singillatim | nature offers a violence

nature offers a violence

NOVEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — WHITEOUT: Methuselah makes an unexpected early return to Milton to warn Interlopers of an impending monster storm, and boy does it surely come.

PROMPT TWO — A CHOICE: Following the storm, sightings of a mysterious stag prompts a hunt down in the Basin and out in the Outskirts.

PROMPT THREE — REST MY WEARY BONES: While the storm causes a great deal of mess, it also uncovers some far more pleasant surprises. Hot springs.

WHITEOUT

WHEN: Early to mid-month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: extreme weather; storms; blizzards; themes of survival; possible character cold-related injuries; possible themes of peril.

In the times that he is no longer occupying the Community Hall in the center of town to help tend to the newcomers, Methuselah is out in the wilds. Despite his growing age, he is a hardened survivor, and has been more than accustomed to life living as a nomad, out in the thickest, deepest parts of nature. Sometimes he can be encountered, sheltered in a cave or out in the woods, huddled by a warm campfire, or busying himself with his latest game catch. He seems to be always on the move, never staying for too long, and never coming into town — unless it’s to begin preparations for the latest batch of new arrivals.

To see him returning to Milton outside of these times is a curious sight, and the grim expression he carries is enough to make anyone wary. Even his voice is grave. The warmth and kindness usually found in his expression is gone, replaced with a deathly seriousness. He doesn’t speak in jest.

"I am long used to this world and its weather, even with the changing times to more bitter nights." he will say. "I have seen the years rise and fall, too many to count. Please, I beg that you hear me with this— a storm is coming. Greater than some of you may have ever known. It is in the air, and we must prepare to see it through. We do not have much time. Three days, perhaps. But no more."

He will tell anyone and everyone; encouraging the word to be spread around. He will instruct on what needs to be done, what needs to be gathered. The storm will be long and hard, and will last for some time. With that, Methuselah will begin to prepare the Community Hall as a place of refuge with a stock of food, fuel and water to get through the storm. Interlopers will be free to join Methuselah and bunker down together, or can choose to bunker down on their own in their own homes, or with others.

You have only three days.

And sure enough, the storm comes. Maybe you can notice the signs too: the sudden updraft, the slow gathering of clouds, the drop in temperature, the changes of pressure in the air.

Halfway through the third day, the storm rolls in: a ferocious snow-storm unlike anything you’ve seen before. Even with the fading amount of daylight as mid-winter approaches, the sky turns as dark as night as will stay like night for the duration. Strong howling winds batter the town, and even the sturdiest of buildings creak and groan under the weight. Trees will be felled, some buildings might not fare the storm.

Relentless snow that falls so hard it’s a complete whiteout, and will be impossible to navigate if one were to step outside. Even then, it isn’t advisable. The temperature is bitter, with a frigid windchill. Going out in this kind of storm would be a death sentence. Staying out in it for longer than a half-hour will certainly kill you.

It would be best to wait it out, to huddle around warm fires in the darkness. It may certainly be a test of patience, depending on your choice of place to stay. The storm will last a full week, a stark reminder of what you are, the words you have heard in your arrival: thrown to Mother Nature’s mercy, the Interloper in her design.

But will you persist?

A CHOICE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards to end of month.
WHERE: Milton Basin, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: survival themes; themes of hunting; possible animal death.

After the storm passes, there’s a certain kind of hush that falls upon Milton and its surrounding areas as Interlopers are left to pick through the wake. While the temperature certainly doesn’t get that much warmer, there’s days and nights of clear, calm weather — short afternoons of weak sunshine and nights of chilly peace, the moon hung high in the starry skies. Winter is drawing ever-closer, but it’s still for a little while.

In the early evenings, before the sun sets, there’s strange sightings of a particular white stag that can be found roaming the area — particularly down in the Milton Basin. It seems quite elusive, but there’s plenty of Interlopers that have been able to capture a glimpse over the coming days. Even Methuselah himself has seen this beast before, remarking there has long been tall tales of a ghostly stag that roams the Northern Territories and is said to bring good fortune to those who manage to hunt it down.

Perhaps you’re a little low on luck. Perhaps you’re feeling lucky. You’re going to find that stag.

