Fic: Captcha and Misc V
Aug. 21st, 2009 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
etheratiFandom: Watchmen
Date Written: 2009
Summary: Ficlets. #1 was for the prompt "Write Rorschach eating something other than beans", #2 and #3 are Captcha fics. #1 and #2 are Dan and Ror, #3 is Adrian.
Rating/Warnings: PG. Nothing particularly offensive. Zombie!schach in #2, feline-on-human violence(of the ultimately adorable sort) in #3. #3 is also terminally silly and ridiculous, but whatever heh.
#1 - WAFFLE TIME - Prompt: "Rorschach eating something other than beans."
"Waffles. Seriously?"
Dan's standing in front of his stove, the skillet in his hand utterly useless if the direction of this conversation is to be believed. He'd only even offered pancakes because he was already making a few for himself; saw no harm in using up all of the batter instead of half of it, and Rorschach has never been picky about what's handed to him.
Until now.
"Superior product in every way, Daniel," Rorschach asserts, tilting his head to one side as if the statement is so obvious that even saying it aloud is a curiosity.
Dan lets the pan clatter to the counter; rubs circles into his temples, cradling a rapidly blossoming headache. "The batter's completely different, I can't just use it without adjustments..."
And he knows Rorschach won't tell him to adjust it, to go ahead and add more sugar and whatever else it needs, to haul his ancient waffle iron down from the top cabinet and get to work - but under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even still be here. Would have long since pushed his chair out(scraping the legs across the linoleum the entire way), made some noise about not wanting to inconvenience him, been gone.
Under the pulled-up mask, Rorschach's mouth is a tight line of indecision. He seems paler than he should be, cheeks sunken more than they were this time last week. Dan wonders idly when the last time was that he actually ate.
*
It takes an extra half-hour to adjust the batter and get the old iron heated up, but sitting across the table from Rorschach as he carefully fills in tiny squares with syrup, creating symmetric patterns in the grid, something almost like a smile on his face - all Dan can think is, really, what's an extra half hour out of his life, for this?
*
#2 - Prompt: 'Red sniff'
Nite Owl puts a hand to his cowled forehead; he has never felt so exasperated in his life. "Rorschach, you can't smell Communism."
A quiet 'hrm' in the dark of the warehouse, and Rorschach is crouched over their paltry collection of gathered clues, poking through them with a careful finger. There's a puddle of blood nearby and the thumb of his glove is stained from bringing a sample of it up to his nose, sniffed at with some kind of weighty, measured significance.
"Better sense of smell than you, Nite Owl," Rorschach says, and he says it because it's true, but there's something in the tone that makes Dan think he also says it specifically to infuriate him.
It works. Nite Owl paces. His hand gesticulates indistinctly as he moves, as if he can't quite wrap his mind around the words he's trying to force out of his mouth, as if their inanity is staggering him into incoherency. "...it doesn't matter. Communism is a belief system-"
"Economic system," Rorschach huffs, picking up a matchbook, turning it over. "Inextricably entangled with the ruling body and designed to subjugate free thought."
"...not a thing you can smell."
His pacing is making too much noise; a clutch of pigeons scatter up from some industrial litter near his feet and into the rafters. He doesn't notice. Rorschach is examining a stub of pencil now, the eraser bitten clean off. He doesn't say anything, clearly doesn't think his assertion that their suspect 'smells Communist' needs any defending.
"I mean," Nite Owl continues, egged on by the blatant, challenging silence. "If you'd said he smelled anemic, or smelled like a heroin-addict, or hell, even that he smelled like he had Chinese for lunch today, I could buy that. But you can't-"
"Stain on the matchbook," Rorschach cuts him off, standing smoothly. "Scent indicates a particular brand of bootlegged potato vodka only served in one venue in the city, Soviet-themed bar and a known haven for Communist sympathizers. Alcohol level in blood shows recent patronage. Pencil stub is covered in rubbed-off newsprint; the ink is one used in a cheap printing process utilized by seven known underground newspapers. Six are radical left-wing, and four admit openly to Communist affiliation."
Silence. Somewhere above them, a pigeon ruffles its feathers.
"Oh," Nite Owl says.
Rorschach pulls a plastic bag from one pocket and carefully starts putting the clues inside, for safekeeping. This character, they've been after for months; the usual lackadaisical 'leave it for the police' crime scene methods aren't going to be productive here. He doesn't say a word, but when a taxi goes by outside, temporarily flooding the room with light, Nite Owl can swear he sees him smirking under the halfway pulled-up mask.
