Aberration, Watchmen (2009)
Sunday, 26 June 2022 14:49![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
derwent_fTitle: Aberration
Fandom: Watchmen (2009)
Characters: Adrian Veidt, Rorschach
Rating: G
Summary: Role reversal AU. One October night, someone follows Adrian home.
“Just a moment, girl.” He puts Bubastis’ carrier down in front of his apartment door. In three, two, one …
“Ozymandias.”
“Rorschach.” Adrian turns around. He had sensed that he was being followed the moment he stepped out of the taxi.
It’s same old Rorschach. His costume’s shabbier, worn down by years, but the inkblots on his mask remain sharp. Disapproval emanates out of him – nothing new either.
Any other time, his presence will pique Adrian’s curiosity. Right now, Adrian says nothing. It’s late, he flew out of dry desert and right into New York rain, and he’s in a dire need of a hot shower.
Rorschach tosses something that glints underneath the lights. Adrian catches it: a bright yellow smiley badge, bringing memories of a dark-haired man with a cigar at the corner of his condescending smirk.
His thumb brushes a stain on the button. Blood.
“Comedian’s dead.”
For half a second, he pauses. Then: good riddance. There was no love lost between them.
When no replies are forthcoming, Rorschach grunts pointedly. “Need to talk.”
Adrian’s eyes find the CCTV camera on the hallway. It’s disabled – Rorschach’s doing, clearly. The hallway’s empty. Adrian has no desire to invite Rorschach and his stench into his apartment, but he has even less desire for anyone to stumble upon the two of them, as unlikely as it is at this time of night.
“Come in then.”
Adrian disarms the alarm and opens the door. Inside, he gently lets Bubastis out of her carrier, only to be rewarded with a look full of disdain. The boarding center pampers her, Adrian knows – that’s why he chose the place – but Bubastis without fail gives him the cold shoulder for a week whenever he returns from his trips.
Rorschach’s look clashes terribly with the meticulously decorated apartment. Adrian offers him nothing; the sooner Rorschach leaves the better.
Crossing his arms, Adrian says, “Well?”
“Thrown out of his apartment’s windows.”
“Perhaps it was a robbery,” Adrian points out idly. For all Adrian cares, the killer did the world a favor.
“An ordinary burglar, killing the Comedian? Ridiculous.”
“He worked for the government. Maybe an enemy of the state or someone he crossed. Or maybe,” and here his lips curl up, he can’t help it, “it was the government.”
The mockery is evident, but Rorschach refuses the bait. Shame. “Maybe it was one of his many enemies. In that case, you’re in for the long haul.”
“Like you." Rorschach states, accusation lacing his tone. "Ruined your plan for the Watchmen.”
Adrian inhales. Keeps his voice level. “I put masks behind a long time ago. You should consider it.”
The inkblots swirl, hardening. Defiant. Over your dead body, Adrian thinks. With a shrug, he asks, “What’s your theory, then?”
“Maybe someone’s picking off masks.”
He has to let out a laugh at that. “Rorschach, we haven’t been relevant since ‘77. Why now?”
“Will find out. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Adrian merely hums. Then he throws a sly glance at Rorschach. “What does Dreiberg think?”
The pattern shifts again, this time into something resembling a scowl. “Too busy. No time for us.”
No time for you, Adrian corrects, holding back his smile. Rorschach’s evident bitterness sparks something inside him, a vicious pleasure he doesn’t allow himself to luxuriate in often.
He straightens up. “Thank you, Rorschach.” Dismissive, rude – but Adrian just got home after two weeks in the desert, and he has no patience left for paranoia and conspiracy.
Once Rorschach left, he sets the alarm again, gazing at the sleek owl logo on it. The logo that’s also on his TV, his coffee-maker, his fridge, his record player, even his lightbulbs. Every piece of electronic seems to come with it these days.
He resolves to put the matter out of his mind. Unlike Rorschach, he has plenty of actually-important things to do, of which the most important is his work in Egyptian antiquities.
The TV flashes on. Reruns, soft-core flicks, ads, etc. etc., nothing that interests him. Just as his finger hovers over the power button, Manhattan’s face fills the screen, followed by a talk show host’s voice advertising an exclusive interview, sponsored by none other than Dreiberg Industries. Daniel’s face flashes on the TV, its familiarity twisted by the distance of the screen and years between them.
They kept in touch, or at least tried to, for the first couple of years after the Keene Act. Lunch here, dinner there (that’s probably how Rorschach figured out his identity, seeing him around Daniel and correctly put two and two together) – but Dreiberg Industries got bigger and bigger, while Adrian sold his company and retired into his antiquity and scholarship. (Later, he read in the papers that the company had been acquired by Daniel’s).
Statistically, one murder doesn’t equal a trend. It’s very unlikely there’s anything going on. Just karma finally getting its hand on the right man, and a madman who sees patterns where there are none.
His eyes fall on the cover of Time Magazine’s latest issue. Daniel and Manhattan stand shaking hands underneath bold text announcing their joint research into clean energy. Unbidden, the image of his old costume, now gathering dust in the back of his closet, surges into his mind.
