Act I - The fight

[black_harry]

He was called Mad Harry Starks, but it wasn’t just a play on the cheerful recklessness with which he got into new scams and new businesses. In that last year of the fifties, the year he spent in prison, he was diagnosed with a manic-depression. In London only a few people knew about that part of Harry’s life. It was a secret within the firm. When

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[inktest]

Rorschach was smaller than the man and it was a benefit. He saw the man lunging towards him and hurried out the way. He wasn't quick enough. Hands grappled his coat and Rorschach felt his head pound in the primal, violent way he craved. In New York, this was good. In New York, this kept Rorschach alive. He was prepared to fight, even if the man had his coat tightly in his grasp.

Rorschach's hand was held tightly shut as he hurled his gloved fist towards the stranger's face.

[black_harry]

The masked fucker was fast, but Harry wasn't easily avoided. He missed the man, but managed to get a hold of the coat that flapped behind him. He held on to it like it was a throat he was squeezing the life out of.

He couldn't avoid the gloved hit, but when he saw those blots shifting to another shape again, he threw a punch in the middle of it. The butterfly scattered.

[inktest]

Feeling the punch collide with his face, Rorschach turned and distanced himself. The pain reminded Rorschach of every blow he'd ever taken. He remembered the machete. He remembered that leather-clad biker who thought the spikes on his knuckles would be a good idea. He remembered the police officers inside Moloch's apartment. He remembered pain.

It didn't put him down and out, though. Instead, images of his mother flooded his mind. When he looked at the violent stranger, he saw his slut of a mother, moving on her bed with yet another stranger.

"I will kill you," Rorschach said with quiet ferocity, squaring up with his clenched fists and throbbing head. He was faster. He waited for the tall, angry stranger to attack first.

[black_harry]

"Not if I fucking kill you first," Harry growled. If he had been thinking straight, he probably wouldn't have attacked. The sudden calmth in the masked man's voice sounded too much like an ambush.

But Harry was far beyond thinking straight. Something had simply clicked.

So he attacked. Fist ready to smash, and the other hand, ready to grab the man's neck.

[9mmshotglass]

"Hey, break it up!" Reese was already running with that shout, closing the space between her and the two men; one was Rorschach (she remembered him with his unique face). For a moment, she wished she had back up. She wished she had Crews.

And she wish she had her gun, which she'd left tucked in a cupboard at home with the animals. Zaibas was resting, still cold-sick, and she'd been on her way back to tend to him when she caught sight of the scuffle.

Reese moved to try and separate the two, reckless as that was.

[sgmitchell]

Patrol had finished quite some time ago, but that did not mean he wasn't about to investigate an angry shout. Especially not after hearing Reese's following shout. Fortunately, he had his sidearm on him, even if he would have preferred the G36K, if there truly was a threat.

He had his sidearm drawn by the time he came into view, and spotted Reese moving over to try to separate the two scuffling men. One of which was a fellow Catscratch bouncer.

"Hey-hey! C'mon! Break it up you two!"

[black_harry]

From the corner of an eye he saw a man with a drawn gun, closer by a woman. Harry didn't hear them and chose not to acknoledge them. Likewise he didn't feel the blood seeping out of his nose. A gun in this situation would have been easy, but more he wished he had a poker. White-hot and hard he would have liked to press it right in the middle of that ugly face. Served him right for fucking about with ink-blots around Harry.

[inktest]

It was too late to think about bullets. Rorschach stared into the man's face. The blood was a deep scarlet that Rorschach smiled at. He looked at man with the gun but remained focused on Harry. The vile excuse for men on this island were too peaceful, too liberal to ever really shoot someone.

Rorschach charged again, feeling like he'd be able to land another nice hit on the man's face.

[inktest]

His face. The mask. It was gone. Rorschach- no, Walter hurried over to the man with the gun. There was nothing flowing in his veins but anger and violence. Rorschach- no, Walter kept his mouth closed, gritting his teeth through his panting. He was out of breath and he wanted the stranger who had beaten him up dead.

"Give me it. Give me your gun," Walter told the man

[sgmitchell]

When Reese waded into the two of them, using his sidearm was fairly pointless, but she was able to break the two of them up quickly. Apparently Detective school paid off. Although, she would probably be sporting a nasty bruise for awhile. That was secondary to the man still standing, however.

He recognized the look in the man's eyes, and it wasn't a particularly good one. Giving the man a gun was the last thing he intended to do. He wasn't particularly thrilled with the man's proximity, but it meant he was further from Stark and Reese, and he was confident in his own ability to defend himself, should the worst situation arise.

"I think you should sit down and recover a bit." He nodded slightly, although he lowered his sidearm, his grip was strong, and he was still ready and fully capable of shooting the man if he made the wrong move. "Then maybe we can figure out what just went down here."

[inktest]

"We don't need to figure anything out!" Walter told him, opening his hands for a brief stretch. He'd been clenching them so hard, they started to ache. He closed them tightly again, though.

"Give me your gun!" Walter told him again loudly. He didn't feel like a person any longer. Instead, he was spitting, his muscles ached, his blood pumped. He was violent. He was ready to kill.

[sgmitchell]

He didn't like that look, that stance, or that voice. At all. He really wasn't the best person around to soothe prickly situations to begin with. He could name at least five people in New Atlantis alone who could do that job better than he. Now he had a feeling this would only end in blows.

He was ready, but he would not attack first. "Lemme try that again. Calm down and explain to me just what happened here. Weapons are only going to make this situation worse."

[Sorry about the slow tag!]