Hunting down the stag, however, will take a great deal of patience and time. You might find yourself waiting several hours to wait for it to appear. Building a snow shelter, or hunkering down in some old shack might be needed in order to keep warm. But if you’re patient enough, and able to withstand the cold for long enough — the beast will soon make an appearance.

In the dying light of the day, it is there. It’s unlike any deer you’ve seen before: tall and majestic, with thick, soft fur of brilliant white. It almost looks ghost-like in some angles, it’s an incredibly beautiful creature. But it seems to have also noticed you, just as you have noticed it. It doesn’t dart away, however. Instead it stands before you, waiting for you to act.

You have a choice: slay the creature, or let it go.

It will not move until you make your decision, holding your gaze until you raise your weapon or until you lower it and give up your hunt. But there is a consequence to either action: if you choose to kill the stag, you will be rewarded with a sizeable bounty of venison. Eating said meat will help you feel fuller for longer, and the meat will keep for far longer than any other deer slain.

However, if you choose to spare the stag, the creature will lower its head, as if bowing to you. Then, it will disappear with a swirling of powdered snow. When you return home for the evening and go to sleep, the next morning you will find a gift at the foot of your bed: a pair of deerskin boots, or a deerskin blanket. These boots are supple, tough and waterproof — allowing for a great balance of mobility and warmth. The blanket is incredibly toasty, and will provide a great deal of comfort in the long nights ahead.

REST MY WEARY BONES

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards indefinitely.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.

The storm has blown in plenty of snow to make traversing the area much more difficult, but there’s something else of note that comes with its passing. While the storm has brought much devastation, and some places have been buried in snow drifts, plenty of snow in areas has been blown away, uncovering otherwise lost secrets within Milton. Clouds of what looks like steam can be noted not too far from town, towards the mountains of the north.

If Interlopers head to explore the clouds, they will find old trails leading up towards the mountains. It isn’t a particularly difficult journey, for once, and they will soon discover that the storm has blown away the previously blocked access to a cave. It appears that this is the right place.

The air is warm here, pleasantly so. Warm enough that hats and mittens and coats seem a little unnecessary. One might wonder if someone lives within, and that a great fire is stoked to keep the place warm. But there’s no one in sight, no sounds of life: human, animal or otherwise. If they press on, they will discover that the cave floor is well worn with footfall: plenty of people have come here before, and the reason why is soon revealed.

The air grows even warmer, and more humid. The space opening to reveal small pools of slow-flowing water, warm water. The stone houses a natural hot spring, and following the cave out the other side will lead to another space in the rock open to the air, where there are even larger pools of warm water, perfectly sized and deep enough to bathe in. It seems that this place was frequently used by the people of Milton, where their life of hardship could be forgotten for an hour or two.

The water is pleasantly hot, and incredibly inviting. After so long in the freezing cold without modern appliances and utilities, a natural hot spring sounds like an absolute luxury.

FAQs

WHITEOUT

1. Characters are free to play around with this prompt how they want. Maybe they're dumb enough to go into the cold and get injured or sick. Maybe they're stuck in the Community Hall for the week. Fights might break out as tensions run high whilst everyone's stuck together, or maybe you're actually having a nice time.

2. For those stuck in the Community Hall: there are board games and old school textbooks stored in cupboards. There is also a piano.

3. A floorplan of the Community Hall can be found here.

A CHOICE

1. .... Yes, you can pet the ghost stag.

2. Characters will get one choice only with the ghost stag, meaning they can't keep going back to find it to get extra gifts.

3. If characters can't agree on a course of action, whoever acts first will get their gift. The second character will have a chance to try again another time.

4. If both characters agree on sparing the stag, but players want different gifts (ie. one player wants the boots and one wants the blanket), characters will get the gift the player wants their character to receive.

REST MY WEARY BONES

1. The hot springs will now be a permanent fixture in the Milton Area, enjoy!

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It pays to be prepared. Louis's unmentionables are safe from prying eyes.

Regardless of the state of dress (or undress) the other man is in when Louis happens upon him, he ought to let him know he has an audience. Best to find out now if this man has a problem with sharing facilities with someone of his... complexion. Just because the racial divide is routine for Louis doesn't mean he isn't infuriated by it. He would prefer to avoid problems where he can.

He gently clears his throat and slowly blinks the steam out of his eyes. He's aware of the moisture clinging to his skin and even the little curling hairs on his chest, rudely highlighting every perfection and imperfection, but that's not his problem.