What’s he got to lose anyway?
Adrian changes his mind.
Fandom: Watchmen (2009)
Characters: Adrian Veidt, Rorschach
Rating: G
Summary: Role reversal AU. One October night, someone follows Adrian home.
“Just a moment, girl.” He puts Bubastis’ carrier down in front of his apartment door. In three, two, one …
“Ozymandias.”
“Rorschach.” Adrian turns around. He had sensed that he was being followed the moment he stepped out of the taxi.
It’s same old Rorschach. His costume’s shabbier, worn down by years, but the inkblots on his mask remain sharp. Disapproval emanates out of him – nothing new either.
Any other time, his presence will pique Adrian’s curiosity. Right now, Adrian says nothing. It’s late, he flew out of dry desert and right into New York rain, and he’s in a dire need of a hot shower.
Rorschach tosses something that glints underneath the lights. Adrian catches it: a bright yellow smiley badge, bringing memories of a dark-haired man with a cigar at the corner of his condescending smirk.
His thumb brushes a stain on the button. Blood.
“Comedian’s dead.”
For half a second, he pauses. Then: good riddance. There was no love lost between them.
When no replies are forthcoming, Rorschach grunts pointedly. “Need to talk.”
Adrian’s eyes find the CCTV camera on the hallway. It’s disabled – Rorschach’s doing, clearly. The hallway’s empty. Adrian has no desire to invite Rorschach and his stench into his apartment, but he has even less desire for anyone to stumble upon the two of them, as unlikely as it is at this time of night.
“Come in then.”
Adrian disarms the alarm and opens the door. Inside, he gently lets Bubastis out of her carrier, only to be rewarded with a look full of disdain. The boarding center pampers her, Adrian knows – that’s why he chose the place – but Bubastis without fail gives him the cold shoulder for a week whenever he returns from his trips.
Rorschach’s look clashes terribly with the meticulously decorated apartment. Adrian offers him nothing; the sooner Rorschach leaves the better.
Crossing his arms, Adrian says, “Well?”
“Thrown out of his apartment’s windows.”
“Perhaps it was a robbery,” Adrian points out idly. For all Adrian cares, the killer did the world a favor.
“An ordinary burglar, killing the Comedian? Ridiculous.”
“He worked for the government. Maybe an enemy of the state or someone he crossed. Or maybe,” and here his lips curl up, he can’t help it, “it was the government.”
The mockery is evident, but Rorschach refuses the bait. Shame. “Maybe it was one of his many enemies. In that case, you’re in for the long haul.”
“Like you." Rorschach states, accusation lacing his tone. "Ruined your plan for the Watchmen.”
Adrian inhales. Keeps his voice level. “I put masks behind a long time ago. You should consider it.”
The inkblots swirl, hardening. Defiant. Over your dead body, Adrian thinks. With a shrug, he asks, “What’s your theory, then?”
“Maybe someone’s picking off masks.”
He has to let out a laugh at that. “Rorschach, we haven’t been relevant since ‘77. Why now?”
“Will find out. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Adrian merely hums. Then he throws a sly glance at Rorschach. “What does Dreiberg think?”
The pattern shifts again, this time into something resembling a scowl. “Too busy. No time for us.”
No time for you, Adrian corrects, holding back his smile. Rorschach’s evident bitterness sparks something inside him, a vicious pleasure he doesn’t allow himself to luxuriate in often.
He straightens up. “Thank you, Rorschach.” Dismissive, rude – but Adrian just got home after two weeks in the desert, and he has no patience left for paranoia and conspiracy.
Once Rorschach left, he sets the alarm again, gazing at the sleek owl logo on it. The logo that’s also on his TV, his coffee-maker, his fridge, his record player, even his lightbulbs. Every piece of electronic seems to come with it these days.
He resolves to put the matter out of his mind. Unlike Rorschach, he has plenty of actually-important things to do, of which the most important is his work in Egyptian antiquities.
The TV flashes on. Reruns, soft-core flicks, ads, etc. etc., nothing that interests him. Just as his finger hovers over the power button, Manhattan’s face fills the screen, followed by a talk show host’s voice advertising an exclusive interview, sponsored by none other than Dreiberg Industries. Daniel’s face flashes on the TV, its familiarity twisted by the distance of the screen and years between them.
They kept in touch, or at least tried to, for the first couple of years after the Keene Act. Lunch here, dinner there (that’s probably how Rorschach figured out his identity, seeing him around Daniel and correctly put two and two together) – but Dreiberg Industries got bigger and bigger, while Adrian sold his company and retired into his antiquity and scholarship. (Later, he read in the papers that the company had been acquired by Daniel’s).
Statistically, one murder doesn’t equal a trend. It’s very unlikely there’s anything going on. Just karma finally getting its hand on the right man, and a madman who sees patterns where there are none.
His eyes fall on the cover of Time Magazine’s latest issue. Daniel and Manhattan stand shaking hands underneath bold text announcing their joint research into clean energy. Unbidden, the image of his old costume, now gathering dust in the back of his closet, surges into his mind.
What’s he got to lose anyway?
Adrian changes his mind.
