// Whoa tumblr thanks for reminding me about this blog. Iâve been looking back through old posts and man I miss writing for this jerk...if you want to get a thread going hit me uuuuuup
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@smartestmanonthecinder
// Whoa tumblr thanks for reminding me about this blog. Iâve been looking back through old posts and man I miss writing for this jerk...if you want to get a thread going hit me uuuuuup
//I miss you guys. Like, a whole friggin' lot.
OOC:
Hey, guys. I really hate to do this, but I'm going to have to put both my RP accounts on hiatus for some time. Things have been really stressful for me lately, and I haven't been able to write anything at all. I'm also moving back to school a week from Tuesday, and not only does the Internet suck there but I'm also taking some pretty important (and difficult) courses I need to spend a good amount of time on.
You're all fantastic, okay? And I've greatly enjoyed RPing and writing with y'all so far. If you guys want to keep in touch or plot further or just talk about anything, shoot me a message or something and I'll give you my personal blog since I'm over there a lot. :)
Love you guys!! And I hope to be back sometime soon <3
// Hi guys, Iâm not dead or ignoring you, I promise. Stuffâs just been super busy and stressful around here and I havenât been able to get on as much lately. Iâll be back soon okay?
// reblogging from my other character because the same situation applies
Consultation (thecriminalsnephilim)
As if there wasn't enough to worry about lately. Adrian's former secretary had started running her mouth, spilling secrets about Veidt Enterprises and slandering Adrian himself, particularly. She was currently insisting that she had proof to back up the accusations about him in Rorschach's journal - that she had letters and recorded phone calls and all manner of evidence to prove his guilt.
This was nonsense, of course. Adrian had been careful to destroy anything that could implicate him, almost obsessively so. He'd gone so far as to have everyone involved in the project killed to ensure they wouldn't say anything. This secretary wasn't even the one who worked for him during the project; that one had died some months ago (the cause of which was entirely not Adrian's fault). A small part of his mind, though, worried that - somehow - she had managed to get her hands on something convicting. He needed to deal with it, fast, but he couldn't be seen doing it himself, and escaping the public eye was nearly impossible for him these days.
He'd been sent to London to talk with a man named Jim Moriarty, who was supposedly an expert in these matters. Adrian thought the name sounded vaguely ominous, but he wasn't in a position to be picky. He arrived at the cafe where they were supposed to meet, but the only other person around was a small young woman, maybe twenty years old. Â Sighing, he sat down at an empty table. He'd never liked England.
+shortgreenspeed +themostdivineofheroes
More newcomers, this time a remarkably beautiful young woman and boy who couldnât be older than twelve. Adrian raised an eyebrow. âCan I help you with something?"
Dalla looked up at the stranger, brows furrowed. âIt seems my girdle has malfunctioned. Perchance could you tell me our current location?"
"Of course. You're in New York City, Manhattan to be specific." Something she'd said caught Adrian off-guard. "I'm sorry, but did you say your girdle malfunctioned?"
shortgreenspeed replied to your post: +shortgreenspeed+themostdivi...
Thad glares up at him, âAre you patronizing me?"
He looks down at the boy, trying to hide his smile. "Of course not. My name's Adrian Veidt. And you are?"
+shortgreenspeed +themostdivineofheroes
More newcomers, this time a remarkably beautiful young woman and boy who couldn't be older than twelve. Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"
Two Sides of the Same Coin (inkblots-and-journals)
The time that had passed between the supposed "alien invasion" hadn't been very long. Just about a week of terror and confusion, the whole nation--no, the whole world--in a tizzy over something that didn't even exist. And in that time, Rorschach, also known as Walter Kovacs, attempted to ease back into his life. It was a hard thing to do, especially since everyone knew who he was, and where he lived. Thankfully, his recent absence began to dwindle society's thoughts on the man. They thought he was dead after that prison riot, not seeing him escape in the Owl Ship.
His apartment had been trashed, possibly by police, angry citizens, those who wanted revenge...All three. The newspapers he kept stacked in the corner were thrown about the room, Â the plates were all broken, his only pillow was missing and the window had a big crack in the glass. Not like he cared about any of it. Rorschach was tired after the flight back home, and hiding in the streets, sleepless and more paranoid than ever.
