A/N So, you are probably thinking something along the lines of, "What. The. Heck." at the idea of a Rorschach romance story. But I have a plot that would not leave me alone, so this was typed up. Let me know if Rorschach is horribly out of character right now. It's been a while since I've read Watchmen and it's currently lent out to someone so I can't reread it. But I will do that as soon as I get it back. And also let me know if I got anything wrong or something. Oh, and I don't own Watchman. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons do. So rate, review, and enjoy.
Freezing rain fell from the sky and onto the the broken city and its inhabitants below, covering them with its relentless torrent of moisture. Had it been much colder, the rain might have been snow, but rarely did it snow in the city. Snow seemed to be pure, too sacred to grace corruption with its presence. Most of the people out in the streets took no notice of the rain, too swept up in their own misery to care.
Or too drunk.
Nerezza, although more miserable than most, did take notice of the rain. It didn't mean she cared about it, but she notice nonetheless. She shifted her position slightly, causing her monochrome-colored hair to fall into her face. Her hair reached down to about her waist, scraggly like a stray dog's coat, and was primarily black, though different shades of gray and white were streaked throughout. Her eyes were gray and her skin was unnaturally pale, but not in a way that made her beautiful.
She appeared to be someone who had been quite sick for a long time and hadn't seen the sun for months with her almost white skin color and thin frame. Her clothes were nothing special either: plain black pants and a long-sleeved, gray sweater. Once upon a time, she might have been pretty, or at least not so dull. In the present time, however, none of her stuck out, and her overall appearance made her seem as if she had been taken out of a black and white movie and put into real life.
That is, if you ignored her shoes.
Her shoes were multi-colored, converse-brand shoes, and they seemed to not belong on her. The inner side of either shoe was a bright, sky blue. The outer side of either shoe was purple, not quite as bright as the blue. The rubber of the shoes were black, and the heel and tongue of the shoes were a cheery, chestnut brown. The shoes made a statement so loud that most normal people wouldn't wear them, let alone someone who blended in as well as she did.
But, cheery shoes aside, Nerezza looked exceptionally glum and dull. She leaned against the brick wall of the building, her feet flat on the street. She currently resided in an alley, where she wouldn't be noticed among the other trash that resided in the alley with her.
Nerezza winced, resisting the urge to growl as she heard the loud, noisy laughing of several drunken men. She hated drunks. Loathed them. She thought everyone who got drunk on a regular basis should be locked up. And alcohol...She hated the smell of alcohol.
It reminded her of her older brother.
At the thought of her brother she hugged her knees, much like a child would. Nerezza looked to be about 16, maybe 18. However, she was actually 28. Her thin, thin frame made her look like a child or a teenager. If one were to look in her eyes, her age might be obvious, for they seemed tired, as if they had seen far too much of the world. She was a paradox in that sense, her appearance that of a teenager while her spirit that of someone who had traveled far too many miles.
Nerezza was ripped out of her thoughts as she noticed that the sound of the obnoxious laughter had suddenly gotten a lot closer. Apparently the group of drunken men had decided to come down the alley, for reasons unknown. She could now see that there was four men, and she scrunched up to make herself smaller, less noticeable so that she would not be pestered by the men. However, her efforts were in vain for one of the men spotted her brightly colored shoes.
"Eh? Wha' shat in the alley 'ere?"
His words were horribly slurred and discordant to her ears. The other three men had moved forward to surround her.
" 'Ey—'Ey, I think issh'a girrrllll"
Nerezza squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as one of the men forcibly pulled her up. They hadn't said anything about it, but was she certain that they would probably try to maim or rape her. The man who had pull her up pulled her close to him and she responded by punching him in the jaw. He immediately let go with a scowl on his face. One of the another men pushed her.
"You, uh, you think that's funny?!"
His words, while not nearly as slurred as the other three's words were three or four times as hostile. He pushed her against the wall.
Nerezza had dealt with drunks before and was in fact a pretty good fighter, but she certainly was not fond of her current odds. One against four, all four were larger than her and two of the four were larger than average. She would be able to make out of the situation not too badly injured if she was lucky.
She took a deep breath and kicked the man who had shoved her in the shin. The man crouched down in pain, while the other three advanced forward to try to grab her. Punches were thrown, and although she certainly landed the most punches quite a few punches hit her as well and eventually they had grabbed her arms and legs and had her pinned down on the ground.. She hadn't bothered screaming; no one would care anyway.
She stopped struggling for a moment before giving all of her strength into slipping out of the men's grips. After managing to get one foot free she kicked one of the men in the face, and she heard a satisfying crunch as she broke his noise. Another kick and the man was out, his head having been knocked hard against the pavement.
She continued to struggle for moment until she felt the men being pulled off of her, one by one. Her silver eyes flickered to look up at a man who had no face.
Well, that was incorrect, actually. He had a face, but it was impossible to see for it was covered by a white mask that was dotted with black, and she was immediately reminded of an ink blot test. Soon after she was reminded of the sea, for she noticed that curiously enough the obsidian patches on the mask were constantly shifting, never seeming to remain stationary for more than a moment.
She hastily stood up to take a better look at the man. He had knocked out her other three attackers, quickly and effectively, and seemed to be looking at one of them, contemplating something. The man was about the same height as her, and the first thing she noticed aside from the mask was his tan trench coat and the matching fedora that sat upon his head. He also had a scarf, which had obviously seen its fair share of wear and tear, purple gloves, and purple pinstripe pants.
The corners of her lips turned up a fraction of an inch. Purple was her favorite color and she was a fan pinstripes.
The man seemed to suddenly become aware of her and turned to face her.
"Are you hurt?"
His voice was almost deeper than she expected, and his tone was nearly emotionless.
"No."
Her voice was nearly emotionless as well. She was still in shock. A man with a constantly shifting mask had suddenly appeared to pull that filth off of her. He turned to leave and she spoke up once more.
"Thank you."
He glanced back at her and gave a short nod. He clearly was not a man of many words and judging by the way he seemed to be in a rush to leave he was not a people person either.
"What's your name?"
He didn't look back this time. He didn't even stop, and she almost didn't hear him speak.
"Rorschach."
How fitting. But then again, could he really call himself anything else, with a mask like that? The rain had stopped, only briefly, but she was glad for it. She was curious about the man, no doubt. Why would he save a random stranger, especially when running around costumed as he did—although without the mask it wouldn't be much of a costume—was illegal these days? She didn't know, but she admired him for it.
She looked out of the alley and saw that he had already completely disappeared into the night within a matter of minutes, as if he had never existed. Glancing down at the bodies of the men who had attacked her, she gave a little shrug. She couldn't tell whether they were alive or not. She decided that it didn't matter. Or at least that she didn't care.
The rain had started back up again and she walked out into the open street, hands in her pockets. She wasn't sure where she had meant to go, but her feet lead her where they always did.
Home.