"But, I mean..." A short laugh, still strung out with incredulity. "This isn't 1949. It doesn't really matter if he's Communist. Legally, I mean."
Rorschach shrugs, sealing the bag, and yes - the smirk is there, layered into the tight cording of his voice. "Of course not," he says, as deadpan as he's ever managed. "Was just commenting."
*
#3 - Prompt: 'Airlines kitties'
(AN: I know the idea of Adrian flying commercial is absurd, but once the captcha came up I couldn't resist.)
-
He only ever attempts to travel with Bubastis once.
*
She's a kitten, a tiny thing, all brilliantly hued fur still coming in in random clumps as if she hasn't quite decided what color she wants to be yet. The geneticists were primarily focused on physical health and viability; they've given even odds on red or lilac-blue, and while red would certainly be more 'natural', Adrian's been secretly hoping for the latter.
Not that any of that matters worth a damn, when the airline attendant peers into the underseat carrier he's brought her in and looks up at him with mistrust and horror in her eyes. "What is that?" she asks, as if he's brought a bloody, rabid badger to her instead of a marvelously adorable baby lynx, color-coordination issues notwithstanding.
"A cat," he says simply, eying the attendant with a careful blend of sympathy and wariness, as if to say 'I'm dreadfully sorry you're so unintelligent; your family must be devastated.'
It does the trick.
*
On the airplane, she begins to yowl. He expects this during the rapid pressure-change of takeoff, expects her to stop once they've leveled off.
She does not stop.
There is grumbling around him about pets being allowed in the first-class compartment.
"She's a very first-class sort of cat," Adrian replies, and his tone could freeze fire. The compartment is silent for the rest of the flight.
*
Silent, of course, except for his poor baby girl, who will not. Stop. Crying.
*
Two hours over the Pacific and he decides to open the travel bag a tiny bit, sneak her a morsel of something in case all this noise is hunger - he has a travel packet of both the ostrich and salmon she's becoming accustomed to, as well as a vending-machine bag of cheesy crackers, an unhealthy indulgence that he figures won't do her any harm just this once. But when he reaches into the bag to try to calm her, inch-long canines sink straight into his hand.
He makes a strangled sound, smiling through the agony - retracts his hand, and politely asks the nearest stewardess for a clean towel and a bandage, please.
Afterward, he eats the crackers himself. It's satisfying.
*
Thirteen hours and he would have thought infantile feline lungs and vocal cords would have given out by now, but he'd have been wrong.
*
He's prodded awake by the large, sweaty man in the seat next to him, in the badly cut suit and worse hairpiece. He's only just managed to get to sleep amidst the cacophony and now he's been woken up -
"Need to do something about that," he man says, pointing to the bag, and Adrian's about to snap that yes, yes, he knows, he's been trying, when the smell hits him like the front grill of a run-down, unmarked van.
"...oh, Bubs," he mutters, leaning down towards the bag, nose tightly clenched between two fingers. "Tell me you didn't."
*
By the time he reaches his destination, he emerges an Adrian Veidt that the world has never seen before, even after the longest international jaunts: haggard, worn, with dark bags under his eyes, a badly bandaged hand, a head that feels like cold iron, dragging towards the ground. It's all he can do to check into his hotel - the penthouse suite, naturally, and no, they don't usually accept pets but of course for Mr. Veidt they will make an exception - and let Bubastis out of her carrier to explore her new environs, all kittenish joy and curiosity.
Through the haze of pain and sleep-deprivation and weariness, Adrian sits down to watch her, and smiles.
*
Date Written: 2009
Summary: Ficlets. #1 was for the prompt "Write Rorschach eating something other than beans", #2 and #3 are Captcha fics. #1 and #2 are Dan and Ror, #3 is Adrian.
Rating/Warnings: PG. Nothing particularly offensive. Zombie!schach in #2, feline-on-human violence(of the ultimately adorable sort) in #3. #3 is also terminally silly and ridiculous, but whatever heh.
#1 - WAFFLE TIME - Prompt: "Rorschach eating something other than beans."
"Waffles. Seriously?"
Dan's standing in front of his stove, the skillet in his hand utterly useless if the direction of this conversation is to be believed. He'd only even offered pancakes because he was already making a few for himself; saw no harm in using up all of the batter instead of half of it, and Rorschach has never been picky about what's handed to him.
Until now.
"Superior product in every way, Daniel," Rorschach asserts, tilting his head to one side as if the statement is so obvious that even saying it aloud is a curiosity.
