singillatim | boogie wonderland; ota

Who: Holland March + open, Holland + Huaisang
What: March spends some time contemplating, talks distilling with Huaisang
When: Nov 2nd
Where: Community hall

Content Warnings: usual cw for alcoholism

i. Weapons cleaning + contemplation;

His supplies are running low. There's only so much you can scavenge in a place like this, but when you chain smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish eventually what you can scrounge up is going to disappear. He's got a little left, sure, courtesy of a gas station raid and the basement Huaisang's got, but supplies aren't infinite.

It gets him thinking. Makes him antsy. March enters the community hall like he usually does, a frequent visitor like most of the small little community they've all managed to put together, but he's never really done much. Drank some coffee, chatted. It's hard to tell if he even realizes he's the village idiot.

Today, though, he's set up in a little corner and is making sure his gun is cleaned along with sipping his morning caffeinated sludge. He's less animated than usual, less talkative, simply staring into space as his hands go through the motions. If not interrupted, he'll eventually speak.

"We're really fucked here, huh? Completely." Holland knows he should curve the negativity, but it's starting to get to him more than he'd like admit. He's been adamant they're all probably going to die within the month since day one but there's less of a joking tone towards it this time.

He wants to help sure. Pitch in, even. Mostly he's just worried about how tiny his booze stash is getting.

After coffee there's a far less depressing revelation, said just as solemnly.

"...Should I hunt?"

ii. Huaisang;

"We gotta do something."

March doesn't bother to announce himself when he opens the door to Huaisang's place, spending far more time there than he probably should. His scarf is taken off, the hat is dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Hey. Huaisang? Huaisang, we gotta do something. You know what I did today? Math. You know what that math was for?"

He's already flopping onto the nearest available surface, aviators still on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wha---Sexual? Of all the things Rorschach had expected March to question him about next, that was so far on the bottom of the list as to be non-existent. He thought very briefly about knocking a few of March's teeth out as his response but then wondered if the guy would think he was getting off on that or something.

"No", he said and this time the word was practically snarled out. March had clearly hit a nerve with that question, though not because it was close to the truth. Rorschach just had a hard time dealing with anything of a sexual nature due to all the repression he'd formed as an adult thanks to the trauma in his youth. To think someone would assume his face represented that pissed him off greatly.

March doesn't bother to hide his widening eyes, and he holds both hands up as if showing Rorschach there's no weapon in them will somehow placate the beast. Wrong line of questioning. Or right line, maybe, depending on things. It's definitely not something March is going to press when the guy already hates his guts. Either way: extreme hostility noted.

Even if the lady doth protest too much, in March's opinion.

"Gotta ask," he defends. "It's the in the job description."

He was still pretty steamed over March putting his foot in mouth. But he wouldn't hurt him. Idiot though he was, he wasn't on the level of the criminals Rorschach despised. So he would refrain from breaking any of his fingers, which would have been his usual go-to in a situation like this.

"What job? Strip club owner? Or pimp?" Rorschach said. It was amazing how snarky he could be even with his atrophied conversation skills.

March scoffs. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility, no--he works closely with them, and even when he was a beat cop he worked the red light district, fired for planting evidence--so it's an amused one, not insulted in the least.

"Nah. Private investigator. Licensed and everything."

Well, that was about the most surprising answer March could have given him. A genuine surprised expression crossed his face under the mask, reflecting on the surface by the black blots taking moment where they split off sharply towards the four corners of his "face". "You?" This guy was a detective? This alcoholic village idiot with one brain cell? "Got to be joking."

Woah, woah, woah, that's a lot of incredulity. March's whole face pinches before it slackens to something akin to his usual deadpan delivery.

"Yeah, me. Jesus. Just because I'm not Mr. Call of the Wild like Jack London, I can't be a PI?"

Looked like he'd hit a nerve with that comment. Well, March deserved it after asking if his face represented some sort of sex thing. This made them even.

"Never said that." If that was it, Rorschach himself would be a bit of an idiot, given he didn't know the first thing about surviving here in the icy wilderness. The city had always been his forte. "Just surprised someone so.... dysfunctional would be one. Licensing standards must be slipping."

"I can be functional." That's a lie, but it's one March decides to believe. "You see a case here? You see anything? You know what I do? I find out who's cheating on who and who, I get the pictures, I find runaway rich snot nosed daughters, I get paid. That's it. It's a living."

A pause.

"Got a high ranking official in the Justice Department arrested recently, though, thank you for asking."

"Good for you," he said in a bone-dry tone. "Plan on doing something here besides drink yourself to death?"

If March actually had a brain, as he claimed, he might have some use if he put his mind to it at some point. Otherwise, all he'd be able to do was provide a meal or two if he died and they eventually ran out of food. All that alcohol in his system would be sure to preserve the body nicely.

"Maybe when you decide to get off my ass," March quips. "Not everyone is equipped with a voice like gravel, magical survival instincts and the need to nag at everyone, alright?"

The drinking comment is something that stings, and there's a deliberate blink as he knocks it from his mind. He's used to it. Holly gets angry at him about it on occasion. He's bulletproof when it comes to that courtesy of his repression and denial.

Oh, March was going to get such a headache the longer he got to know Rorschach. He was probably one of the most judgmental people in town, and despite how quiet he was, he was more than capable of making his opinions well-known.

What he was getting was a little sick of what he saw as March assuming things about him. He still hadn't forgiven him for that idea that keeping his mask on was a sexual thing. "Nothing magical about it. The strong survive. Protect the weak. That's how all will live." Which also meant if worst came to worst Rorschach would end up reluctantly protecting this strange drunkard even if he did think of him as being an anchor dragging everyone else down.

boogie wonderland; ota

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cw: joke about cannibalism

cw alcoholism and a little bit of child neglect tbh

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