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Compromise (I Remember You Well) 4/4

Title: Compromise (I Remember You Well)

Rating:
PG-13

Pairing: Dan/Walter

Warnings:
AU, post-GN (spoilers for same)

Disclaimer:
Don't own, don't sue.

Summary:
What if Rorschach had decided differently in the wreckage of Karnak? Why would he make such a choice, and what would it mean for himself, Daniel and Veidt's brave new world?

Author's Notes:  Before you read this chapter, please go and listen to this song.  It's not absolutely necessary, but I think that it will help to set the tone of the chapter, and hopefully convey what I was trying to paint through the whole story.  That's really all I have to say at this point, except that this was a pretty emotional ride for me.  I hope I did it justice.

Part 1 - "But for me, you would make an exception..."

Part 2 - "Those were the reasons, and that was New York..."

Part 3 - "We are ugly, but we have the music..."



4. "I need you, I don't need you..."

Gunmetal gray were the streets and skies of the silent city, clouds promising more snow to add to the dusting already there. The cars were silent wraiths in the concrete canals, horns left unsounded. The few people out and about on a weekday morning (and how few of them there were anymore) kept their heads down, not wanting to be seen by the newly erected CCTV poles, not willing to see for fear of being watched in return.

And if anyone even noticed the middle-aged man, coatless, bespectacled, wearing inadequate shoes, running down the street to the Gunga Diner and tearing through the trashcan on the opposite corner as if searching for the meaning of life, they did not comment.

Nothing. Dan kicked the trashcan with a sneakered toe and bent at the waist, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Walter (no, not Walter, not then and not now. Rorschach) had used the garbage can as a mail drop, passing notes and clues without surrendering them to the system. After waking and discovering that his friend had gone, and gone for good (the purple pinstripes and brown trenchcoat vanished from the closet, the sack of chewing sugar taken from the cupboards, the Chandler novel gone from the nightstand), Dan had thrown on what clothes he could manage and went to the only place he knew, the only one he could remember from the world that died. All the way there, he'd prayed for a glimpse of ginger hair to burn away the gray, a scrap of paper wedged into the side of the trash bin with an address in a familiar scrawl, something. Anything. But there was nothing at all.

Dan straightened, peering around him at the empty street corner, at the place where the newsvendor's kiosk had stood, and the cheery purple neon of the Gunga Diner (recently reopened for business, ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on) and held on to hope for one second longer, for one fleeting glimpe of a small, spare frame in a flapping coat, of a stained green suit jacket under a red-orange flare, something. Anything.

But there was nothing at all.

Shivering with cold and loss, Dan wrapped his shirtsleeved arms around himself and made his way back home. And on that long, last mile, with the terrible clarity of hindsight, Dan remembered, and saw, and understood.

He thought that he knew why Rorschach had made his choice in Antarctica, his compromise. At first he'd thought that Rorschach had finally seen the big picture, that he was willing to submit to the greater good. Then, he'd thought that he'd done it for Dan, borne of love and friendship to stave away the crushing weight of lonely knowledge (oh, how vain, how prideful he had been). He thought that he knew the reasons, never thought to ask, too afraid to ask. But Rorschach had told him his reasons, the first new day.

"Not stupid, Daniel."

Rorschach wasn't stupid. He had known that, if he was dead, Veidt would be left unchallenged, unchecked. No one would dare to watch him or question him, even if it needed doing. Rorschach was the only one willing to take on that awful responsibility, to turn his back on the crowd as it fell at Veidt's conquering feet. And to do that, he needed to survive. To compromise. To lie.

And so he lied. There in the owlship, that first new day, he made a decision and took off his face. He took off his pride and fervor and black-and-white view of the world, and put on a mask in place of it (a mask with the face of a man who died in 1975, oh God, oh God,) so that no one could know or suspect him, biding his time until Veidt had his back turned, the savior of the world too busy with dreams of conquest to notice the movements of one ordinary man. A man no different from any other, save that he was dead. Rorschach pretending to be Walter Kovacs.

"Not stupid, Daniel."

It had been true. It had been, perhaps, the last true thing Rorschach had ever said to him.