"Good evening."

Rorschach had gotten his trenchcoat and the sweatshirt beneath that off. He was just starting on his suit jacket when he heard someone speak behind him. He fumed inwardly for having let his guard down enough to let someone sneak up on him. The warmth of this place was getting to him and he wasn't even in the water yet.

He whirled around, getting back to his feet in case a threat presented itself. But there was just a man there. Two things struck Rorschach. The first, which he tamped back down into the back of his mind as soon as he could, was that he was very pretty. It was his eyes that really captivated Rorschach, such a beautiful, stunning green as they were. He'd always been particularly drawn to the eyes of a person, no matter their gender. The second was that he was wearing very little, apparently having had the same idea Rorschach did to go for a soak. That made something old and rusty with disuse start up for a moment in the back of his mind, a certain sense of want he wasn't sure he could define, not even to himself. But he ignored it. If he just didn't pay it any attention, it would eventually go away.

The color of Louis's skin was barely a blip on his mind, not with the other two impressions currently occupying it. Not that it would have mattered. For all the terrible tendencies Rorschach had, he wasn't racist, at least not towards African-Americans.

He felt awkward and off-balance, letting the silence between them grow as he tried to figure out how to speak again. Finally, he just settled for a brief nod of acknowledgement. His white mask stood out in the shadows of the cave, the black spots of it moving at a quick pace without ever stopping, creating patterns that just as soon turned into new ones.

His pointed nails curl slightly tighter on the small bag of soaps and sundry, but he doesn't otherwise move. Rorschach isn't in danger of having scented toiletries flung at his head. The bridge of Louis's nose pinches with consternation as he is faced with something he didn't expect.

This guy is wearing a mask. Like some robber. What the fuck. He doesn't rob him. He just nods. Like that's normal. How does it even move? Liquid? Chemistry?

"...No. Uh-uh. You take a bath in that thing?" No. Nope. "Whatever you're hiding can't be any more creepy than that."

Why is he hiding his identity in a town so small? He's got to be a serial killer. Well, technically, so is Louis. He tries to size him up, but a suit doesn't reveal too much. Not tall, but he could be fit enough to give him trouble.

Louis, eyes never leaving him, steps over to the opposite end of the spring. Louis walks as he's seen other men do, with a purposeful stride and leading with the angle of his shoulders. He's trained himself to look like he shouldn't be messed with. But he feels strange, effete even, next to a man who reminds him of the racoon that once got into his house.

Surprisingly, few people had asked about Rorschach's face besides Kate. Granted, his behavior was so off-putting that the mask really was just the cherry on top to such a bizarre character, so perhaps they just didn't feel the need to remark on the strange moving black-and-white visage.

"Only face I can stand to look at," he replied in his usual deep growl, well aware that was not a comforting or sane answer. Alright, maybe he was a tiny bit put out about someone else being here instead of having some privacy, and was hoping he might be able to scare Louis off.

But it didn't seem like that was going to be happening given the other man looked to be settling in to bathe for the foreseeable future. Rorschach had two options. He could have retreated and come back later when he was certain there was no one else around. Or he could have been a stubborn ass, acting like some predatory animal that was standing his ground and refused to leave despite the strange, awkward situation they'd both found themselves in. No prizes for guessing which one he did. Sorry, Louis, it looked like he was going to have some unwanted company for the foreseeable future.

So he has self-image issues. So does Louis, which is laughable considering his looks, but they're there regardless, and they don't listen to logic. Another lapse of logic is Louis's stubborn desire to continue about his business as if this is all very normal. He thinks he was here first, probably.

"I'll keep my shavin' mirror to myself, then."

He has no intention of shaving, given that his vampire physiology keeps his hair exactly the length it was the night he died. Now he's being catty, and he realizes this, and unlike Lestat, he has the grace to lower his eyes. If Rorschach doesn't like being looked at, Louis can avoid his gaze like all those times he averted his gaze from men to avoid staring too hungrily. He doubts he's his type anyway.

He sits at the edge of the spring and dips his feet into the water. He can't resist a genuine sigh. That feels good, worth the hike up here. He selects one of the soaps he brought to try. Someone in town had taste, once upon a time.

