Log; Ongoing

[not_walter]

When; May 30th, Late
Rating; It'll end up R for violence, that's for sure.
Characters; Rorschach not_walter and Muraki Kazutaka roy_de_epee
Summary; Retribution, Rorschach style. Rorschach hunts down and punishes Muraki for being a bad, bad man.
Log;

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[roy_de_epee]

A long day at the hospital, an even longer day in thinking over certain things. There had been a feeling, something tugging on Muraki's sleeve, and it had vaguely reminded him of that scuffle with a black-suited man with only one eye... well, that had ended interestingly. A first taste of death, and then the poison became more tolerable; it was almost like mixing that peyote in with his coffee every morning. It built the immunity. He was closer, closer to rooting out such flaws of existence.

Yet, there still remained one piece of the puzzle that he hadn't yet captured. Oh, but he would - self-reassurances were good for something, after all

[not_walter]

It was almost too easy, not that Rorschach would simply walk up and strangle him. No, first... lure him in.

A chunk of brick, thrown to clatter right up to Muraki's feet.

Rorschach himself stood in the shadows, waiting for the bait to be taken.

[roy_de_epee]

That brick was the sign he needed. Someone was trailing him - it wasn't simple paranoia. And how cute of them to try to lure him in like this. Muraki almost contemplated tossing it back by the path of trajectory. He was sorely tempted to pull out the revolver he had concealed on himself. No, that wouldn't do; there'd be no fun in that. Not unless he could get away with re-enacting what he had done with that loyal lapdog of a butler he had shot in the shoulder.

His shoe tapped on that brick. Bait - he recognised bait when he saw it. He practically had invented this game. To turn around now would be a fatal mistake. If it was a game his pursuer wanted, he'd give him a game. He knew where that brick came from; it was no problem for him to turn on his heel and head in the opposite direction. Come and get me. At least he wouldn't be plagued with ennui.

[ooc: sorry for the delay! problems arose. .___.v]

[not_walter]

Smart. Smarter than Rorschach had imagined.

Stupid, he thought. Stupid to underestimate him.

He stepped out from the shadows, letting the light glint off his mask. He was called Rorschach for a reason. The mask changed, the black and white shapes reforming.

"Running won't help," he announced in his flat, monotone voice.