.][.

Walter Kovacs / Rorschach independent DCU / Watchmen single verse + single ship displaced 25+ years into the future with a handful of other masks. has gained the knowledge of what would have happened to him had he stayed in his own time and place. coupled with the fact that he is now surrounded by a plethora of masks in the DCU, Rorschach is finally learning to balance mask life and normalcy. current: lives with a moth and a street-smart ginger cat in a 2-bedroom apartment in new york city. rotates between patrolling the streets, bringing in income from sanctioned fights, and trying to etch a sense of self out of the emotional brick wall he's encased himself in.

[scarletmonochroma]

[grunts.]

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth‌:

mm

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth‌:

yeouch

i don’t mind.

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth‌:

Mostly.

hard to keep up sometimes.

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth‌:

Hi This can’t be surprising to you anymore.

mostly used to it by now.

[scarletmonochroma]

[Hunched over the bathroom sink, straightening nose with splint and tape. A muffled crack and he’s securing it into place. Maybe he’ll just let it drain a bit into the sink before he packs his nostrils.

And maybe he’ll just lean against the edge of the sink and groan a bit.]

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

“Friends?” The red-heads, there’s nobody else Rorschach would’ve seen him with. Both, the younger and the older. “Where– where did–?” 

His fingers gripped around the passed over baton, cheek twitching up from both the pounding headache and sharp bite of his cut. He tongued a tooth to make sure it was in place after biting riot gear. If they can pose as a distraction, the ones who don’t deserve to get hurt can get away. But how long– ten minutes? How long was ten minutes?  Would everyone too weak to fight be out by now? Probably. Hopefully. They were no good circled in like this, they should be out by the others still protesting.

There was a whiz of a taser firing and only a drunken stumble saved him from taking it to the shoulder.

 “Can you make us an out?” Without killing anyone?

Could he make them an out? Most definitely. 

He’s used to being under-estimated. Small ginger, growing upwards in years and usually wearing layers to hide just how fit he is? Not many people find that intimidating. These cops and their riot gear bulk, they can’t move like he can. Even without their gear, he doubts they could keep up very well. 

Rorschach ducks a swipe from a baton and uses the movement to duck in. A jab between the armored plates of one cop, a kick to the back of another’s knee. Two cops fall and the others converge on their comrades. The ginger baits one of the ones still up to shoot at him with their taser, only to shove their wrist at the last moment so they hit yet another of the group.

That’s good enough for an out, by the looks of things.

“Move.” He wheels around to help usher Byron out of the chaos, prepared to interfere if any cop makes a move on them.

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

There’s blood on his face and it isn’t his. Or, well he’s sure the pain he feels in his cheek means some of it has to be his but something warm and wet hit his forehead and that– Byron cracked open an eye, rolling from his almost fetal position on the ground to something more– oh.

Or wait maybe not. 

In the minutes between him being swarmed and Rorschach swooping in to his rescue, they’d managed to zip-tie the moth, arms behind his back. Lucky for him, they were distracted. Unlucky for them, one of the only good things Nelson made sure they all knew was how to get out of situations like these in case they’d been captured.  By criminals.  Not cops. 

His head was in even more of a fog as he twisted his wrists, skin biting under the heavy plastic. These are not what they trained with. Damn it. Damn 80 years of innovation– he needs to get up. While the cops are distracted, he needs to get up. Byron rolled more, asphalt cutting into his knees as he pushed himself up, raised his hands, and brought them down once, twice and out with a satisfying snap of hard plastic.

It hurt like a bitch. He was bleeding. And he needed to throw up. He needed a drink. 

But first he needed to rescue his partner from the assholes who had hurt one too many innocent people just trying to voice their opinions. 

More than anything at this point, Rorschach is buying time now that he sees that Byron is actually trying to be a help. Distract the cops, confuse them as to why the hell this 50-ish-year-old small ginger is giving them a run for their money. With a broken nose. While shielding one of the protesters from them. He’s not attacking, though he could. Just defending for the time being. 

Then there’s a snap of Byron breaking through whatever they’d bound him with and a bit of a smirk tugs at the ginger’s cheeks. One of the riot cops takes a swing at him and he ducks down, letting the bulk of the guy’s armor and his momentum carry him to the ground and giving him enough time to pass the reclaimed baton back to Byron. Give him something to hit with, in his state.

Rorschach always has his fists. “Your friends got caught already.” The inkblot murmurs as a fist comes close and the ginger catches it to twist and--pop, the cop’s cursing and baking away from them. “Couldn’t get to them in time.”

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

He’d lost track of his little friend fairly quickly, somehow. It was hard to lose a ginger on a car leading a rally of other loud gingers– he should know that one, he should. The older one with the glasses and tired under the rage.  But that’s not why he’s here. 

