Rorschach (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moralabsolutism) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-01-30 12:30 am
moralabsolutism) wrote in undergrounds2017-01-30 12:30 am
Entry tags:
The Times, They Are A-Changin' (OTA)
A. 99 Luftballoons - Hillingdon House
Rorschach was up early in the Hillingdon House. He was down in the kitchen, staring at the jar of sugar like he was going to burn a hole in it by sheer force of will. Many things had faded from his time as a human being. He'd forgotten how to breathe, what sleeping and dreaming felt like, and even what it had been like to be visible all the time. What hadn't faded was the memory of sugar cubes. He'd always had some in his pocket, chomping on them whenever the urge struck him. Right now, he'd give up what passed for a soul to have a bite of just one.
When someone comes into the kitchen, he whips his head around, alarmed, and suddenly disappearing. When he realizes it's just another resident of Hillingdon, he flickers back into existence, taking up residence at the table once again. He doesn't say hello or make any introduction. This is on par for interactions with the quiet, laconic ghost. Rorschach is always just sort of there, like a piece of furniture that they just can't seem to get rid of.
B. Desolation Row - Around London
When you're dead, there's nothing but time on your hands. Rorschach has learned this well after thirty years of roaming around London. Frankly, it's a shame he doesn't have one of his journals in his pocket anymore. He would have filled up a dozen of them by now with everything that he'd seen over the years. This city was much the same as New York: pretty on the surface, but full of grime when one looked at its underbelly. So many supernatural types made this place their home and most of them showed some sort of malice towards human beings. If only he'd been alive, he would have taken great joy in clearing them out. As it was, all he could do was watch, and occasionally point hunters in the right direction.
He can be found in numerous spots all over the city, but he avoids the Thames as an inescapable obstacle. Whether just walking down a crowded street, perched on the rooftop of a tall building, or riding through the Underground, Rorschach watches and waits. Though what he's waiting for, he just can't say. As it is, he can be found only occasionally visible, his odd mask the first thing that stands out. Otherwise, people just feel a cold chill as he passes by or goes through them, a sudden weird feeling making the hair stand up on the back of their necks.
C. Wildcard
Got an idea? Want to run into the ghost somewhere else? PM or contact me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
Light_shade
Rorschach was up early in the Hillingdon House. He was down in the kitchen, staring at the jar of sugar like he was going to burn a hole in it by sheer force of will. Many things had faded from his time as a human being. He'd forgotten how to breathe, what sleeping and dreaming felt like, and even what it had been like to be visible all the time. What hadn't faded was the memory of sugar cubes. He'd always had some in his pocket, chomping on them whenever the urge struck him. Right now, he'd give up what passed for a soul to have a bite of just one.
When someone comes into the kitchen, he whips his head around, alarmed, and suddenly disappearing. When he realizes it's just another resident of Hillingdon, he flickers back into existence, taking up residence at the table once again. He doesn't say hello or make any introduction. This is on par for interactions with the quiet, laconic ghost. Rorschach is always just sort of there, like a piece of furniture that they just can't seem to get rid of.
B. Desolation Row - Around London
When you're dead, there's nothing but time on your hands. Rorschach has learned this well after thirty years of roaming around London. Frankly, it's a shame he doesn't have one of his journals in his pocket anymore. He would have filled up a dozen of them by now with everything that he'd seen over the years. This city was much the same as New York: pretty on the surface, but full of grime when one looked at its underbelly. So many supernatural types made this place their home and most of them showed some sort of malice towards human beings. If only he'd been alive, he would have taken great joy in clearing them out. As it was, all he could do was watch, and occasionally point hunters in the right direction.
He can be found in numerous spots all over the city, but he avoids the Thames as an inescapable obstacle. Whether just walking down a crowded street, perched on the rooftop of a tall building, or riding through the Underground, Rorschach watches and waits. Though what he's waiting for, he just can't say. As it is, he can be found only occasionally visible, his odd mask the first thing that stands out. Otherwise, people just feel a cold chill as he passes by or goes through them, a sudden weird feeling making the hair stand up on the back of their necks.
C. Wildcard
Got an idea? Want to run into the ghost somewhere else? PM or contact me at
no subject
"Werewolves aren't that tough." His voice held a scornful note. Maybe not to a ex-hunter with enough kills under his belt to make a rug made out of werewolf skins. He failed to take into account the mentality of a shapeshifter who's only power was turning into a member of Rattus norvegicus.
"Used to hunt them every full moon," he said, the first time he'd mentioned to anyone in the house a piece of his past. Most of them had their theories on the past of the Hillingdon House ghost, but no one knew precisely where he had come from or who he was. It had taken them ages just to get a name that was obviously a pseudonym out of him.
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And he thought of Party again. He really didn't want Party to get shot.
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One didn't become a werewolf through being a good person. Each one of them had killed. That was unforgivable to Rorschach's mindset. All he could remember was the case that had made him snap. The wolf that had butchered the little girl and eaten her. He'd never forgive any of them for what they were, not if he lived to be a thousand years old.
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Because there were circumstances where killing someone could be understandable. Also, he liked Party, and didn't want to believe that Party had murdered someone in cold blood.
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Rorschach folded his arms, managing a withering stare even through the fabric of his mask. How had he ended up in a clan of such naïve little fools? He had never been this idealistic, not even when he was young and starting out in the early years of his career as a hunter. "Doesn't work that way. Vampires are already dead. No, has to be a living human to do it. So someone has to die for them to become a monster."
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"But...what about another werewolf? Or self defense?"
He really needed to just ask Party how he activated his curse, so Roddy wouldn't have to worry about it.
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