Resting on his bed, the redheaded man was trying to sleep. He had been doing so for the past hour, but nothing seemed to be working anymore. Utterly exhausted, but unable to sleep, Kovacs sat on the floor. He'd have to figure out what to do for the time being, seeing as his identity was now public. And, speaking of publicity, at least he handed in his journal to the Frontiersman. Veidt's plans would be forced to crumble, just like how Rorschach wanted, despite everyone's wishes. He wasn't even sorry.
In the morning hours, there was a knock at the door. It made Walter's skin crawl, and caused a deep disturbance in him. He wondered who it could have possibly been...He would have to be extra careful, and fight if he had to. Standing up, he looked at the door, and another knock came, this time, more urgent then the last. Walking over quietly, Kovacs peered through the tiny peek-hole in the door. To his surprise, Adrian Veidt was standing there, dressed in his purple suit. He opened the door.
"Hmph. What you want, Veidt?" Kovacs asked, although he probably knew what this was about.
The apartment was filthy, and it would appear that Rorschach used his terrible cologne as an air freshener as well. If he hadn't known what the man had done, Adrian would almost be inclined to consider him a charity case and might have offered to pay to fix up the place. But this was Rorschach, and the last thing he wanted to do was help him.
"I just thought I drop by and give you a copy of the newest edition of the Frontiersman," he said, his words dripping with venom. "You're a fan, aren't you?" He pulled his copy of the Frontiersman out of his pocket and opened it, displaying the screaming headline. "They're suddenly saying the alien invasion was a conspiracy, you know. Wonder where they came up with that."
Page flip. "Look, there's details of you and Daniel Dreiberg breaking into my office and going through my computer files. But that can't be true, now can it? After all, they're hailing you as heroes, and heroes would never do something like that."
Page flip. "Oh, this one's my favorite - I'm suddenly being called a 'genocidal monster'. Fantastic, just what I've always dreamed of." He looked over the top of the paper at the smaller man, his eyebrows raised. "And for some reason, they're attributing all this information to you."
Adrian threw the paper at Kovacs' feet, any remnant of the false friendliness gone. "You sent them that journal you kept, and they ate it for breakfast. Do you realize what you've done?" He stepped closer, their toes almost touching. "You've singlehandedly ruined everything I've been working for, and I want to know why. What could have ever made you think this was a good idea?"
Two Sides of the Same Coin (inkblots-and-journals)
Adrian had gotten back to New York late the previous night. He'd spent the past week or so in Antarctica, where he watched the monster he'd created destroy half the city - and, he noted with some pride, the rest of the world had dropped what they were doing and focused only on uniting against an alien enemy. True, it was an enemy that didn't exist, but it prevented Armageddon, at least for a while longer.
New York was in ruins, with half its citizens dead or insane and buildings crushed all around. Adrian could see the devastation from the window of his penthouse - which, thankfully, the monster hadn't destroyed - and he felt a pang of guilt. It kept him up at night, it really did. The decision to kill half a city hadn't come easily, but he often rationalized it to himself: millions killed to save billions, they would have died anyway whether he'd done anything or not, one city or the entire world. That's what mattered in the long run, anyway. Keeping the world safe.
He avoided thinking about it as much as possible. None of it would ever be connected back to him, so why bother worrying? Dan and Laurie had agreed to keep quiet, and Jon was on Mars again for all he knew. Rorschach was the only loose end, and he wasn't much to be concerned about, considering he was certifiably insane.
His assistant brought him copies of all the morning newspapers, most of which were screaming about the supposed alien invasion of the previous night. Some carried headlines about the United States' new alliance with Russia as well, admittedly below the fold. One in particular caught Adrian's eye: the New Frontiersman, a right-wing publication that, rumor had it, Rorschach had been quite fond of.
"ADRIAN VEIDT: THE MAN WHO MURDERED A MILLION"
He read the story, his blood boiling more with every word. Apparently the Frontiersman had gotten a hold of Rorschach's journal and decided to publish the thing, specifically the parts focusing on his and Dan's discovery of Adrian's plan. The paper had never liked him, and to them, receiving the journal was like Christmas morning.
When the article got to the point where Dan and Rorschach broke into Adrian's office, he decided that he'd had enough. He folded the paper sharply and put his overcoat on, jamming the paper into the coat's pocket. An earlier edition of the Frontiersman that had come out right after Rorschach's arrest had mentioned the building where he'd lived, and Adrian intended to go over there and see if he'd returned. God help him if he had.
