They were all but another name for greed. The filthy slander that dripped off nearly every putrid humans' lips. Especially the ones who flounced about at night, their thick cologne and smeared make-up making them appear as mindless zombies. Disgusting.
The trench coat wearing man despised the idea of those who relied on intercourse to feel something. He, on the other hand, felt that any emotion other than anger or fear was necessary. Apparently in this day and age, others felt it were the most needed. He would sneer at the whores and hookers alike who reached their dainty heads through car windows, their plump lips slathered in different shades of reds, pinks, and even purples. Scantily clad, hardly wearing anything, just leaving enough to the imagination. This was how they'd capture their prey...seduce and ensnare. They were only in it for the money, of course. Nothing else mattered to them but cold, hard cash. How revolting...
There was one though...One that he didn't mind too much. Her scarlet tresses were the only way he could decipher her from the rest of the filth. Dull brown eyes always downcast, never looking at him fully. Her face was pale, often thickly covered in brightly covered make-up. The harlot, as Rorschach "affectionately" called her, hadn't expected him to come to her that night; battered, bruised, and bloody. He had taken on a group of thugs head on and nearly killed himself because of it. It was a stupid mistake, his damn thoughts having been clouded that night due to thinking of the near coming End.
Instead of going home to his trashy apartment like he should have, Rorschach had instead stumbled down a filthy alley. The trash littered pavement seemed much more relaxing instead of leaning against the grimy walls, his own blood being smeered along the muck covered bricks. No matter how hard he tried to calm himself, his breathing had become more and more heavy. Thick and a bit loud. He pressed a purple gloved hand against his "face", the ink blots moving erratically due to so much heat. He wanted to rest, to sleep, but he knew he couldn't or he might not ever wake up.
It was then that the woman had heard him. She had just finished off with a client who hadn't been all that gentle, thanks to the shiner she'd no doubt have in the morning. She had heard what sounded like whimpering down a darkened alleyway. Her inner voice was urging her to run and never look back, nothing ever good happened to women like her that went down alleys like this, but she decided the heck with it and slowly began to trek down the narrow path. She slipped every now and then, the sludge of trash was so thick she almost felt the need to just step up on the dumpsters.
When she had finally reached him, she had covered her mouth and stepped back in alarm, eyes wide with shock and fear. He looked absolutely terrible. His coat splattered in blood, his maroon scarf was half unraveled around his neck, the hat on his head tipped almost all the way forward, covering most of his face. From what she could see, he was either deathly pale or was wearing a mask. Was he one of those vigilantes running around?
She kneeled down onto the murky concrete, bare knees getting covered in filth. She tilted her head in an attempt to see his face a bit better. She leaned back immediately when he jolted, jerking away from her and grabbing onto his side tightly. He growled something too slurred for her to understand and attempted to stand up. He didn't get too far before he slouched over again, almost falling face first onto the floor. She gasped and immediately grabbed onto his shoulders.
"Get...away..." He practically snarled, a hand coming in contact with her hands and swatting her away.
The woman pursed her lips, her cold fingers stinging a bit as she pulled away from him. She narrowed her eyes and glanced up and down the alley, searching for anyone to help. Of course there wasn't any sign of life since it was so late, even for the ladies of the night and their drooling prey.
"Let me help you," She whispered, voice as soft as she could make it. She had cried it almost raw just a few hours before due to her last client, but she tried not to dwell too much on it. She reached out to the man once again, frowning as he jerked away from her once again.
"Don't need...it..." He rasped, head turning away from her. A gloved hand lifted to his head, adjusting his hat a bit.
Blinking in slight confusion, the woman leaned forward a bit, again making the long coat wearing man lean away, so she could see his face. No...face wasn't the right word, it was more of a mask. It was
a mask... It was white, slightly covered in small blood splatters, but those what weren't what made her open her mouth in surprise. The fact that the black splotches that were rather prominent on the front of the mask were morphing and shifting slowly. Now that she thought about it, he looked a lot like...a Rorschach inkblot. Well, that's where he must have gotten the name from. She couldn't help but stare at the ever changing pictures, mentally stating what she saw. A butterfly. A dog. A...was that a uterus?