Dan had stopped shivering by the time he returned to the brownstone, too numb to shake. He walked mechanically into the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on to percolate, hands balking at the routine like rusty, untended gears. He reached for the sugar cubes and reminded himself that they were gone before realizing that they weren't entirely gone. There by the canister, in the corner of the tile counter, Dan saw something he'd missed in his initial scramble through the townhouse: a small pile of wrapped sugar cubes, resting on the open pages of a slim hardbacked book.

Dan brushed the cubes away and picked up the volume (a collection of poetry, a gift from a well-meaning aunt, left to molder on Dan's bookshelf without so much as a crack in its spine, the same bookshelf Walter had raided so regularly). And there, in the middle of the page, was a single stanza in a Richard Lovelace poem, bracketed in black ink, a few cramped words scrawled beneath it, punctuated with a symbol Dan had hoped he'd never see again.

"Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more."


Sorry, Daniel. Force of habit.

.][.

Dan slid to the linoleum floor and wept.

**

Dan wasn't surprised when, that same day, a tall fit man in a black suit arrived at his door, wishing to ask him a few questions "to benefit the public interest." The man asked him about the whereabouts of his known associate, Walter Kovacs, of his own whereabouts, of his plans for travel in the future. He said that he was with the police. Dan kept his own face and voice mannequin-blank, refusing to dignify the lie by pointing it out. The black-suited man was not a policeman, for he did not serve the law. He was not even a vigilante, for he did not serve justice. He was only a mercenary, for he served only Veidt.

Dan told the man everything he knew, which was nothing (he did not know where Mr. Kovacs was, nor did he know when he would return, nor did he know if he would be traveling in the future, good day) and sent the man away. The mercenary said that they would be watching, and Dan believed him. They had likely been watching since they returned from Karnak. Rorschach had undoubtedly known this, but had not told Dan. He might have told Nite Owl, but not Dan.

That night, Dan sat in the Owl's Nest, staring at Archie, wondering if he should take it out and go looking for Rorschach. But the black-suited men were watching, he knew, and they would follow, and even if he did find Rorschach, he would only lead them right to him. So he stayed, wings broken, hiding in the underbrush while the foxes sniffed around, and he did not sleep.

The next day, Dan wasn't surprised when the headline of the New Frontiersman proclaimed "ALIEN INVASION: HOAX!!" The lead story went on for three pages, drawing together threads and segues into a whole, unified picture: the death of the Comedian, the cancer scandals, Dr. Manhattan leaving Earth, the missing writers and artists, Dimension Developments, genetics research, all of it. Dan was impressed with Rorschach's restraint; there was no hint of his friend's usual poetic embellishments on the nature of man, no dark, lush allegories between society and disease, nothing but cold, hard, rational fact. It was beautiful in its sparse elegance, a masterpiece of justified paranoia. And Dan was sure (he hoped against hope, the sensation tightening his throat) that no one would believe him.

The day after that, Dan was very surprised to see the headline of Nova Express denouncing the New Frontiersman as a hatemongering rag, spreading lies and filth about the great Adrian Veidt, who was currently leading Gallup polls by 77% as a replacement for Nixon. Of course, this meant that all of the sane, rational, liberal-minded citizens who read the Nova Express picked up an old copy of the New Frontiersman, just to see what all of the fuss was about. And then they started talking (and hope died in Dan's chest, the carcass weighting his heart like lead).

Two days after that, the headline of the New York Gazette read "ADRIAN VEIDT: SAVIOR OR MADMAN?" with four pages on the controversy. National talk shows had picked up the story. Gallup polls had dropped to 47%. And in the midst of all this, Dan was not surprised, not at all, to find a single, unremarkable column on page four: the previous night, escaped felon Walter Kovacs, also known as Rorschach, had been shot dead while fleeing police custody. (But they were not policemen, for they did not serve the law...)

Walter Kovacs would have no grave for his enemies to leave roses upon (shipped out to the cremation pits in New Jersey, ashes to ashes, dust to dust), so instead, Dan stripped the cotton sheets from his bed, took them to the tiny patio behind the townhouse with a box of kitchen matches, stuffed them into a metal trashcan, lined the edges with page four of the Gazette and struck a match. He stood and watched until the sheets were completely consumed, until not even a single ember glowed amid the remnants, and then he spat into the ashes and walked back inside.