He puts it to his nose. Taking in the smell is calming, and it undercuts the itch of weird stranger and being watched.

"Bois de Cedre," he reads the French stamped onto the bar. Cedarwood. "Mmm. Like a good book."

Since neither of them were willing to back down, Rorschach decided to make himself comfortable. He wouldn't be removing his face anytime soon in front of a complete stranger but at least he could still soak some parts of himself. Seeing what Louis was doing, he copied the idea. He removed the winter boots he was wearing, the smallest ones he'd been able to find that were still half a size too big for him. He'd had to stuff socks in the toes to get them to get them anything close to a proper fit.

He rolled up his pant legs and gingerly put his feet and shins in the water. Oh, that felt good. He'd definitely have to come back here when he was promised some actual privacy instead of being forced to share space with a man hardly wearing anything it all. Much as he kept trying not to, his eyes kept roving over to Louis's body....he was indeed a very pretty man. He was thankful it was impossible to see where his gaze was focusing on with his face on. It had been a while since Rorschach was around anyone naked of either sex and Dr. Manhattan hardly counted. He was just a nudist thanks to being detached from humanity, not for any sexual reasons.

"Have a lot of soap," Rorschach noted with a tone of judgment in his voice. A bit too much for a proper man. Only women wanted all that flowery crap touching their skin. Of course, Rorschach could hardly talk. He stunk like someone who hadn't taken a bath in weeks only could.

"I only need one," he concedes, "but I wanted to try them all in a suitable place where I don't have to boil my water."

It's difficult to discern, but the angle of Rorschach's head eventually gives him away. He's staring. Louis goes preternaturally still, but his eyes aren't the widened ones of prey. They're the bright calculating ones of a predator. His lips barely move.

"Shoulda brought my sunglasses. Then we could both stare at each other without actually looking each other in the eye." As all red-blooded masculine American men surely do. "Don't tell me you want my soap?"

The idea is laughable, but then again, resources are harder to come by. And, unfortunately, Louis can smell Rorchach even from a distance. Maybe it's time to do a service to the community.

He finally moves to set down his bar and take out more from the bag with the slow air of a torturer showing his implements.

"Cedre... Amande... Olive..." he continues reading the labels. "Ah--here's one for you. Masculin. Apparently they know exactly what men smell like in France."

He tosses the soap towards Rorschach with a healthy flick of his arm. Louis doesn't care for it. Its musky and astringent fragrance is strange to him, from another era he has yet to experience. Not unpleasant, but he'd rather have aftershave and tobacco.

Rorschach felt his face heat up with embarrassment when Louis called out his staring and ducked his head to the side. He remained silent. He'd been caught and knew it. He hated the immoral, filthy thoughts within him but he couldn't stop them. When he tried, they just grew all the louder inside his head. He wished there was a way to get rid of them for good but if that had been a viable solution, all those conversion therapy strategies that had started to become popular in the 70s would have been making millions more than they already did. Not that Rorschach wanted to be heterosexual either. He would have preferred not to feel any sexual desires at all.

Alas, he was stuck with these irritating emotions until he died or figured out a way to repress them entirely for good.

It was far easier just to focus on what Louis was saying. He caught the soap easily with one hand. He studied it for a moment. Fun fact was that the mask filtered out a lot of smells for Rorschach, which was one of the reasons he was immune to his own stink. Curious about what the scent of the soap would be, he shoved his mask up just enough so that his nose was exposed and he could catch the fragrance radiating off of it. Then he swiftly pulled it back down. "Not terrible," was all that he said in response.

Looking away just confirmed the staring. A suspicion begins to form in Louis's mind. When he was closeted, Louis believed, even of himself, that the urges within him towards other men were merely the misdirected product of general red-blooded desire. He saw a lady of the night regularly and pretended to himself that he fit the mold of "regular man." Louis is no longer conflicted like this. He no longer feels shame for loving a man.

Nice catch. Louis wrinkles his nose slightly as he watches this gremlin of a man sniff soap like he's never heard of it.

"You're welcome." He nearly adds "creeper" to the end of that. "Because you're not getting in here like that."

Without further ado, because it's good practice not to dirty a shared spring, Louis begins a light lather with the cedar and splashing a little water to rise off before getting in. It would be easier if he removed his swim trunks, but he'd rather not in front of this smelly staring fully-clothed man.

