Who: Sam and ‘Kovacks’ (AKA Rory) What: A misunderstanding thanks to Toby leads to one of Musings’ most tripped out conversations. Oh and Rory hunted down Dante. Where: Hamartia 505 When: Around the time of this and the posting of this. Warnings: Swearing. Awkward. Hilarity. Sam failing at life.
Even though last night Rory had been an excellent not-brother with ice cream, sympathy, offering to beat-up Jerkface, he’d completed a few evils. The first was suggesting breaking Jerkface’s pinky figures. The second was saying he couldn’t trust her. The third somehow managed to be the worst of all.
How the hell did Mrs. Randall know who Rory was? When Rory wouldn’t even tell her? Sam didn’t even read all the way through Toby’s message, slamming the laptop lid down as she debated punching something. This wasn’t fair at all. Toby was some weird ass lady downstairs who was too protective of her daughter and was weird. She wasn’t someone you could trust with real names. Sam, was obviously, more important and trustworthy.
Why couldn’t have Rory told her?
There was the sound of the door opening on the other end of the apartment and Sam shot up. Hunting for Dante was completely forgotten as she stomped out of her room, not even waiting for him to shut the door. “WHO THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE KOVACKS? HUH?” Ever since the world seemed to have turned into a giant program designed to watch masks, stealth had been made more difficult. The Bat had snazzy toys, but Rorschach had just his own sweat and blood alongside a sweet grappling gun. Though it had been difficult, he had managed to scour the entire Hamartia building, getting a good look in every window. And once he was satisfied, he headed back to his own apartment, ready to share his findings with Sam.
Opening the door, he scratched at the nape of his neck, thinking of how badly he needed a haircut. Just as he was about to call for Sam, he realized that she was already there. In his face. And yelling at him.
He stared at her with blank blue eyes, clearly having absolutely no idea as to what she was talking about. “Kovacks?” he repeated, shutting the door behind him and shrugging out of his jacket. He flexed his shoulders, hearing something pop in his spine. “Who Kovacks?” Oh no. Sam wasn’t going to take that. She grabbed his shoulders and glared at him. “YOU ARE. YOU LIED TO ME.” Okay, he hadn’t said that. Or done that exactly. But it equalled out the same thing. “YOU TOLD MRS. RANDALL AND NOT ME. WHY?”
It wasn’t even that he’d told stinking old weird Mrs. Randall. It was the fact that Sam had lived with him for months now and all she knew was what he looked like. She didn’t know anything about him beyond ‘Oh yeah, he’s Rorschach and gets his nose broken all the time.’ Couldn’t she be trustworhty? Who was he really? How come other people got to know and she didn’t?
Despite herself, her eyes were filling with tears as her face turned red. “EXPLAIN IT.” The fact that he was being grabbed should have bothered him, but it didn’t. Not really. He wasn’t worried at all, just confused. Very, very confused. Staring at her blankly, he tried to piece together what could have happened in his absence. Had he found another reality? That would explain a lot of things. Perhaps this was to Humanity what Humanity was to Musings. What if he would just cycle through realities, finding himself in increasingly bizarre worlds until he ended up on the edge of the universe.
Her final shout brought him back to himself. He noted the tears welling in her eyes, the tears he couldn’t explain. Why was she crying? What had he done? After a few moments of continuing to stare at her blankly, he reached up to her hands on his shoulders, picking them up and returning them to her.
“Don’t know Mrs. Randall,” he said slowly. “Don’t know Kovacks. Name Rorschach.” Of course there was no way she could fight him in any form. Stupid, vigilanter with way too much training. She crossed her arms below her chest, tears falling. “Yeah, you do. You’re Kovacks. Or were before fucking became Rorschach.” The swearing was excessive but it made her feel better. Her throat hurt enough to make her switch from shouting, voice hoarse. “She said to keep her daughter - you’ve met Lily - away from someone who’s just like you.”