He did not cry. Dan's last tear had been shed days before, for a man who had died more than a decade ago.

**

Dan was surprised when, the next day, Adrian Veidt came to his door, flanked by two black-suited mercenaries, bloodshot eyes hidden behind dark Wayfarers.

"I hope you're happy," he spat in Dan's foyer, black limousine waiting in the street, rage and fatigue and hopeless impotence bleeding into his cultured voice (and, in a previous life, Dan might have sympathized). "I hope that, when this peace falls down around us and when people start killing each other all over again, and you only have yourself to blame for the end of all humanity, I hope that you'll be happy."

And Dan would have smiled at the idea, but he couldn't. The part of Dan that had smiled and argued and caressed freckled skin had been burned in a bundle of bedsheets, had been cried out on a kitchen floor, and this... this was what was left. "The end of humanity was your doing, Adrian," he said simply. "Not mine."

"I was going to save humanity, you small-minded... idiot!" Adrian snapped, voice hoarse with too much coffee, eyes burning unseen behind his sunglasses."

How?" Dan asked, pushing despite himself. "By muzzling it? Neutering it? Drugging it into a stupor of fear and lies until they do whatever you tell them to? That was what you were doing, Adrian. The curfew, the mercenaries," Dan's gaze flickered to the black-suited men, "the media control, the manipulation. All of it. You did more than slaughter three million people, Adrian. You took free will from those that survived."

Veidt licked his lips, shoulders hunched. "It... it was only a temporary measure," he insisted. "A stopgap, until things settled down. The people would see, I could make them... but why," he asked aloud, straightening with a mocking scoff, "am I justifying myself to you? You, a flabby footnote in the annals of history? Why should I justify myself to you?"

"Because you can't justify to yourself," Dan said without inflection, dimly aware that he should have been insulted. "Can't justify own actions. Can't reconcile. Want justification."

"Dammit, stop talking like that!" Adrian shouted, ripping his glasses off. He looked terrible, chalky white against the dark purple of his suit, the whites of his eyes consumed with red. "It's not true!"

"It is true," Dan replied. "You tried to scare people into world peace. And it worked, for a little while, but then people started adapting, returning to normal, making the wrong choices. So you tried fear again, and it worked. But don't you see? I've lived in your stronger loving world, Adrian. You're not creating world peace, you're stripping away free will, the very thing that makes us human." Dan sighed, making a low sound in the back of his throat. "We all make our own choices. No one gets to choose for others, Adrian. Not even you."

Veidt clenched his perfect teeth, breath hissing between them. "I could kill you," he said darkly, pointing one slim finger, prodding for a reaction, a glimmer of fear, anything. "I could kill you, right here, where you stand."

Dan huffed something that might have been a laugh. "Of course you could. You've killed so many already, shoring up your crumbling foundations. What's one more?"

The finger trembled, the tremors climbing to shake Veidt's shoulders, the blond man suspended on the knife's edge of his own choice. But then he turned, shoved his sunglasses onto his face and nearly ran from the brownstone, mercenaries trailing in his wake down the steps and into the limousine and into the dark city streets. And Dan let out the breath he was holding and shut the door. (Alive, alive, I am alive, and oh how very bitter it is.)

**

Three years after Veidt's bloodless downfall (none of the New Frontiersman's allegations could be proven, of course, but his image had never recovered), Sam Hollis settled his check at the tiny diner and walked out onto Main Street, tipping his hat to the pretty blonde waitress as he left. Sam was the town mechanic, and a damn good one too, come out to the tiny town of White Deer, Washington, (where the air smelled of green, growing things even in winter) from New York City in 1986, another refugee from a dead world. He was a quiet man, not much for socializing, but the townsfolk knew what 11/2 meant, and so they did not question.  But life goes on, ob-la-di, ob-la-da, and wasn't Reagan doing a bang-up job with that Gorbachev fellow, a cowboy in the White House, who'd have thought?