Dan lets the pan clatter to the counter; rubs circles into his temples, cradling a rapidly blossoming headache. "The batter's completely different, I can't just use it without adjustments..."
And he knows Rorschach won't tell him to adjust it, to go ahead and add more sugar and whatever else it needs, to haul his ancient waffle iron down from the top cabinet and get to work - but under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even still be here. Would have long since pushed his chair out(scraping the legs across the linoleum the entire way), made some noise about not wanting to inconvenience him, been gone.
Under the pulled-up mask, Rorschach's mouth is a tight line of indecision. He seems paler than he should be, cheeks sunken more than they were this time last week. Dan wonders idly when the last time was that he actually ate.
*
It takes an extra half-hour to adjust the batter and get the old iron heated up, but sitting across the table from Rorschach as he carefully fills in tiny squares with syrup, creating symmetric patterns in the grid, something almost like a smile on his face - all Dan can think is, really, what's an extra half hour out of his life, for this?
*
#2 - Prompt: 'Red sniff'
Nite Owl puts a hand to his cowled forehead; he has never felt so exasperated in his life. "Rorschach, you can't smell Communism."
A quiet 'hrm' in the dark of the warehouse, and Rorschach is crouched over their paltry collection of gathered clues, poking through them with a careful finger. There's a puddle of blood nearby and the thumb of his glove is stained from bringing a sample of it up to his nose, sniffed at with some kind of weighty, measured significance.
"Better sense of smell than you, Nite Owl," Rorschach says, and he says it because it's true, but there's something in the tone that makes Dan think he also says it specifically to infuriate him.
It works. Nite Owl paces. His hand gesticulates indistinctly as he moves, as if he can't quite wrap his mind around the words he's trying to force out of his mouth, as if their inanity is staggering him into incoherency. "...it doesn't matter. Communism is a belief system-"
"Economic system," Rorschach huffs, picking up a matchbook, turning it over. "Inextricably entangled with the ruling body and designed to subjugate free thought."
"...not a thing you can smell."
His pacing is making too much noise; a clutch of pigeons scatter up from some industrial litter near his feet and into the rafters. He doesn't notice. Rorschach is examining a stub of pencil now, the eraser bitten clean off. He doesn't say anything, clearly doesn't think his assertion that their suspect 'smells Communist' needs any defending.
"I mean," Nite Owl continues, egged on by the blatant, challenging silence. "If you'd said he smelled anemic, or smelled like a heroin-addict, or hell, even that he smelled like he had Chinese for lunch today, I could buy that. But you can't-"
"Stain on the matchbook," Rorschach cuts him off, standing smoothly. "Scent indicates a particular brand of bootlegged potato vodka only served in one venue in the city, Soviet-themed bar and a known haven for Communist sympathizers. Alcohol level in blood shows recent patronage. Pencil stub is covered in rubbed-off newsprint; the ink is one used in a cheap printing process utilized by seven known underground newspapers. Six are radical left-wing, and four admit openly to Communist affiliation."
Silence. Somewhere above them, a pigeon ruffles its feathers.
"Oh," Nite Owl says.
Rorschach pulls a plastic bag from one pocket and carefully starts putting the clues inside, for safekeeping. This character, they've been after for months; the usual lackadaisical 'leave it for the police' crime scene methods aren't going to be productive here. He doesn't say a word, but when a taxi goes by outside, temporarily flooding the room with light, Nite Owl can swear he sees him smirking under the halfway pulled-up mask.
"But, I mean..." A short laugh, still strung out with incredulity. "This isn't 1949. It doesn't really matter if he's Communist. Legally, I mean."
Rorschach shrugs, sealing the bag, and yes - the smirk is there, layered into the tight cording of his voice. "Of course not," he says, as deadpan as he's ever managed. "Was just commenting."
*
#3 - Prompt: 'Airlines kitties'
(AN: I know the idea of Adrian flying commercial is absurd, but once the captcha came up I couldn't resist.)
-
He only ever attempts to travel with Bubastis once.
*
She's a kitten, a tiny thing, all brilliantly hued fur still coming in in random clumps as if she hasn't quite decided what color she wants to be yet. The geneticists were primarily focused on physical health and viability; they've given even odds on red or lilac-blue, and while red would certainly be more 'natural', Adrian's been secretly hoping for the latter.
Not that any of that matters worth a damn, when the airline attendant peers into the underseat carrier he's brought her in and looks up at him with mistrust and horror in her eyes. "What is that?" she asks, as if he's brought a bloody, rabid badger to her instead of a marvelously adorable baby lynx, color-coordination issues notwithstanding.