A big breath before she went on, “And you never, ever told me your real name and she keeps going on about Kovacks. How come she knows, huh? Why her?” Sometimes, Rorschach wondered if Sam spent too much time on the internet. Was that where she got all these crazy ideas? His expression was full of confusion, absent of any recognition. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not Kovacks. Never Kovacks.” Her mention of the daughter gave him pause. Oh yes. He had seen a little girl in their apartment before. He had just dismissed her in the past, assuming that teenage girls naturally acquired children on occasion. It was one of those things he never thought about much.
“Mrs. Randall mistaken,” he said firmly. “Not know Rorschach. Ever.” The thing was, how the hell was she to know if Rory was lying or not? She continued to pout, brows creasing together. “What then? She said it Rory all of a sudden. It was really suspicious. That’s why, she acted like she knew something was up and it wasn’t.” Besides, it wasn’t like Rory would even pay attention to children. He just gave Lily a funny look when she was around and walked out.
“Can’t I know?” she whined. “Please?” “Know what?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Mrs. Randall mistaken. She say Rorschach?” He didn’t even understand what Sam was trying to argue. Why would this woman make up a name for him and then pretend to know him? Was she like one of those whores on that news clip, the ones that professed love for masks? If so, Sam would have to immediately cease contact with her - she’d be a bad influence. She grabbed his arm, letting out a frustrated sound from the back of her throat. “She described you and she just asked it all out of a sudden.” Of course she’d been moving hurriedly before, but that didn’t matter. She tugged him, hoping Rory would follow her into her bedroom. If not she’d grab her laptop and shove it in his face with the conversation with Mrs. Randall. “She’s like oh-no-don’t-let-Lily-around-him. And I said I only let my brother around her anyway and then she went on about Kovacks.” Without any protest whatsoever, Rorschach followed her into her bedroom, content to watch as she opened up her laptop. “Not Kovacks,” he said with conviction. “Rorschach. Mrs. Randall confused.” Of that he was certain. Perhaps he should tell her to stop bothering Sam, if she was just going to tell her lies that got her all worked up. She dragged him the rest of the way, giving him a slight push to sit on the edge of her bed. The laptop was dragged over and she sat next to him without an inch between. “You had to be something before Rorschach, Rory,” Sam said with an air of logic. She pulled open the lid and signed in, bringing up the forum post again. “No one named you that. What’d your Mom name you?”
Because Linda had named her, obviously Rory’s dad couldn’t have named him. “Was your Mom Mrs. Rorschach?”
With a quick scroll, she brought the thread to the start. She pointed, before moving the laptop to his lap. “Read on.” Ignoring the fact that Sam had closed it before reading the end of the last message from Toby. Whatever logic Sam thought she had was clearly wrong. Before Rorschach, he was someone else. Then there was transition, and then he was Rorschach after death. It all made very much sense, but he didn’t expect her to understand. So he wouldn’t budge on it. “Had no mom,” he grunted. “Rorschach born without.” The name chose him - no one picked it out for him.
With a grunt, he squinted and leaned forward to read the messages. After finishing, he wrinkled his nose. “No logic,” he muttered, scratching his head. “And not Rorschach. Quentin Kovacks stranger. Never heard of.” Sam snorted. “So you’re Jesus?” Sam didn’t have much a belief in religion, but she’d been dragged to a few church events over the years. The idea of Rory being the next son of God was hilarious. She bent over in giggles, a hand covering her mouth - stress getting to her - before Rory mentioned that name.
Sam’s back immediately straightened and all humor was gone. “Wait, what?” She tugged the laptop back, scanning things over. Quentin? Quentin Kovacks? That was just ridiculous, a coincidence, and Rory was naming a name to get her off the track...and her eyes fell on Toby’s message again.
“Oh crap,” she whispered.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Quentin - or Kent, as she’d always called him. It was more the fact that someone was telling her to avoid who had to her cousin and was supposedly on this side of the portal. She’d lost track of him years ago, between Irene marrying her dad and him getting mostly estranged from the family. Sam frowned and typed up a hesitant reply, not even bothering to hide it from Rory. Her comparison between him and Jesus was met with a glower. “Blasphemy,” he grunted, glaring at her as she giggled and snorted away as if such things were perfectly okay to say. He focused on the message to distract himself from her silliness.