Sam seemed to keep to himself, though he could be seen on nice weekends taking his tired old pickup to the nearby Glacier Falls Nature Preserve, returning on Monday with a sketchbook full of wing structures and foliage patterns. But apart from that (and infrequent jaunts to the market, the hardware store or the diner), Sam kept to his garage or his tiny cabin, his garage because it kept him busy, and his cabin because it was the only place in the world where he could still be Dan Dreiberg.

On those quiet weekday nights, after the mask of Sam Hollis came off for the day, Dan would make a cup of coffee (three sugars) and stand near the window, looking out into the pine forests (not looking at a slim volume of poetry in easy reach on the end table, its spine well-creased with use) and lie to himself. He thought that, if he did it enough, he would start to believe it. He thought that he might believe that his brief liaison with Rorschach (his love for Walter) was just an odd version of Stockholm Syndrome, a reaction to the terrible situation they'd been in. He thought that he could say it didn't really mean anything, that what he felt for Laurie and Leslie and a succession of half-remembered lovers had been more lasting, more real than those two borrowed months. He thought that, after three years, he could simply remember Rorschach as a fond memory (blind whispers over freckled skin in a cold hotel room, kisses sweet with summer peaches, a flat monotone chasing shadows away) and as nothing else.

He thought he could do that.

He should have known better.

**

I don't mean to suggest
that I loved you the best
I can't keep track of each fallen robin
I remember you well
in the Chelsea Hotel
but that's all
I don't even think of you that often


-"Chelsea Hotel No. 2,"  Leonard Cohen


*crying* Comments are *sniff* greatly appreciated. *sob*
 

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Comments

( 81 comments — Leave a comment )
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natureslove
Mar. 30th, 2009 11:29 pm (UTC)
Wow, I wish Rorschach had come back. This was wonderful. I hope you either write a shit load of one-shots or atleast another multi-chapter fic. Brava my friend, I tip my hat to you.
xkidrogue
Mar. 30th, 2009 11:36 pm (UTC)
Oh... My god... That's it... That's... the end.... It's positively heartbreaking... Especially if one has the song playing in the background... I love it... But I want to hate it... But I can't... I can't help but love it... It's astonishing... You're great in skill. I bow before you... *bows*

Hope to see more from you in the future. <33
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 11:55 am (UTC)
Wow, I've rendered you elliptical! \o/

Oh, I definitely have something else in the works. Thanks for commenting!
i_am_your_spy
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:02 am (UTC)
*wibble*

That was absolutely wonderful. Sad as hell, but entirely perfect.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 11:57 am (UTC)
*\o/*

Thanks for stopping by, Spy! (Now you'll excuse me if I go and reread your epic, in which there is an actual HAPPY ENDING ARGH.)
hflepf_cnpt
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:10 am (UTC)
I've followed this since it started and just wow...When Walter [Rorschach?] died...It just made me sad. But at least you did it well. You do the fandom good, that you do...

I like your way of death muuuch better than Jon's way...stupid Jon.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 11:57 am (UTC)
Yeah, that big blue douche. >.<

Glad you liked it!
tricksta_anne
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:15 am (UTC)
That was absolutely terrific, even though the fic makes my heart break and weep. My goodness. Ob-la-di ob-la-da will now remind me of Rorschach dying now...or it will just have this sad tone now. Aww, gosh. I want to cry -sniff- Uhm, anyway. Just want to say that that this line,

He thought that, after three years, he could simply remember Rorschach as a fond memory (blind whispers over freckled skin in a cold hotel room, kisses sweet with summer peaches, a flat monotone chasing shadows away) and as nothing else. He thought he could do that. He should have known better.

I <3 it. The blind whispers part really caught my attention. I could really imagine Dan lying down with Walter (or should I say, Rorschach? Hurm.) in some cheap motel room or something just whispering to him...and stuff. Anyway, great story. Hope to read more of your stories ^^
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:01 pm (UTC)
Aw, don't cry! *gives tissues* The Beatles lend themselves well to melancholy, is all.