Rorschach was pointedly not looking at Louis anymore, especially when he started to lather up. He felt like he'd been in a participant in a scene like this a few times in his dreams before and remembered how they ended. Filthy. Immoral. Sick. And wrong. Maybe it would have been best if he left right now. But his natural stubbornness refused to allow that retreat.

He was doing his best to look anywhere else besides at the man on the other side of the hot spring. If he pretended he didn't have these thoughts, eventually he could tamp them back down. It wasn't easy though. Rorschach, much as he tried not to be, was still a human being and with all the desires of one.

"Going to be here long?" He asked in a irritable tone. Unconsciously, his hands were gripping the sides of the hot spring so hard it was making his knuckles go pale. Within him was the conflict of someone who wished to longer have the emotions of a normal man because he was an ideal rather than a person and someone who very much still wanted to be that normal man.

There are definitely people who don't feel much about sex. Louis isn't one of them. He feels the urges. Romance, too.

I laid down with a man, Louis had confessed with shame minutes before Lestat turned him. Sometimes Louis wished he had never accepted the Dark Gift, as Lestat called it, and could simply be a man. But this is his normal now, and at times it frees him. He looks on the world with a new perspective. The norms he clung to fell away. It transformed him. It would be foolish to go back, knowing what he knows now.

He finishes rinsing and lowers himself with a stretch of muscle into the spring. He considers just leaving now, Rorschach being like this, but he's become obstinate.

"It's a testament to the beauty of this natural wonder that I want to stay here forever, but a man's skin don't take well to picklin'."

Nor does a woman's, but it's somewhat entertaining to keep using words that point out he's a man, and Rorschach is a man, and they're just two men sitting in a hot spring a comfortable heterosexual distance apart.

"Might just get your wish," Rorschach muttered dourly, splashing water towards Louis with his left hand in a grumpy fashion. No, he wasn't actually going to kill someone who as far as he knew was just a normal civilian, but the idea of shoving Louis under the water until he stopped moving was a tempting one. Fortunately, Rorschach's strict set of morals meant he'd never killed an innocent person and he wasn't about to start now. Down that path led to nothing but darkness at the end of it.

He picked up the soap that he figured was now his and his alone, studying it for a moment. Maybe he really did need a scrub. While he'd rarely bathed back in his own world, it had been amped up given the lack of hot water in Milton. Not to mention warm water was just a nice luxury in its own right. He shifted for a moment before taking off another layer of clothing, leaving only two on; a long-sleeved shirt and a white tank top.

"Oh no, I'm melting," he says deadpan. (He can make that reference.) He's not even close enough to get splashed unless Rorschach tries hard. Louis is closer to the Wicked Witch of the West than Rorschach, fellow killer though he may be. Louis's first murder was an innocent man, and he wrestled with the killing of innocents from then on. Lestat, who has no qualms about murder, calls it self-flagellating.

"So you wear a mask all the time." Louis can hardly believe it, but here Rorschach is contemplating soap with that damn mask on. "Don't the cops bother you about it?"

The cops bother Louis about plenty of things. Being Black, running a club, daring to be more successful than his white peers, living in perpetual "bachelordom" with a man, the illegal stash of alcohol in the cellar, the "floaters"--mutilated bodies that washed up with a tropical storm... Some cops were his regular customers. That didn't change anything.

Yep, he was considering bathing even with the mask still on. Mentally stable this fellow was not. He finally pulled off his last layer, revealing the extremely pale yet muscular form of someone who regularly undertook intense physical activity. A small side benefit that came from a life of fighting crime. It was also littered with old scars: stab wounds, places where he'd been shot, spots where his broken bones had healed. There was a new nearly healed injury on his left forearm where a wolf had bitten him. At least the bruises he usually sported on a regular basis had finally all healed, leaving him without the sickly looking green purple, and yellow marks.

"Cops hate me." They had ever since Rorschach had criticized their response during the police strike, deliberately making inflammatory remarks about how they'd abandoned their duties to protect people simply because their delicate feelings got hurt that vigilantes were trying to save people as well. Small wonder they'd taken the opportunity to beat the crap out of Rorschach once they caught him.

"But have only caught me once." He'd thought at the time it was simply his good luck streak running out but now he suspected Ozymandias had something to do with how they'd known where he was going to be at. Well, assuming he ever got back to New York, he'd make sure they never got that chance again.