Rorschach was becoming increasingly agitated with the whore, eyes narrowing as he glared at her. He honestly wished she could see the look he was giving her, maybe then she would leave him to just bleed out on the street. He felt it was a good way to end his pathetic, so called "life". If only his slut of a mother could see him now. Slashed up and bloody in a trash littered alley. She'd no doubt say something nasty and cause him to feel even more sick about himself than he already did. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the woman attempting to lift him up. He had been spacing off a lot lately...he'd need to stop that immediately unless he wanted another encounter like this one.
"Don't touch-" He began, only to groan in pain, his hand clenching around his largest wound harshly. Crimson seeping through his already soaked fingers, "Let-let me..."
He panted, finding himself leaning all his weight against the smaller person. She grunted slightly, her skinny legs nearly buckling beneath her. She shifted her arms around his torso, being careful of the man's injuries. She'd need him to at least try and walk unless he wanted them both to fall over.
He seemed to get the mental messages she was sending him as she struggled to keep him upright and attempted to stand on his own accord. Unfortunately, that was a pretty bad idea as he nearly fell over once again, the woman yelping as he almost toppled on top of her. She groaned as she held him up and began slowly shuffling down the alley and out onto the darkened streets. This was probably going to bite her in the ass pretty soon.
It was a rather long and tremendously painful, on Rorschach's end, trek to the woman's apartment. She worked the corners the furthest from her home so she didn't get unwanted visitors on her days off or in the middle of the night. She didn't mind her job most of the time. Of course she did mind when she went home with unwanted bruises and small cuts or other marks. Thankfully, nobody cared enough to ask where she got them when she eventually wound up back in her building. The other occupants were just trash, like her. Druggies, prostitutes, and people who just lived to low to care much anymore.
Rorschach kept his head low as they entered the building, he didn't want to risk someone recognizing him and starting something. He didn't think he'd have the energy to protect himself. He couldn't help but glance at the woman practically carrying him as they headed up a flight of dirt covered stairs. She was nothing compared to him, so why was he allowing her to even help him? Because you need it. He shook his head sharply, making the said woman look at him in worry.
"Are you okay?" She asked, only receiving a grunt in response. She frowned a little and continued to concentrate on just getting him to the top of the stairs without dropping him.
Rorschach reveled in the fact that he was allowing a woman, no a whore, to touch him. What would Daniel think of him? Probably very little since the masked man was going against everything he swore he'd never do. It didn't matter, he'd allow her to clean him up and then he'd leave. He would have enough energy by then...hopefully. He was trapped yet again in his negative thoughts when he felt the woman stop. He glanced around and noticed that they were in front a grungy, brown door. A peeled, probably gold number six dangled on a rusted nail. He sneered, nose wrinkling as the woman turned the grimy doorknob and shoved the door open with her foot. The hinges let out a shrill screech in protest, making the man cringe.
Giving a final huff, the woman carefully helped the heavier male through the doorway. Once she had him inside, she kicked the door closed with a heeled foot and began to take him over to the couch in the living room. Immediately, the man could tell that this so called "apartment" the woman was living in was no more than a heap. Sure there were bits of furniture here and there; a couch, a television, a small table, and a rug. But he knew a dump when he saw one.
Glancing down a dark hallway that probably led to a single room and a bathroom, Rorschach grimaced. Across the hall from the living room was a darkened kitchen, he knew what the room was since he could just make out what looked like an oven and a sink and a couple of cupboards. Suddenly groaning in shock as the woman eased him onto the probably dirty couch, Rorschach cursed under his breath. Whatever color the couch was, it would no doubt be a shade of scarlet in due time. He watched as the woman scurried off down the dark hallway, blood smeared along one side of her body. It was then did he notice what she actually looked like.
Dark red hair tied back in an awkward bun, a black dress adorned with ripped fishnets and tall black boots. She was probably wearing shitty, fake jewelry too and her face must have been covered in lipstick and other things to emphasis "beauty". Not that he thought anything was beautiful, but because that's what women like her did. Coat themselves in perfumes and make-up to try to make themselves as irresistible as possible.
As she came rushing back, a white first aid kit in her hands, he knew his suspicions were correct. Of course he was right, he was hardly ever wrong. If Daniel had been here, he'd probably tell the man to stop being so pigheaded to which Rorschach would correct him. The woman sat down by him, the kit in her lap. She opened the box and turned to him, reaching to his coat. He quickly jerked away from her, holding back a gasp of pain and held his side with both hands. The woman merely narrowed her eyes.