Thanks for commenting!
lilsi
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:16 am (UTC)
Aw no.. Poor Daniel having to loose him like that. It was a beautiful story and although an extreemly sad one it was a perfectly fitting ending for it. A great example of how Rorschach's mind would work to get the truth out to the world.

Lovely and sad. Thanks!
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:03 pm (UTC)
Thanks! I did have some trouble imagining why the New Frontiersman would be believed, and then I remembered that Nova Express was basically Adrian's bitch, and so...

Glad you liked it!
yellowdumpling
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:17 am (UTC)
Oh God...the last bit was absolutely brilliant. Well done. The ending is heartbreaking, but so real, and believable. The description of Dan's feelings for Rorschach was simply beautiful. This is how things should have been ;_;

I'm adding this to my permanent memories. You did us proud ;_;
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:04 pm (UTC)
*\o/*

Hurrah, I've been mem'd! Wow, that's awesome! Thanks so much!
(Deleted comment)
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:06 pm (UTC)
The poem was a lovely touch. I'm choosing to believe that Rorschach really did love Daniel, even though Daniel thinks it was all a lie.

Well, that's certainly your interpretation, though I couldn't possibly comment OMG OMG TRUEFACTS FOR REAL on it.

Sorry to disappoint? Glad you liked it anyway!
bionic
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:53 am (UTC)
oh god this ripped my heart out by pieces.... I am almost in tears. Aww, man. And I listened to Chelsea Hotel like you suggested, and it just.... hurt even worse. (But it's a wonderful song.) This was definitely one of the most powerful pieces I've ever read. Beautiful but heartbreaking. *sniff*

Write some happy now?
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:08 pm (UTC)
Ohhh, no worries. If my next evil plan succeeds, I shall give everyone on my f-list DIABETES! MWAHAHAHA-*cough*

But yes, much happier (and crackier) next time. Glad you enjoyed!
natureslove
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:00 am (UTC)
Ok, now a better review. (the first one was just to have the first comment. haha)

I listened to the song and it made a world of a difference. You are a wonderful writer and I hope that never goes to waste. The way you conveyed emotions was mind blowing. I cried, and it takes alot for me to cry. Congrats on that one. I agree the poem he left for Daniel, he did love him. I don't really have anything else to say that I can express in words.

You captured the characters so well, something that is damn near impossible. It was believable.

*stands up and claps hands*

Thank you for this.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:10 pm (UTC)
Hee! Well, at least you didn't just go "FIRST!"

*bows, and passes tissues* Aw, don't cry! That means an awful lot to me, though! I'm glad it made such an impact. (And I hope that everyone will forgive me when my next fic is gratuitous fluff...)

Grazie! Mille grazie!
(no subject) - natureslove - Mar. 31st, 2009 03:16 pm (UTC) - Expand
iztactli
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:14 am (UTC)
snif
I'm... god. I'm so sorry for them. I feel so bad, so sad, so... incomplete. I feel like crying ;__;

And the song is just beautiful, and makes me want to cry more.

And it's because it's so real, so close to the horrible true. You can't have happy endings with Rorschach.

I hope you write more, you are pretty good, even better than some "well know" writers out there in book stores.

I'll continue crying for a bit more, feeling that oppression in my chest for just a while...
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:11 pm (UTC)
Re: snif
*gives tissues* Don't cry! Next fic will be whacked out and happy, I promise!
tonights
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:15 am (UTC)
I really want to applaud you for this. This story was by turns buoyant and absolutely gutting. It was fantastic and impressive and I love the way you did justice to the musical inspiration for the piece and overall, it makes me feel kind of like a schmuck for only being able to write porn. I can't wait to see further works from you. Thank you very much.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:14 pm (UTC)
But-but-but... I love porn! (And cannot write it for beans. BEANS, I SAY.) Don't sell yourself short. Maybe we could tag-team sometime! I do the tissuefest, you do the smexings! ^_^

Glad you liked it, though! Next one will be happy and fluffy and CRACK (the crack of HEROES!)
(no subject) - tonights - Apr. 1st, 2009 06:01 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - writerbunny - Apr. 2nd, 2009 11:10 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - tonights - Apr. 3rd, 2009 02:37 am (UTC) - Expand
plastique
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:40 am (UTC)
.....BAWWWWWW