Edited 2023-11-30 23:55 (UTC)

Oh Lord in Heaven, he's built like a boxer.

Louis feels simultaneously like his life is in danger, and like he is being presented with a challenge not to stare, not unless he wants to be killed by someone who might be a mobster in a suitably imaginative way. Louis once courted danger and desire in Lestat. It's complicated.

There's an odd sort of kinship. They both dislike cops. They both are committed to their lifestyle, whatever it may be, in spite of them. Against his better judgment, a smile slowly spreads across Louis's face.

"What you go in for?"

Rorschach glanced over at Louis just in time to see the man smile and-- oh dear. He looked very handsome with a smile on his face instead of the dour expression he'd had up until now. He didn't let his eyes linger for long, instead focusing on taking off his pants. His underwear would be staying on even if that meant having to dry them out afterwards. He was not going fully naked around Louis.

Rorschach thought for a moment as he slid into the water. It definitely felt as nice as it had looked. He'd be hard-pressed not to fall asleep in the warmth.

Then he ticked off the charges on his fingers. "Breaking and entering, resisting arrest, assaulting multiple police officers, violating the Keene Act, and three murders." He paused. "Didn't do the last murder they accused me of." Which, of course, implied he had done the other two.

Louis is very handsome when he smiles, but luckily he's never been arrested for it.

It's the strangest thing to see a man with most of his clothes off but insisting on keeping his mask. It's not meant to be a sex thing, Louis knows this, but Louis thinks it looks like a sex thing anyway. He used to own a club, after all. He knows a little dressing up is far less weird than his own bloody appetites.

His smile does falter at murder. He can't admit to his own; that would point the finger at his vampirism eventually. Never mix vampirism and business, Lestat had counseled him, and Louis did it anyway. He licks his lips nervously. (He can feel the tips of his fangs against his tongue.)

"The what? Some new law I don't know about?" he asks, very casually and normally. Yes, sure, let's just talk about whatever the Keene Act is, instead of what may or may not be a joke about murders. He's still half convinced Rorschach is fibbing to mess with him. Louis hopes not, because he has a low tolerance for disrespect from strangers.

Rorschach was surprised that Louis didn't know what the Keene Act was, but then, some people were monumentally ignorant when it came to keeping up with politics. He hadn't quite cottoned on to the fact yet that people in Milton were from different times and worlds yet. So he explained. "Keene Act. Outlawed masked vigilantes in 1977 after police strike, made them only official form of law."

The scorn in his voice made it clear just what Rorschach thought about that decision. "Left a dead wanted rapist at the police station as my response." Which accounted for one of the official murders he had been accused of, though there had been many more the police hadn't been able to connect to him. "Was the last one for years. Others finally started again. Just before I came here."

1977. His mouth had gaped open in surprise and consternation. He finally closes it, brow furrowing.

"...I'm from 1940. I've met people from different times in Milton, but it's never less a surprise each time."

But, being immortal except for a few key methods of death, he has an eye for the future.

"Okay... so... cops are bastards, courts are a joke, but how do I know these masked vigilantes won't just do the same, break into my house, murder, destroy my property...?"

He gives him a piercing sidelong look. He's not so trusting. He watched as the police smashed his windows, bold as you please. He saw rioters dish out 'justice' in the form of attacking the homes of people who looked like him.

At the moment, Louis doesn't have the usual fear and nervousness that populates the eyes of well-to-do people with fancy personal property to lose. Louis is still used to having his own methods of security, known only to him and Lestat at the time, and he harbors the secret of having done exactly the crimes he describes. He concerns himself with the consequences of his actions and the shackles he can't just magically take off... but he'd have done the same as Rorschach.

That was the first blatant mention of people being from different years. It was surprising to Rorschach, which showed on the expression beneath his fabric face, but only so much. Considering he knew a man who could see his entire life simultaneously, the idea of a bunch of people ending up from different time periods in a single place wasn't too extraordinary to believe. It did, however, reinforce his idea that this was all some snowy version of Hell or Purgatory.

He didn't ask anything about Louis being from 1940. Maybe they'd get there but as of yet he really didn't trust the other man. Then again, Rorschach had trusted maybe one total person in his entire life, and Daniel wasn't in Milton.