+riding--sandworms
âThe Frontiersman? Is that some sort of newspaper?â
Relaxing, Barbara let her arms hang down to her sides as her neck twisted around so that her head could always follow the man before her. He looked rather dapper, with formal attire and all. When he commented on her clothing, Barbara glanced down at her dress, only to give a small pout when she looked back up to the fancy man before her. He was probably right, however; wherever she was exactly, and whatever this Frontiersman was, chances were, she probably wasnât dressed for it in the slightest.
âIn that case, Iâm probably not here for it at all. In fact, as strange as it will probably sound, Iâm not quite sure why I ended up here in the first place. I did see you walk into your office here, and I suppose that I felt compelled to follow you because you seemed rather stressedââ That didnât come out right. âOh! I just wanted to find out what was wrong, thatâs all.â Although, being a informal stranger probably didnât give Barbara a free-access pass to knowing what bothered this man at the moment. That didnât mean that she was going to remain quiet about the fact that she actually wanted to at least know something regarding this man ⊠And at the moment, knowing what the Frontiersman was would be really great.
Brushing off her dress just a bit, she shuffled her feet on the carpet while proceeding to hold her hands behind her back. âDo you happen to be the manager of this building? Or perhaps some sort of authority figure?â
"The New Frontiersman," Adrian said, wrinkling his nose as he said the name, "is a...less than reputable publication. They've been trying to get me to confess to things I had nothing to do with for years now." He smiled at her. "Frankly, I'm glad you're not with them."
Folding his hands behind his back, he made his way across the room over to the woman, avoiding eye contact. "Not many people just wander in here for no reason. At least, not without getting stopped by the security guards. They've gotten much more strict lately." He looked up from his shoes and directly at her face, eyebrows raised and the corner of his mouth barely twitching upwards. "I'm impressed. You'll have to tell me how you did it."
Whoever this woman was, she seemed harmless, with her floral dress and curly mop of hair. In any case, if she proved to be a threat, he could certainly handle her. How many armed gunmen had he taken down in the past? One woman wouldn't prove to be a problem. "My name is Adrian Veidt. I'm the owner of this company, Veidt Enterprises, and I spent a short time as a masked adventurer called Ozymandias." He offered the woman a handshake. "And who might you be?"
Sarah Has Entered Karnak (Sarah and Adrian)
Walking into the darkened room, Sarah blindly reached out for a light switch. Before her fingers even grazed the wall, a fluorescent light started to hum and blink to life automatically. What was illuminated was a room that looked as if it should be in a museum. Magazines and newspapers adorned the shelves, almost as if they were all on display.
Photographs capturing people dressed up to be superheroes caught her attention. She walked up to the largest one hanging on the wall, and her eyes instantly went to the man who was glowing blue. A strange bio-luminescence emanating from some inner light. He was indeed the most non-human looking one of the bunch. It was so very peculiar, and she could hardly tear her eyes from the vision of that to see the title âDoctor Manhattanâ displayed underneath. Curious green eyes swept over the rest of the picture, lingering at the man titled âOzymandiasâ. Could that possibly be Adrian? Dressed differently and out of context through her off a bit. Yet, it still looked like him. Even though Sarah hadnât known him for long, she still recognized him. Especially that little smirk. The one that just barely tugged the corner of his lips up. The smile that reflected as a glimmer in his eyes, and seemed to imply that there was a lot more going on in his mind than he was willing to share with anyone.
Hearing a clatter and seeing something go blurring by out of the corner of her eye, she turned to see Bubastis playing with something. Sarah walked closer and picked up the toy, taking it away from the now irritated cat. âI donât think you should be playing with this.â She pet the feline on top of her head as she held the toy closer to inspect it. It was a plastic figurine of Ozymandias (possibly Adrian). Gazing up from the doll she could see several others displayed on glass shelves. This was becoming more and more strange. They must have actually been some sort of group of superheroes, to have their likeness made into action figures. She walked over to the display, bent down, and carefully returned the doll to its proper place. Scolding Bubastis as a warning to not swat it out of the display again. Not that scolding a giant feline, or any for that matter, would bother the cat at all or alter its behavior.