Her reaction to the name made him pause. He looked to her, eyes widening in mild surprise. Oh crap what? Without asking, he watched her reply, letting out a small grunt. “Explains,” he said, even though it didn’t really. Why would Mrs. Randall bring that up so randomly? He wasn’t sure. But at least Sam no longer suspected him of being someone he wasn’t.
After a small awkward pause, he looked to her. “Found Ross.” No, he was not good with transitions or timing. She quirked an eyebrow at him, before beginning a main forum post. “You religious?” She’d never really noticed before, aside from some quiet moments from Rory. Generally speaking, he was always quiet though. If he was religious though, she’d quiet down as people should be allowed to believe what they want to.
“Not really. Why would she ask about Kent all out of the blue?” Sam finished up a suitably appropriate ">post and sent it. “It’s freaky, that’s what. If it’s him, he better give me a fucking answer.” More swearing, but who cared? Her head hurt between the crying and confusion, along with her severely injured pride from the other evening - plus being wrong now. If her father had sent him...she was so, majorly screwed.
“Oh yeah?” She didn’t even process it at first, couldn’t until - wait, Ross was Dante. Sam looked over, half worried. “I mean. Where is he? Does he have an apartment full of porno or something weird?” At her question, he hesitated. “Believe in God,” was all he said. It was all he could think to say. What else could he do? Explain the monastery, his expulsion, and his conclusion that God had just stopped paying attention? No. Three words would suffice.
As she wrote the post, he looked away, not quite interested in her problems with her cousin. They could be solved without him. “Unsure,” he answered with a shrug. Why did people do anything? They were all insane, really. Insane and doomed. The end of days would come, and that would be it for humanity. Mrs. Randall and her insanity would be soon forgotten when all human souls were judged.
The word “porno” confused him. Wrinkling his nose, he looked to her. “Unsure,” he repeated. “Was nursing injured hand. Definitely Ross. Recognized. Lives in apartment next door. 506.” . She could tell when a subject was going to be dropped. “‘Kay,” she said. She gave out a little frustrated sigh. One day she might know who Rory really was. Even if that wasn’t today. She’d be hopeful.
She kept paging through the forums as Toby began to respond more quickly. What did the woman do, just sit there and wait for replies? Sam felt sick. What the hell had gone on with Kent and everything? “We’re screwed,” she said with a fatalistic groan. “If he’s really my cousin. He knows my only brother is Freddie.” A pause. “Actually, I haven’t heard from him since before Irene married my dad.” Still, if her dad had sent him, she was screwed. She shut the lid of her laptop, thunking her forehead against it.
Her forehead then got another thunk. “Next door? What’s he fucking doing stalking me?” Okay, an exaggeration. No one would stalk her, not even creepo Dante. It was just way too coincidental to feel okay. She let her head thunk again, before the earlier piece of information processed. “Hand?” She hadn’t touched his hand. Beyond you know, getting it off her. He ignored the replies Sam traded with this insane Mrs. Randall, focused more on things he could deal with. “Oh,” he replied, not really interested in the story of this Quentin Kovacks. He wasn’t Rorschach, that’s all that mattered. His name was cleared, and he was fine. The end.
Looking down at her, he raised a brow as she thunked her head against the laptop. Wasn’t that bad for her brain? He didn’t pursue the question. Maybe she knew something he didn’t. It wasn’t impossible. “If stalking, can take care of,” he said matter-of-factly. “Not difficult.” He shrugged as she asked about his hand. “Yes, seem hurt hand. Not bad enough.” Sam didn’t open up the computer again, even as a beep from her phone indicated a reply. She shoved it away, giving another huff before leaning on Rory’s shoulder. Fighting a few minutes ago was forgotten as insanity developed. Why were people so stupid? And crazy? And altogether annoying? “If he’s here, we’ve got to think of something...” The fact that Rory didn’t care completely escaped her. He always went on about safety. Here was someone who would likely know they lived together and he wasn’t her brother.
