[Feb 3] [Watchmen] Voodoo
Title: Voodoo
Day/Theme: 3) Witching hour
Series: Watchmen
Characters/pairing: Nite Owl, Rorschach
Rating: PG
They had trailed the killer for a week and a half. Someone had beaten them to it. Under a starless sky, someone’s grandmother and a kid barely fifteen were setting up candles around the slashed body. The kid saw them come in and hurried over.
“Let her finish,” he said, almost pleading. “She’ll leave without a fight once she’s done. You can take her to the police or wherever then.” Thunder rumbled, making him jump.
“She killed him?” Rorschach asked, face aimed at the body.
“Followed him home and snuck in. Stabbed him in his sleep.” The kid exhaled nervously. “He killed her daughter.” They both looked at him. “My aunt.”
Processing that, all three turned when the woman began to speak. It wasn’t a language either of the masks recognized.
“What is that?” Nite Owl hissed, equal parts fascinated and horrified.
“A curse,” whispered the kid. The woman raised her bloodied hands to the sky and cried out something guttural and choked with tears.
“No rest in heaven or hell,” the kid translated quickly before Nite Owl could even ask. “No place to roam among the living or dead.”
The woman dropped her hands and her body curled in on itself, in pain that went deeper than bones. Her voice grated out again.
“Never to leave the moment of his death,” said the kid. “To feel her knife in his throat for all of time.”
The old woman collapsed to her knees, crying noisily. Maybe in sympathy, it began to rain. The kid hurried to throw his jacket over his grandmother and help her back to her feet.
“What are we going to do?” Nite Owl whispered. Their job was done, thought not the way they had intended. The thought of dragging these two to jail wasn’t a nice one. Rorschach was already walking away.
“Can’t argue with the weather,” he said.
Day/Theme: 3) Witching hour
Series: Watchmen
Characters/pairing: Nite Owl, Rorschach
Rating: PG
They had trailed the killer for a week and a half. Someone had beaten them to it. Under a starless sky, someone’s grandmother and a kid barely fifteen were setting up candles around the slashed body. The kid saw them come in and hurried over.
“Let her finish,” he said, almost pleading. “She’ll leave without a fight once she’s done. You can take her to the police or wherever then.” Thunder rumbled, making him jump.
“She killed him?” Rorschach asked, face aimed at the body.
“Followed him home and snuck in. Stabbed him in his sleep.” The kid exhaled nervously. “He killed her daughter.” They both looked at him. “My aunt.”
Processing that, all three turned when the woman began to speak. It wasn’t a language either of the masks recognized.
“What is that?” Nite Owl hissed, equal parts fascinated and horrified.
“A curse,” whispered the kid. The woman raised her bloodied hands to the sky and cried out something guttural and choked with tears.
“No rest in heaven or hell,” the kid translated quickly before Nite Owl could even ask. “No place to roam among the living or dead.”
The woman dropped her hands and her body curled in on itself, in pain that went deeper than bones. Her voice grated out again.
“Never to leave the moment of his death,” said the kid. “To feel her knife in his throat for all of time.”
The old woman collapsed to her knees, crying noisily. Maybe in sympathy, it began to rain. The kid hurried to throw his jacket over his grandmother and help her back to her feet.
“What are we going to do?” Nite Owl whispered. Their job was done, thought not the way they had intended. The thought of dragging these two to jail wasn’t a nice one. Rorschach was already walking away.
“Can’t argue with the weather,” he said.