He lost track of the little one, up on a car, across the street surrounded by crowds who deserve a louder voice than his own. Byron squinted through the dark, held up mostly by the street light he was leaning his full weight on. Drank too much. Drank more, later. Forgot to actually eat besides anger-raiding Phae’s box of cheese crackers. He’s fueled mostly by adrenaline, shoulders shifting and twitching under worn leather, and alcohol. 

The anger was there, sure, but it was sizzled out mostly by a lack of knowing why things got to this point. Usually he can follow it but he’d been so in and out the last few years. There’s only so much one can study before you hit some hard, huge potholes down the road. How.  This is just like before. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the older red-head went down. Where was the little one?  Pepperspray was out. He knew that smell and near-taste in the air. His eyes stung in sympathy. This was a peaceful protest before the cops got violent. It was just words but no, it’s never just words with you. 

Byron’s shoulders twitched under his jacket. He had no weapons, refused to let himself bring weapons. Though there was–  If you ask later, he’s not exactly sure how he got across the street so quickly to crack a cop over the head with an empty glass bottle he’d found along the side of the road. He deserved it– pepper-spraying what looked to be a pregnant woman who was just voicing her concerns? It’s not like he didn’t have a riot helmet on or anything. 

The moth, in return, probably deserved the swarm of police that jumped him after. Especially after biting three of them in their attempts to get him down. 

Rorschach is moments away from winding up and wrecking a few of the cops crowded around one of the police vans--gingers should probably stick to each other, right? This lot seemed nice enough, and if his intel was right, the older one was actually a hero, and a good one at that. 

But the half an eye he’d kept on his moth catches a blur of motion--his full attention snaps back to Byron and he’s gone across the street and--the Inkblot is in a full sprint as cops begin to surround the Moth. Byron may be unarmed, Rorschach may be unmasked, but Rorschach doesn’t need any weapons or costumes to dive into a crowd of cops and give them what for.

The ginger manages to disarm one of the lot to get his baton before he’s beating his way between them and Byron. He’ll protect his partner with his own person, no doubt about that. In order to get down to his drunken mess of a friend he has to headbutt one of the idiots in riot gear--manages it, too, in spite of the bloody nose he gives himself in the process. 

Sure, he scraps like a cornered rabid animal, but if these power-hungry morons want to take them, they’re going to have to subdue Rorschach first. And he’s not going to make it easy.

[scarletmonochroma]

vongolefujute:

{ He looked up, over at a roof light and squinted. It’s too cold for those bugs, right? }

Moth? You’re like, three months too early. 

[Grunts, shaking his head.]

Byron. 

[scarletmonochroma]

[Growls under his breath and wades through the crowd toward @drunkenmoth‘s friends. Guess it’s time to set a few abusive cops right. Won’t be the first time.]

[scarletmonochroma]

vongolefujute:

The heck’re you? 

Rorschach. Here to watch out for the Moth.

[scarletmonochroma]

--shouldn’t let them go without backup.

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

… You you haven’t by now? 

Not living in my own space.

[scarletmonochroma]

Should get Cat sent down here at this rate.

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

[ Show off. 

There’s a little huff as he rolls his eyes, hands to either side of the fire escape ladder as he waits for his friend to get out of the way. At least there’s some grace in him as he slides down. Not as much as Rorschach, but. ]

Then we’ll wander. It wouldn’t hurt to get another look around the city from this level.  You haven’t been walking around at night on your own, have you? That’s– I know you can hold your own, but, with that arm, you have an open side right?

[Granted, Rorschach has to take a moment to adjust his arm once he’s on his feet again, but it’s of little concern. A careful tug of the sling’s strap, another roll of his shoulder--never mind the quiet pop and the almost-wince that crosses his face. To put it simply, he’s getting too old for this.]

Hm? [The inkblot glances up at Byron, tilting his head again.] Easy for me to go unseen. Prefer to map the streets on my feet rather than on paper. [If they were going to find themselves here much more often, Rorschach needed at least a passing familiarity with the area. After all, he doesn’t get around as easily as his Mothman partner.]

[scarletmonochroma]

drunkenmoth:

[ Well that sounds familiar.  Going to a cafe late at night without actually havin to do any crimefighting. 

It’s… comforting. ]

I’m sure we can find one somewhere. I usually just follow Phaedra’s suggestions but I’ve– hopefully, I think I know of a good one or two.

Maybe. [ Byron’s going to the window, though, passing over the door as an option entirely. Inkblot used it as an entrance, they can use it as an exit. ] Injured people first.

[Rorschach makes a noise. Not too different from a grunt, but less disgruntled. Just a not-word and he rises to his feet, shifting his shoulder back and forth a bit to ward away the stiffness. Either way, he follows Byron over to the window.]

Wouldn’t mind a bit of a detour, either way. [Meaning if they have to wander to find a good one, he doesn’t care. It gets him out and about and with Byron, and that’s what matters. Even with just one arm he still manages to get out the window and onto the ground with a stupid amount of grace.]