"A cat," he says simply, eying the attendant with a careful blend of sympathy and wariness, as if to say 'I'm dreadfully sorry you're so unintelligent; your family must be devastated.'
It does the trick.
*
On the airplane, she begins to yowl. He expects this during the rapid pressure-change of takeoff, expects her to stop once they've leveled off.
She does not stop.
There is grumbling around him about pets being allowed in the first-class compartment.
"She's a very first-class sort of cat," Adrian replies, and his tone could freeze fire. The compartment is silent for the rest of the flight.
*
Silent, of course, except for his poor baby girl, who will not. Stop. Crying.
*
Two hours over the Pacific and he decides to open the travel bag a tiny bit, sneak her a morsel of something in case all this noise is hunger - he has a travel packet of both the ostrich and salmon she's becoming accustomed to, as well as a vending-machine bag of cheesy crackers, an unhealthy indulgence that he figures won't do her any harm just this once. But when he reaches into the bag to try to calm her, inch-long canines sink straight into his hand.
He makes a strangled sound, smiling through the agony - retracts his hand, and politely asks the nearest stewardess for a clean towel and a bandage, please.
Afterward, he eats the crackers himself. It's satisfying.
*
Thirteen hours and he would have thought infantile feline lungs and vocal cords would have given out by now, but he'd have been wrong.
*
He's prodded awake by the large, sweaty man in the seat next to him, in the badly cut suit and worse hairpiece. He's only just managed to get to sleep amidst the cacophony and now he's been woken up -
"Need to do something about that," he man says, pointing to the bag, and Adrian's about to snap that yes, yes, he knows, he's been trying, when the smell hits him like the front grill of a run-down, unmarked van.
"...oh, Bubs," he mutters, leaning down towards the bag, nose tightly clenched between two fingers. "Tell me you didn't."
*
By the time he reaches his destination, he emerges an Adrian Veidt that the world has never seen before, even after the longest international jaunts: haggard, worn, with dark bags under his eyes, a badly bandaged hand, a head that feels like cold iron, dragging towards the ground. It's all he can do to check into his hotel - the penthouse suite, naturally, and no, they don't usually accept pets but of course for Mr. Veidt they will make an exception - and let Bubastis out of her carrier to explore her new environs, all kittenish joy and curiosity.
Through the haze of pain and sleep-deprivation and weariness, Adrian sits down to watch her, and smiles.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:26 pm (UTC)ALSO I HAVE BEEN IN THAT SITUATION. Except in coach. D:
I'm so glad you like these. :D They're all so silly in their own ways - captchas/ficlets seem to either end up VERY SILLY or VERY DARK AND ANGSTY, I can't seem to write much in the middle.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:33 pm (UTC)They're all just sort of silly and cute, but I'm having trouble with serious!fic right now, so.
I am tempted to draw patchwork!babybubs. D:
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:36 pm (UTC)I know how that goes, trust me. And they're all so perfect in their short, silly form.
YOU SHOULD.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 06:52 pm (UTC)I love tarantino anyway but I've heard this one is fantastic.
Barring that, I do have reservoir dogs on bluray :D
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 06:37 am (UTC)It almost equal the Marvel comics villain who's actually a Nazi made out of radioactive bees.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 04:25 pm (UTC)I will look into it.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:15 pm (UTC)#2 - Well just because Daniel can't smell Communism doesn't meant it isn't there. :D Rorschach shrugs, sealing the bag, and yes - the smirk is there, layered into the tight cording of his voice. "Of course not," he says, as deadpan as he's ever managed. "Was just commenting." Oh, Rorschach. :D
#3 - "Bubs" made me coo. Adrian sounds exactly like a new parent. :D Meep. You're such a great writer. <333
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:25 pm (UTC)And yes, communism is everywhere, YOU MUST ENGAGE ALL OF YOUR SENSES AND REMAIN VIGILANT.
Thanks :)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:25 pm (UTC)/commentspams
Wow I had no idea 3 was yours! You stealthy person you. (I hope you see what I mean now about enjoying your writing regardless of name attached. BECAUSE I DID. Shame on you for endearing me to Adrian.)
ALSO LOOK SO EXCITING FFF
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:29 pm (UTC)Honestly, you have no idea what a thrill it gives me when someone says 'I didn't know X was yours' haha. ANON SUCCESS, FINALLY. And yes, Adrian may drop a squid in NY eventually but he still loves his cat and that is endearing. :)
OMG that is the most exciting thing I have seen in ages
no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-21 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 12:18 am (UTC)My favorite passage:
Somewhere above them, a pigeon ruffles its feathers.
