Rorschach's Journal

January 1975

Saw her on Daniel's TV last night. They were yelling; they were nearly rioting. Beside her was Veidt, shaking her hand – only meant for her craft, she'd told me.

Daniel. Sounding concerned. Possibly tired. Was too close to tearing my skin off to answer.

She was still small. German. Smiling. Gracing the world with her attention, as if it were deserving.

Before everything started, it was her who had been there. She didn't know about my mother or the time I'd broken my wrist on the stairwell. She really didn't even know half of what I told her, but she remained as though I was the mutt from the pound she'd made her commitment to. Aside from the language barrier, she was easy to speak to. She wasn't like… others.

"Ent… Excuse me… Haben Sie… pencil?" She beamed when I did. She tried to continue a converstaion, though awkwardly. "How… are you called?" She couldn't pronounce my name. "Voltaire," she finally had decided, grinning at the misplaced achievement.

"Voltaire," she'd said one day, "I will to speak English as well as you. How have you leanred?" I told her I was born in America, to which she nodded. "Yes, but is it not difficult for you? The words – many sounds are the same. I cannot know if to say 'thruff" or "through."" You just have to know, I said. She sighed and I felt bad – I wanted to make her feel better. I think you'll be good at it too one day, I say. I could never speak German. I think her accent makes English sound better, I say. She laughs but won't look at me while we're walking. "But the people here – they find me stupid and won't listen to what I say. They call me a Nazi and a boy spit on me. I believe he was Jewish, if… for the Star was being worn." I tell her I'll kill them all, and she smiles.

That day, she begged to walk a different path than usual. I'd asked her why, but she shook her head. "There are the angry boys here. They tell me not to walk near them, and I don't will to make them angry."

The Angry Boys were her names for bullies – boys that called her a Nazi, a whore, and asked if she'd known Hitler – whether she slept with him, despite her only being 9. The Angry Boys, she'd said, made no sense, but their words hurt nonetheless.

Walter didn't smile much when we were kids. I only learned how to pronounce his name nearly a year after meeting him, but he would occasionally fail at supressing the smile of amusement that came from my nickname for him, Voltaire. There was a darkness in Walter whenever we weren't alone – something that forced him into silence and even anger.

When we were ten or so, I invited him to my home afterschool – I assured him that my parents were home and that the house was clean, but he had been hesitant.

"What's your home like?" I asked.

"It's not very nice. I like your house." Walter stood in the foyer, examining the wallpaper – flora. I asked If he'd like to go with my father and me downtown to see the art, but he declines, telling me his mother would be expecting him, though his voice fell noticably as he lied. It was only a short while after that he was taken away from his expectant mother and I lost him to a home for problem children.

Hey hey! This is... uh. Wtf is my name on here?

Cyberxotic/Deru/Alex/Something Else...

So… this was simply an intro. :3

Unfortunately, I have carpal tunnel at the moment (though, surprisingly not from the computer, but handwriting….) so I can't type properly. Actually, I have to type with one hand… So this means that I get my thoughts out relatively slowly and therefore they don't connect and flow as well as they do in my Eros story.

Anyway, this, despite the sad writing style, is the introduction to a story that I'm incredibly excited about… Yup.

Luvz me some Rorschach.

...

I promise, though… later chapters, should they be published, will be loads better than this garbage… I hope to be making myself a recognizable style, but, so far, I take on a style of writing I find useful to character building. For instance, Rorschach, at first, doesn't put his words in quotations... So... there's some... symbolism? I dunno. I like my garbage.

Now, here's some weird A/N that has to do with this story and is to all readers who've seen those OOC Rorschachs or whatever.

My intention in this story is not to bring a female character I like into the life, story, and personality of Rorschach. It is to introduce a female character into his life in a way that will not change the outcome or instances in the Watchmen gn/movie, will explore depths of possible character traits not explained or left open in the gn/movie, and will create a scenario in which, yeah, he might get laid. yay.