“You’ll hurt him,” she said, voice a bit put out. Never mind she’d tried to kill him the other evening. That was a small detail she was conveniently forgetting. “I didn’t hurt his hand though.” She twisted her head, quirking a brow. “Did you?” He’d promised not to. As she leaned against his shoulder, he took the weight, shifting to accommodate her. When she mentioned that they had to think, he realized the danger: he’d know they weren’t related. And this was why he hadn’t bothered to be anyone but Rorschach in the past. Sighing, he reached up to rub the bumpy bridge of his nose. “Not stay quiet?” he asked, sighing. People that liked to talk were so difficult.
“Won’t,” he replied, looking down at her as she asked about his hand. “Didn’t touch. Didn’t hurt. Looked in window, saw. Left. Ross never knew.” “I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. “He’s a good guy though. Used to sneak me out for some adventures and stuff during Thanksgiving. I haven’t heard from him in years. Mrs. Randall said he was trouble though-” Which was weird, because Quentin was family. The kind who maybe had some issues, but no big deal on trouble in Sam’s sheltered mind.
She frowned. “How do we get him to stop then? If he is.” She really wasn’t sure on that. At the further explanation, Sam hmmed. “Cherrie didn’t. I didn’t. You didn’t. Who then?” One of the guys who had Freddie? Had he... Sam’s cheeks faintly turned pink. Oh this was a bad train of thought. A really, really bad one. He sighed. Of course she had to have family. “Mrs. Randall not very reliable,” he reminded her, scratching his jaw. He needed to shave. “Will deal with when need to. For now, find out if here at all.” For all they knew, he wasn’t and Mrs. Randall was just inventing strange stories.
He shrugged. “Take care of?” He didn’t see what the problem was, but of course Sam was always complaining. Silly girls. “Don’t know. Didn’t see. Maybe in fight? Maybe fell down?” His tone betrayed the fact that there was no possible way for him to care less about this subject than he did at the moment. “No,” she admitted. That much was true. She nudged the laptop further away. “I’ll let you know if he’s here. If he is, can I invite him over?” It was said with a little hesitance. She did like Kent. Even if she was angry with him (if he was here) and if she didn’t know if he was trustworthy.
“You said.” There was a poke of his shoulder before she settled against it again. “If he’s stalking, you said that could be taken care of, just a moment ago.” She bit her lip and didn’t say anything else. She didn’t like her train of thought at all. At her request, he shrugged. “Of course. Family.” As if he could respect that. For Sam, he could pretend. He’d just find a way to make himself scarce. Maybe he’d just patrol that entire evening. That would be a good use of his time, while giving them time to be...whatever it was family members were together.
Not realizing he was repeating himself, he shrugged again. “Will do,” he said matter-of-factly. She nodded tightly. She’d figure something out. She was getting better at last minute planning. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. But maybe if she got this to work out right, Rory would trust her. “I’ll give you the head’s up,” she promised.
“How?” “Good,” he replied. He wouldn’t want to be caught surprised. That wouldn’t end well for any of them. Least of all Quentin Kovacks.
At her question, he snorted slightly. “Don’t ask,” he replied. Sam moved from his shoulder, placing both hands on it before resting her chin on them. “If I don’t ask, it means it’s bad. What’re you going to do?” He looked down at her, a brow raised. “Said not to ask,” he replied wryly. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but he wasn’t not either. “Why ask if not to ask?” “Because I don’t like how it sounds,” Sam whined. That not-quite smile wasn’t welcome either. Not after this whole evening. Her chin settled more on her hands. “Are you going to hurt him?” He sighed, the sound long-suffering. “No,” he said finally, the not-smile falling off his face. “Not do anything.” He hesitated, looking across the room at the door. “Must do sit-ups,” he grunted. “Fried chicken at Phantasia last night.” That wasn’t promising. “Okay, so I have a sorta stalker then.” Still. Possibly. Who might have gotten his hand busted up to find Freddie. Which shouldn’t have been sweet at all, especially as it was a hypothesis but Sam would entertain it for now. For some ridiculous reason.
An eyebrow rose and she slipped off of him. “Lucky,” she said, glumly. “By the way, ever think of bringing home a doggy bag for little ole me?” “Stalker,” he corrected, straightening up as she pulled back. At her question, he grunted. “Will try next time,” he said. After a moment’s silence in which he tried to think of something to say, he simply resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing to say. Not really. With another grunt, he dismissed himself to his room.