Upon standing upright, Sarah noticed the collage on the wall near the toys. She walked closer to it and started to read the headlines. A gasp echoed through the room as her eyes scanned over the title. Her tentative voice then sounded through the room as she read it aloud. âOzymandias, Mass Murderer: The Man Responsible For The Manhattan Incident.â Placing one hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes continued to gobble up everything written.Â
Adrian's mind raced as he stormed through Karnak's halls. Of course she'd found the press room; he'd been a fool to think she wouldn't. Sarah had caught him off-guard, with her childlike innocence and adoration of his work, and he'd made a huge mistake in trusting her. There was no telling what she'd do now that she'd found the truth about Manhattan. She could go to the press - to a more reliable publication than the Frontiersman - she could take it and show it to anyone who'd look, she could completely ruin him.
Dr. Chilton ran up behind him, trying to get his attention. "Mr. Veidt! I - "
Adrian waved him off brusquely. "Figure it out yourself, Chilton. I don't have time." He picked up the pace, leaving the doctor behind as he turned a corner.
He stopped just short of the door to the press room and ran his hands through his hair. He didn't want to have to kill Sarah like he'd killed the team involved in the project. The less blood on his hands, the better. He'd started to like her, too, in the short time they'd spend together. But she'd found out the truth, and if she wouldn't keep quiet about it, that didn't leave him much of a choice.
Adrian smoothed his hair and fixed his jacket, taking a deep breath to compose himself before entering the room. "What do you think you're doing in here?" His voice was quiet but stern, and he kept his arms folded behind his back.
+riding--sandworms
adrianveidtofficial:
The papers were at it again, specifically the New Frontiersman. Theyâd never shut up in the first place, only gotten quieter, but now they might as well have been kicking in Adrianâs penthouse door with how much they were pestering him. The Frontiersman had never liked him - a key factor in Rorschachâs decision to send his journal to them, Adrian figured - but after the journalâs publication theyâd been hounding him day and night.
When they initially asked about Manhattan, he refused to give them anything other than generic condolences for the victims, which briefly shut them up. Then, they came back with a vengeance and had been calling his office nonstop and giving his poor secretary an earful of hate every time. After weeks and weeks, Adrian had finally agreed to one -Â one - interview with a Frontiersman reporter, but fully planned on leaving when things turned hostile (and of course they would turn hostile; this was the New Frontiersman, after all). His secretary wished him luck as he walked past her into his office to prepare. The room was unusually cold, and he made a mental note to have the heating system inspected and repaired. Adrian was not a superstitious man. He didnât believe in luck or magic, ghouls or demons, in any sort of creature he couldnât create in a lab. There was no proof in these things; therefore he saw no point in believing they were real. Besides, it was a waste of time. Veidt Enterprises, the press, his own personal affairs - how could he manage everything if he was constantly worried about pissing off a ghost? No, the dead were dead, and theyâd stay that way.
Barbara had never been to Manhattan and personally found it much too congested. There were plenty of reasons (and Barbara was sure of it) that Charles had wanted to move to the countryside, and Barbara would probably understand them all; there were plenty of reasons that Delia wanted to move back to New York, and Barbara probably wouldnât understand any of them; and Lydia didnât really seem to care for the most part. In fact, there had been many times in which the dark girl seemed to complain or become moody when she realized that she was now living in the terribly boring town of Winter River. Some of her gloominess had subsided when the Maitlands decided to poke their heads into her small world, however.
Anyway, the ghost had found herself aimlessly wandering the streets, thankingâwell, particularly no person, given that there didnât really seem to be anyone to thankâthat no one could see her, and she was able to pass through others quite easily. Along her walkâor float, I should sayâa rather large building had caught her eye, and she wasted no time in floating right up and into one of the open windows, although she really couldâve floated into any old place on the building.
As she began to situate herself, brown hues caught the side of a slightly irritated, blond man as he strode past what seemed to be his secretary and into his office ⊠At least thatâs what everything seemed to be, in Barbaraâs eyes. Curious, she decided to follow this man into his âofficeâ. Getting past the secretary wouldnât be so hard, right? Well, thankfully for Barbara, the woman seemed as if she couldnât see her, or paid no attention to her; but on the flip side, Barbara wasnât paying much attention to her, either, which caused the ghost to phase right through her instead of around. Peeking over her shoulder, the housewife saw the woman shiver and spin around before the ghost ushered herself into the office by scrambling through the door. When she pushed her back against said door, it stood in place; although how Barbara could float through a door and then stand against it was something that was beyond her level of comprehension and explaining.