"If I don't tend to the wound, it'll end up getting infected or you could get sick," She stated, reaching for him again.
He grunted and turned his body away, not wanting her filthy hands to touch him again, "I'll do it."
The sudden statement made her roll her eyes in exasperation, "Don't be such a child. Turn around for God's sake before you bleed out on my couch!"
Her abrupt raise of voice made Rorschach mentally cringe, he didn't exactly like being yelled at. It was a sort of pet peeve of his. He decided against his better instincts once more and reluctantly turned to face her. As long as she didn't try anything, he would be fine. He clenched his jaw as she began to unbutton his long trench coat, removing it from his shoulders carefully. She did her best to get it off of him completely without him having to move too much and tossed it to the ground. He got ready to snap at her but immediately bit down on his tongue harshly as she prodded his injured side.
Blood oozed out onto her fingers. Thankfully, most of the bleeding stopped but she still needed to clean it up. From what she could see, he would need stitches...thank god for needles and thread. As careful as a nurse, she began to lift up the dirty sweater he wore underneath his coat, making him throw his head back and groan loudly. The immense pain of wool rubbing against raw flesh was nearly faint worthy.
"I'm sorry," the woman muttered as she finally got the sweater over the arm on his injured side and decided that was far enough. She then reached into the kit and pulled out a brown bottle. Knowing the liquid quite well, Rorschach bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted iron. She unscrewed the lid and poured it over the large gash. Almost immediately did it began to bubble and hiss, steam actually rising out from the wound as pink tinted foam began to drip down his bruised side.
Rorschach couldn't help it, he screamed at the intense pain. Tears peaking at the corners of his eyes. He clenched his fists tightly as he continued to let out short gasps and shouts of agony. His head thrashing from side to side. The woman pursed her lips, not at all liking the sounds that he happened to be making. She quickly screwed the lid back on and went for the needle and plastic thread, pulling them out. She noticed the man's heavy breathing, a thin sheet of sweat covering his torso, and his head was lolled to the side. He was shaking almost violently. This wouldn't do at all...
"I need you to calm down," The woman urged as she got the needle ready, pulling out a match and striking it. She then held the needle above the match to heat it up so it would go through his skin much easier, "It will be more painful if you don't try to calm down."
Taking deep breaths, Rorschach attempted to calm himself from the searing pain in his side. Who knew knife wounds could be so painful? Once he had calmed himself enough, the woman began to start on the stitches, pulling the needle back and forth. The liquid from the brown bottle had numbed the wound a small bit, which made the pain of the needle a bit easier to handle. As she continued to work, Rorschach turned his head to look at her.
She was a rather petite thing, bruised up and fragile looking. The amount of make-up and trashy jewelry she wore made her look like any of the other prostitutes on the street, but she seemed to look like she actually tried to look presentable. Her darker-than-should-be lipstick seemed to be applied as carefully as possible and even her eyeliner, though slightly smeared on one eye, looked precise as could be. It was then that he noticed the dark purple bruise forming around the woman's right eye, she probably had a bad run in with her prey. Ah well, she probably deserved it.
As if noticing his staring, the woman glanced up at him, making him turn his head away. She frowned as she finished up, cutting the thread a bit too roughly with a pair of small scissors from the kit. She then took out a roll of gauze and proceeded to unfold some of the white fabric. Once she had enough, she cut it and neatly folded it. She then pressed it against his stitches and wrapped a longer piece of gauze around his torso twice, tying it firmly on his opposing side.
As she looked over her work, she nodded to herself, deciding she had done a pretty good job. She turned to box, getting out the bottle again so she could work on his other, smaller wounds. As if reading her thoughts, Rorschach grabbed hold of her wrist firmly, causing her to flinch.
"I'll handle it," He said in his gruff voice. He seemed to be much better, his voice anyway and his skin wasn't as sickly pale as before.
She gave a curt nod and carefully handed him the box before standing up and heading to the kitchen, probably to get him something to eat or drink or maybe not. Rorschach watched her silently, his mouth suddenly feeling dry and without realizing it, he opened his mouth.
"What is your name?" He asked suddenly, voice not as gruff. Damn Walter...
She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to him, blinking in surprise. She glanced around as if he had asked someone else before looking back at him, "My name is Hannah...Hannah Deville..."