Who: Liz and Rory "Mike" What: Job Hunting Where: Phantasia When: Backdated a bit, exact date coming Warnings: Likely none.
Though Rorschach should have been content to sleep by day and enforce justice by night, he was starting to find that watching his roommate remain the sole breadwinner of their apartment was a bit unsettling. He had no desire to join the workforce, but even he could recognize that sleeping in her apartment and eating her food while she juggled meager babysitting jobs and school just wasn't right. It wasn't exactly guilt, but a knowledge that he had to remedy this situation that inspired him to take a shower, shave, and go to the nearest Goodwill store for some clothing that actually fit him.
His black T-shirt had the emblem of a band he had never heard of - he didn't know what a "Coldplay" was - but it at least fit him better than his other shirt. This one accommodated his large shoulders, though tight cuffs still betrayed the powerful musculature of his arms. He appreciated the fact that his new jeans didn't have any fading or holes. Despite the fact that he was dressed in traditionally casual clothing, Rorschach thought that he looked quite professional. Professional enough for this, anyway.
He walked along the streets of Rainier Valley, hands stuffed in his pockets as his blue gaze slowly scanned the buildings he passed. It was late afternoon, bleeding into evening, and the sun was already draining from the sky. Streaks of brilliant orange shot across the sky, illuminating the dingy streets below. Rorschach had been looking for hours, and still hadn't found anything worth pursuing. Everything required identification and names, bank accounts and stories. He had none of those. He needed something that wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't care, and would be content to just pay him for his labor without all the unnecessary dancing around.
Just as these thoughts were churning in his mind, Rorschach slowed to a stop outside a tall building full of light and the smell of booze. He hesitated, looking up at the tower before him. Phantasia. It looked like a hotbed of sex and sweat. A part of him wanted to vomit at its presence, but another part of him recognized that this was the kind of place where people wouldn't ask questions. The idea sent a jolt through his body. He couldn't compromise. But perhaps this wasn't compromise. Perhaps this place just looked seedy. He couldn't snub an opportunity on a maybe.
Reluctantly, he pushed open the door and slipped inside. The club was alive with people dancing and drinking, packed already. Though few people noticed the short man who was in dire need of a haircut, Rorschach was able to push through the crowds easily enough. His large-shouldered build paved the way as he carved a path to the bar, his ears already thrumming with the sound of the music. The bartender asked him what he wanted, and for a moment he didn't know how to respond.
"Want to speak to owner," he finally said, expression neutral. "Looking for work."