You...you are made of skill to create such a wonderfully sad ending. I love this fic, I love you for writing it. The ...detail in such sadness is unbearable ;~; ♥ but I love it all the same, I hope there'll be moar ficcies <3
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:15 pm (UTC)
Definitely moar, but not such a Debbie Downer next time. Glad you liked it!
anonymiss731
Mar. 31st, 2009 01:50 am (UTC)
You murdered my soul. That was painful. I wanna crawl up in a ball and cry. At first I was in denial. "He's gonna show up at the door and they'll run away. Newspapers lie. He didn't really get shot." Then anger. "No, NO, No fucking way...AHH. Fucking Adrian. Why didn't they kill him. He ruins everything. Why didn't Dan go find him. He could have. He'd be alive if Dan was with him. If Nite Owl was with him." Then Bargaining. "Maybe this can be fixed. Like an epilogue. Something can be done. If enough fangirls beg then maybe she'll resurrect him or write some afterlife epilogue." Then Depression. "Just like the comic. Just like the comic...he's marked for death. His personality just guns for it. Why do I submit myself to characters that only die on me."

I haven't reached acceptance yet. Maybe in a few days. Maybe after a second reading. It was to good, to personal, to emotional and gripping to let good this soon.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:23 pm (UTC)
But... um... ah... *scribblescribble*

Super Bonus Extended Director's Cut Alternate Ending!

And Rorschach wasn't actually dead, but only wounded, and was nursed back to health by a convent of anarchist nuns (shuddup, my ending).

And then he struck out on an epic quest across northern America to find Dan, which took him three years (since it was an EPIC quest, and thus involved many side quests).

And then he arrived in White Deer, knocked on Dan's cabin door, insulted his dye job and porno 'stache, and demanded to be fed. And then they done sex and lived happily ever after. THE END.

...don't cry no more?
(no subject) - anonymiss731 - Mar. 31st, 2009 03:33 pm (UTC) - Expand
tuff_ghost
Mar. 31st, 2009 02:04 am (UTC)
the song as well; good link
This is gorgeous, and so true to the character. I might cry too.

I love it most because it's true to the character but also true to fangirls' dream of the character, without being soppy or campy. Without compromising! It's all about the love story being only a dream or only a distraction, and I don't think that's an idea that's been put forward in fanfic yet. Well done for writing something so brutally true, and I hope you and I and all the other lovelorn fans can recover from it.
tuff_ghost
Mar. 31st, 2009 02:10 am (UTC)
qualification
Spy definitely dealt with the dream idea in her epic, but the dream came true in the end, so I wasn't counting that one ;)
Re: qualification - writerbunny - Mar. 31st, 2009 12:17 pm (UTC) - Expand
coin
Mar. 31st, 2009 02:39 am (UTC)
You are ... such an amazing writer, seriously. I don't even remember how I found this, but I read the whole thing, even skimming the smut when I don't even like smut but this whole thing is just so. amazing. and I officially adore you. I'm going to go off and be depressed now. Wow.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:18 pm (UTC)
Aw, but I was going for tasteful, non-offensive, soft-focus arty smut! *fails*

Glad you liked it anyway!
lady_wormtongue
Mar. 31st, 2009 03:55 am (UTC)
*shudders*

This has been quite a ride emotional for the reader too... especially in this chapter and the last one, I was completely drawn in. I wanted Dan to find Rorschach so badly, take him home... Rorschach's death hit me like a punch, such a sad, undignified end for him. (But better than in the snow of Antarctica, perhaps?) Compared with the hopeful mood of the last chapter, the contrast was so stark and painful. But that's life, right? I need to go back and reread this from the beginning again...

"Rorschach pretending to be Walter Kovacs."
That line literally made me shiver. And this:

"Can't justify own actions. Can't reconcile. Want justification."
Dan talking like Rorschach... guh. That man will never truly die.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:25 pm (UTC)
Anything's better than Antarctica. (Ooh, I was so MAD when I first read that...)

