OOM: Go Out and Round Up Everyone
In New York, it is raining.
Rorschach has been out and about--it's obvious, really, because there is a seedy bar on his usual patrol route that is unusually quiet, and has just seen one of its own out to the emergency room.
Rorschach has since moved on to a better part of town, though; on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in New York, he's having a chat with an old friend.
"But why?" Adrian Veidt begs. It seems incongruous coming from a man who stands around six feet tall and has the looks of a modern-day Adonis with the build of a modern-day Hercules. His face, though turned away, bears an expression of pure distress; Rorschach has just told him of the Comedian's death.
"You were always supposed to be world's smartest man, Veidt. You tell me." Rorschach's tone is oddly neutral, despite what should be a snappish statement, and he approaches the other man's unoccupied desk, hat clutched in both hands.
"I never claimed to be anybody special, Rorschach. I just have some over-enthusiastic P.R. men." Veidt shakes his head, lightly. "Listen...Could it have been a political killing? Maybe the Soviets..."
Rorschach hops onto a corner of the desk and lifts one of the Ozymandias action figures lying on it, absently.
"Dreiberg said same thing. Don't believe it. America has Dr. Manhattan. Reds have been running scared since '65. They'd never dare antagonize us." He twists the arms of the action figure. "I think we've got a mask-killer."
"Not necessarily," Veidt protests, facing away from Rorschach, arms folded behind his back. "The Comedian had plenty of other political enemies to choose from, even discounting the Russians...The man was practically a Nazi."
Rorschach positions the legs of the action figure so that the miniature, masked Veidt looks like he's running. "He stood up for his country, Veidt. He never let anybody retire him. Never cashed in on his reputation."
Veidt is slowing drifting away from Rorschach and the desk, but Rorschach turns his head to follow his movement, intent on making his point, even if Veidt won't look at him. "Never set up a company selling posters and diet books and toy soldiers based on himself. Never became a prostitute."
The head of the toy isn't designed to turn in its socket, but Rorschach forces it all the way around so that it is facing backward, then puts the figure back on the desk where he found it.
"If that makes him a Nazi, you might as well call me a Nazi, too."
As Rorschach stands up again and puts his hat on, turning to leave, Veidt finally turns to him. Too late.
"Rorschach...I know we were never friends, but even so, you're being unfair. Nobody retired me. I chose to quit adventuring and go public two years before the police strike made the Keene Act necessary."
"Yes," Rorschach says as he pulls himself halfway out of the window, back into the rain. "Good timing. I came here to warn you about the mask-killer. So you didn't end up smartest man in the morgue. But I guess there's worse things to end up as. Be seeing you."
And Rorschach swings out into the night, starting his rappelling descent down the outside of the building, too fast to hear Veidt's parting "have a nice day".
He has more important people to visit this night, after all.
Rorschach has been out and about--it's obvious, really, because there is a seedy bar on his usual patrol route that is unusually quiet, and has just seen one of its own out to the emergency room.
Rorschach has since moved on to a better part of town, though; on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in New York, he's having a chat with an old friend.
"But why?" Adrian Veidt begs. It seems incongruous coming from a man who stands around six feet tall and has the looks of a modern-day Adonis with the build of a modern-day Hercules. His face, though turned away, bears an expression of pure distress; Rorschach has just told him of the Comedian's death.
"You were always supposed to be world's smartest man, Veidt. You tell me." Rorschach's tone is oddly neutral, despite what should be a snappish statement, and he approaches the other man's unoccupied desk, hat clutched in both hands.
"I never claimed to be anybody special, Rorschach. I just have some over-enthusiastic P.R. men." Veidt shakes his head, lightly. "Listen...Could it have been a political killing? Maybe the Soviets..."
Rorschach hops onto a corner of the desk and lifts one of the Ozymandias action figures lying on it, absently.
"Dreiberg said same thing. Don't believe it. America has Dr. Manhattan. Reds have been running scared since '65. They'd never dare antagonize us." He twists the arms of the action figure. "I think we've got a mask-killer."
"Not necessarily," Veidt protests, facing away from Rorschach, arms folded behind his back. "The Comedian had plenty of other political enemies to choose from, even discounting the Russians...The man was practically a Nazi."
Rorschach positions the legs of the action figure so that the miniature, masked Veidt looks like he's running. "He stood up for his country, Veidt. He never let anybody retire him. Never cashed in on his reputation."
Veidt is slowing drifting away from Rorschach and the desk, but Rorschach turns his head to follow his movement, intent on making his point, even if Veidt won't look at him. "Never set up a company selling posters and diet books and toy soldiers based on himself. Never became a prostitute."
The head of the toy isn't designed to turn in its socket, but Rorschach forces it all the way around so that it is facing backward, then puts the figure back on the desk where he found it.
"If that makes him a Nazi, you might as well call me a Nazi, too."
As Rorschach stands up again and puts his hat on, turning to leave, Veidt finally turns to him. Too late.
"Rorschach...I know we were never friends, but even so, you're being unfair. Nobody retired me. I chose to quit adventuring and go public two years before the police strike made the Keene Act necessary."
"Yes," Rorschach says as he pulls himself halfway out of the window, back into the rain. "Good timing. I came here to warn you about the mask-killer. So you didn't end up smartest man in the morgue. But I guess there's worse things to end up as. Be seeing you."
And Rorschach swings out into the night, starting his rappelling descent down the outside of the building, too fast to hear Veidt's parting "have a nice day".
He has more important people to visit this night, after all.