Lifting her head, she caught sight of that man again. Seeing how no one had noticed her during her small trip through the city and then through a building, the ghost assumed that he would not see her, either, but maybeâjust maybeâhe was staring at a floral-clad, middle-aged woman who had just went through his door without opening it and was now leaning against it, staring back at him like a deer in the headlights.
This was probably one of the more awkward run-ins that Barbara had ever had with other people.
Standing up, Barbara glanced about the room and down towards her pink slippers before raising her hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers. âUh, hello. Iâm terribly sorry for this unusual intrusion.â
Adrian sat down at his desk and rubbed his temples while staring at the afternoon's schedule. The interview with the Frontiersman was first, to get it out of the way so he wouldn't be dreading it for the rest of the day. Board meetings afterwards, and then there was some event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that evening he was expected to attend. He was half tempted to cancel everything and go straight to his base in Antarctica after the interview; he was not in the mood to deal with any more people than he absolutely had to.
He knew he should be seen out in public more often, and he knew that both Veidt Enterprises and he himself needed all the good press they could get. But with any appearance would come the questions, and he was tired of dealing with them. There was always another publication that "hadn't gotten the full story" or "wanted to investigate further." Adrian wanted nothing to do with them, but he gave them answers anyway, just to get rid of them. The answers he provided probably weren't what the reporters were looking for, given that most of them weren't the truth.
He looked up from his papers sharply at the sudden sound of a woman's voice. Leaning against the door was a middle-aged woman in a flowered dress, and she looked nothing short of terrified. He stood and buttoned his suit jacket, watching her suspiciously as he came out from behind the desk. "Are you here for the Frontiersman?" He glanced down at her pink slippers and gave a small smile. "You don't seem quite dressed for the job if you are."
Sarah Has Entered Karnak (Sarah and Adrian)
Standing upright after smelling yet another flower, Sarah sighed. She didnât even have a book or anything other than a lazy feline to entertain her. The large kitty yawned as if to agree with her feelings of boredom. âWell, Bubastis, perhaps we can find some other interesting area to explore. Câmon!â She patted her leg to get the catâs attention and started to walk toward the door. A head of long, dark dark hair swiveled to make sure she was being followed. The cat slowly got up and stretched before begrudgingly following.Â
After securely shutting the door behind them, Sarah wandered the complex once more. She didnât exactly know what she was looking for, or if there was really anything to find. She just wanted to explore it again. It was a very impressive place, and worth her gaze once more. Babastis walked next to her, bunting against her hip when Sarah forgot to pet her. She still couldnât quite get over how friendly and large the cat was. But still acted like a sweet kitty-cat, (at least towards Sarah).
Sarah hesitated outside a mysterious door that she hadnât recalled earlier, her green eyes inspecting it thoroughly. Well, there was no way Adrian would show a new guest every part of this complex. It would take far too long to do such things. She put her ear to the door, and didnât hear any noises. So, the scientists werenât in there working; she wouldnât be disturbing anyone. Telling herself more excuses as to why she should go through the door, until a smile formed on her lips and she opened it.
"Mr. Veidt?"
Adrian turned around at the sound of the voice - it was one of the scientists he'd brought in earlier in the week, standing in the doorway of the screening room. "Yes, Dr. Chilton? What can I do for you?"
"We had a question regarding some of your older data from Dr. Manhattan and the intrinsic field generator - "
"Show me."
"Are you sure you're not too busy?"
"Never, Dr. Chilton." With one last look at the screens to reassure himself that Sarah was still sniffing flowers in the garden with Bubastis, he followed the scientist to the laboratories. He wouldn't be gone long, he told himself. Five minutes at most.
Half an hour later, the problem was resolved, no thanks to the scientific team's bumbling around. Adrian had had to fix it on his own, and he was considering firing the entire team for their incompetence. Well, maybe just Chilton. He was the worst of them all.
He returned to the screening room and scanned the television sets for any sign of Sarah's whereabouts. She was no longer in the garden (neither was the cat, thankfully), but he couldn't find her in the halls, either. Adrian started to worry, but he tried to calm himself down. Maybe she'd found a room to stay in in the living quarters - no, no, she wasn't there either.
Then his eyes fell on a screen showing the last thing he wanted to see: the door to his private press room, the one that had been locked and sealed for nearly a year now, the one that held everything regarding the Manhattan incident - newspapers, press releases, everything he'd collected about it - stood wide open.
"Shit."