wasn't right. He wasn't lost. Snarling, he grabbed the page and ripped it out of the notepad, shoving it deeply into one of his pockets, so it could join his gloves. The sudden, angry movement seemed to have drawn attention, though, for any other possible action was abruptly cut off when a voice called out for the vigilante.
"Hey! Do you play?"
Rorschach flinched a little, but turned anyway, still scowling. A little group had settled down at a nearby table for their usual little card game. Miners, obviously. Human or not, these people believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Good men. Rorschach hadn't been aware, that he had been sitting here all day without really getting to some kind of decision.
"Come on and join us for a little game. Don't worry. We'll teach ya!"
The scowl remained, but softened slightly. He joined them for their game, if only for the distraction. He wasn't the best, but neither was he the worst. Won some rounds, lost others. The alcohol, he didn't like, but it was bearable. And it got more bearable as the time passed and the evening carried on, slowly numbing his very thoughts and allowing his mind at least some sort of rest right there.
Soon, the night had settled in. And as the miners left for their homes, so did the vigilante.
Home, which now seemed to be some giant space station shaped like a turtle of sorts.
Drunk and not exactly sure as to where he was or which direction he should be heading to, the man staggered out into the night, leaving the village for good. Being just as lost as before, but with a mind too clouded to keep him busy with these kinds of thoughts for a change. Rather, there was blissful oblivion. And it was welcome.