Rorschach had an answer for Louis. "Masked person who steals or murders is a criminal. Masked person who stops them is a hero. That's the difference." Alright, so that was a very black-and-white perspective on the matter, but what else could one expect from someone who wore a Rorschach test for a mask?

Edited 2023-12-08 10:27 (UTC)

Louis's experience with time discrepancies has, until now, been only with one long-lived immortal. Vampires were the only "interlopers". Time, except when distorted through mundane perception, behaved itself.

"Right, yes, violence is always so simple and easy to explain, how could I have forgotten," he sighs. He's a bit too tired to keep up the sarcasm. He sinks lower into the water and eases his back more snugly against the rock. That's better.

"Didn't catch your name." ...All right, he can't be rude forever, his mama taught him better than that. His Louisiana accent rolls smoothly up and down, much more casual than the quick rat-a-tat of Parisian French,

"Louis de Pointe du Lac."

"It is if people don't compromise." He said this with utter conviction. On that point Rorschach was certain. When people started making exceptions for the rules and try to understand criminals instead of punishing them, that's when things started to break down.

Now that was quite the name. Sounded aristocratic, especially in that lilting Southern accent. He hadn't introduced himself to many people here in Milton but he wouldn't refuse to give it when asked. "Rorschach." Of course he'd call himself that. What else would a man wearing a mask as he did be called? Even if it was a bit on the nose.

Oof. Yeowch. Yikes. A parade of bright red flags marches past in Louis's mind. It's a different flavor than Lestat's amoral murderousness, Louis decides, but no less dangerous. Rorschach, too, would snuff him out with impunity if he decided he should not exist in this world.

With Lestat at least, there is that hold they have on each other, the "vampire bond" as he calls it. An invisible cord strung between them that precludes murdering each other, in theory. Louis just called it love.

His eyebrows furrow, belying the consternation above his incredulous smile. "Oh, haha, he's got jokes. You call yourself that back home too, or is this a Milton thing?"

He can hardly believe he's talking to a crazy masked vigilante and hasn't had a gun pulled on him yet.

Louis was right on the money there. Rorschach didn't suffer anyone who fit his idea of 'evil' to live long. At least he tried. The problem was that when Rorschach started to get close to people, to see them as more than just another member of the faceless mass of humanity that he alternately protected or killed, being humanized made it harder for him to see them in absolutes. He was much more likely to make excuses for or explain away their behavior, which made him a hypocrite, but his black-and-white thinking had always worked much better in theory than in practice.

There was a good reason he preferred to be a loner instead of try and maintain any bonds with the people around him. Easy to do in a city as big as NYC, a lot harder when stuck in Milton.

"Had that name since I put this face on. Been a long time." Going on twenty-odd years now. Though it hadn't all happened at once. Slowly, the man who had been Walter Kovacs had been eaten from within thanks to all the horrors he'd witnessed until finally the Blair Roche case had caused him to die. (If he believed that hard enough, it would make it so, right?) All that was left was Rorschach, less of a man made of flesh-and-blood and more of an ideal come to life.

Louis knew better than anyone that humanity, and the individual persons within it, were a convoluted mess of contradictions. A "library of confusion," as Lestat would say. Damn him. Louis can guess he might get into an argument with Rorschach if certain subjects came up. Louis persistently looks at humans as people, despite his bloodthirsty lifestyle.

Now he is seized with a burning curiosity to know what lies beneath the mask. It's quite the opposite situation to Louis's. Louis wore a mask, figuratively, to hide his true nature. He still keeps a few up his sleeve and alternates between them when speaking to people in Milton. If what he says is true, Rorschach puts one on to reveal his true face.

He looks at the strange man thoughtfully. "So... I'm lookin' at the true face, the one that is chosen, not the one foisted on you? You are--pardon the expression--bare before me, in a manner of speakin'? I should feel honored."

nature offers a violence

cw: racism mention

cw: racism mention

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cw: toxic masculinity thinking

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cw: internalized homophobia, conversion therapy mentions

cw: references to being in the closet and sex work

cw: internalized homophobia continues

Re: cw: internalized homophobia continues

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cw: mention of corpse gore

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cw: mention of race riots

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hahaimindanger.gif

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cw: toxic masculinity thinking

can wind this down since we got Plans

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