There was a brush of something there at Lestat's spoken words, one last telepathic communication from Rorschach's mind. It wasn't quite words, more a general sense of amusement at what he'd heard. He liked the image he'd cultivated among the Interlopers. It wasn't quite like the one he'd formed in New York, that one being so great as to practically make him out to be a living legend among the police, criminal element, and public consciousness alike.

No, this was a little different in the way people viewed him. Less fear, although that as there, and more fascination. He could live with being one of the town's more notorious citizens. It meant people would know who they were dealing with. He may have been strange but he was also tough as nails and he didn't want anyone to forget that anytime soon.

He stepped over to the edge of the roof and jumped onto the next one that was a short distance away. Before too long, he'd covered a considerable amount of distance, always surefooted and rarely looking down.