"Oh," Nite Owl says.
To me, it reads as though the pigeon is an extension of Dan's emotions... and the ruffling, and the feathers... just too cute.
Also, THIS:
"Stain on the matchbook," Rorschach cuts him off, standing smoothly. "Scent indicates a particular brand of bootlegged potato vodka only served in one venue in the city, Soviet-themed bar and a known haven for Communist sympathizers. Alcohol level in blood shows recent patronage. Pencil stub is covered in rubbed-off newsprint; the ink is one used in a cheap printing process utilized by seven known underground newspapers. Six are radical left-wing, and four admit openly to Communist affiliation."
Holmeschach, much? I almost expected him to follow up with "it's elementary, my dear Drieberg," LOL.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 12:41 am (UTC)And yeah; I've always wanted to write Ror being the brilliant detective that everyone keeps saying he used to be pre-Roche, and another story made me realize that he would totally be a Holmes fanboy, so structuring his little speech that way seemed natural, especially given that he's basically just showing off. XD ALSO: IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE HE'S MAKING ALL OF THAT UP.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 06:42 am (UTC)Nite Owl puts a hand to his cowled forehead; he has never felt so exasperated in his life. "Rorschach, you can't smell Communism."
*dies* This entire ficlet killed me with laughter, especially Rorschach's little monologue at the end and dan's annoyed/def;ated little "Oh."
Thirteen hours and he would have thought infantile feline lungs and vocal cords would have given out by now, but he'd have been wrong.
Cats' vocal cords never give out when they're traveling in planes/trains/automobiles. Also, I love Adrian silencing the stweardess with a "You family must be so sad that you're so stupid" look.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 04:23 pm (UTC)I just love how somewhere along the line, Z!Ror turned into a showoff? It started with the stopwatch fic, idek. I'll probably figure out why at some point. XD But it only surfaces in short little fics so I dono.
Thanks so much! :D
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 03:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 04:24 pm (UTC)Thanks! <3
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 07:12 pm (UTC)I especially love the waffles ficlet. One can never have enough fluff, especially with starving Rorschach in the mix. The fact that Dan is so used to Rorschach's social interaction faults makes me grin.
:D
Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 07:19 pm (UTC)Thanks! <3
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 07:25 pm (UTC)1 - NO, PANCAKES ARE BETTER. D:< But I do admit that I cracked up when Ror started filling in the holes in symmetrical patterns. xDD And Dan getting his waffle iron is just loads of fluffy d'awwww.
2 - OH ROR, YOU BIG FAT SHOWOFF YOU. He does it just to infuriate Dan, I know it. This ficlet is so much fun, and it's so great to see Rorschach actually doing some detective-ing for once. :D
3 - Adrian killed millions of people and is a big annoying jerk but that doesn't matter right now because HE LOVES HIS LITTLE KITTY AND THAT IS ALL.
Where's that writer's block? I'll take care of it for you. *sharpens pitchfork*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-22 07:44 pm (UTC)1. NO YOU. D: Waffles contain more sugar to begin with and are the most efficient syrup delivery devices ever invented. This is why they win. But yes Dan is so daww, noticing that Ror's in starving-hobo-mode and making them anyway.
2. I don't know when/how/why Z!Ror turned into a showoff. It's happened before. But it's sure amusing as hell to write.
3. AND HIS KITTY IS SOOO CUTE :D
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 12:04 am (UTC)I will always be impressed by how much you post, especially since the quality of it all is amazing. (God, it takes me forever to post my crap.)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 12:11 am (UTC)EXCEPT FOR LATELY WITH STUPID BLOCK.
fghgsdjhgsdhskf;ldsjgkkldgfj
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 01:22 am (UTC)But just think! It can't last forever! Maybe it'd help if you took a short break from writing?
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 01:32 am (UTC)You should try one, they're so much fun. :D
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 05:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 07:30 am (UTC)And thank you so much <3
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 09:31 pm (UTC)I KNEW Rorschach could smell sin! O:< And other sorts of deviance... Another perk to being a zombie(next to the kinky sex).
Aww, dangit, baby Bubastis! Too cute to comprehend... and why oh why is Adrian so lovable when they're together? He's such an adorable pet-parent. X3
no subject
Date: 2009-08-23 09:38 pm (UTC)He's discovering more and more perks as time goes on, and most of them are awesome for
showing off in front of Danprotecting the city. XDThanks so much!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-30 03:07 am (UTC)