I'm glad you enjoyed!
prefiera
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:07 am (UTC)
*hugs* I can tell you put a lot of yourself in this one. It had good promise, but it really ended so powerfully. It just makes your heart almost literally ache. The feeling reminded me in the film where he says "that was always the difference between us, Daniel..." and his head falls in defeat just a little just as he walks out the door into the cold. I was just too melancholy to even cry. I really really loved this a lot. Rorschach really is like mercury. Beautiful and deadly and can slide away from your hands...never meant to be caged. I salute him and I salute you.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:26 pm (UTC)
Rorschach really is like mercury. Beautiful and deadly and can slide away from your hands...never meant to be caged.

Ooh, I LIKE that. I do. Can I work it into a fic someday?

I'm glad you liked it! Thanks!
capaow
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:14 am (UTC)
NO!
Rorschach you idiot!
this just got even more emotional ..
I .. need a moment.. *sniff*
both awful, and brilliant ending.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:27 pm (UTC)
Glad you liked it!
elle_vee
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:16 am (UTC)
O.M.F.G.

DID NOT EXPECT THAT.

AWESOME. WONDERFUL. VERY CLEVER.

CAPSLOCKS REPRESENT SHOCK, ADMIRATION, AND TRAUMA.


writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:27 pm (UTC)
Hurrah, I surprised someone! I'm not cliche!

GLAD YOU EN- oops. Glad you enjoyed! ^_^
ryouseiteki
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:29 am (UTC)
BAWWWWE. Rorschach gets one tiny article ;____;
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:28 pm (UTC)
INORITE? *bawwww*
seraphitta
Mar. 31st, 2009 04:32 am (UTC)
God, I feel like I'm adding nothing by repeating how amazing you are. It's been said how many times?
This was just heartwrenching; it's like you took my heart and ran it over, then picked up the pieces to throw them in a meat grinder, followed by the juicer, which you then proceeded to dump into the sewers. Where it smells like Rorschach....and this sentence has gone on long enough.

There was something so utterly soulwrenching in the way you portrayed everything slipping from Dan's hands, even if he didn't realize it. And it's almost circular, isn't it -- if he'd moved fast enough, told him of his plan beforehand, if he'd tried harder, if....? But now? Next morning? Everything's gone. The finality of it all is kind of crushing my chest at the moment. I can't really make any sense.

You suck and I love you ;___;
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:29 pm (UTC)
Um... oops? *hides juicer*

I'm sorry that you feel this way, but I'm glad you liked it (I think?)
brancher
Mar. 31st, 2009 05:39 am (UTC)
Oh god what did you do.

And then ten minutes later there was a knock on the cabin door. "Hello Daniel," said Rorschach.

"Rorschach! You're alive after all!"

"Hrmm. Faked own death, Daniel. Hungry. Got any beans?"

And they lived happily ever after.


There. That's better.
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 12:30 pm (UTC)
Works for me! I would have given them a happy ending for sure, but the song demanded otherwise. *SADS*
(no subject) - brancher - Mar. 31st, 2009 01:01 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - seraphitta - Mar. 31st, 2009 06:48 pm (UTC) - Expand
blue_moonie
Mar. 31st, 2009 07:15 am (UTC)
Oh my God, that was ridiculously sad and wonderful all at once. My heart hurts. Excellent work.
blue_moonie
Mar. 31st, 2009 07:15 am (UTC)
Also, the song? Nice touch.
(no subject) - writerbunny - Mar. 31st, 2009 12:30 pm (UTC) - Expand
ija_ijewna
Mar. 31st, 2009 02:22 pm (UTC)
/delurking/
First you disarm me with Cohen and then you kill me with Lovelace. If I searched low and high, still I wouldn't find anything as brilliantly fitting as I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.

And the unnoticed, undignified death mentioned on the fourth page, 'cause there are many other more important matters... I loved it. Twisted and wrong as it is, I love ironic deaths - and this one was done perfectly.
/relurking before I'll descend into an incoherent babbling/
writerbunny
Mar. 31st, 2009 11:52 pm (UTC)
Wow, thanks for delurking! I feel quite honored that you've done so. Glad you enjoyed it!
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