lux ex tenebris

With no other way to occupy himself he’d watched her ferocious work, and had to admit that her movements were admiringly uncompromising. It wasn’t that he wasn’t naturally curious, it was that he would’ve preferred to be in the midst of the fray, not necessarily by her side, but a momentary ally at least. 

He couldn’t have answered her if he’d wanted to, what with the bland gag shoved offensively in his mouth, drying up his tongue and teeth. Rorschach simply tilted his chin slightly towards his chest, a sign of neither assent or discontent. 

“You have an insatiable need to poke around in pits of sin. Tsk. Tsk. Watch your step. The hounds may catch the scent of your soul.” He could continue to believe she was some powered junkie or he could take her words and proceed with caution.

She reached around him and pulled the gag from his mouth, let it fall to the ground without a sound. She came around again and pressed the tip of the blade underneath his chin and lifted.

“I think you’re my favorite.” 

Her fingers curled around his and she pulled him closer, humming a tune she’d forgotten the name to. Her free hand produced a blade, like a magician pulling a coin out of thin air. 

Gluttony barked a laugh. 

She knew that look and she’d be lying if she didn’t enjoy it just a bit. It was fun to play with fire and have it lick at her skin. Teeth flashed and then sunk into her lip, as she moved forward. Let him take in that corrupted scent of grace, that stain of purity that lingered within the thorns.

He’s tied up the next time he meets her. Humiliating, and unfortunately literal. Expert knots wrap around his wrists and ankles, and his mask is rolled up to the bridge of his nose where his enemies have twined a cotton gag against his mouth. 

He places her face the moment she appears, and is immediately concerned with her presence in this den of inequity. Rorschach doesn’t grunt or squirm, he just sits and stares, waiting for her to move.

Grace took a few steps backwards, a smirk pulling at her lips as she stopped in front of the door. A blade slipped from her sleeve and she knocked on the wood, waiting until the knob turned before shoving it forward. A body dropped and to her left, another ran forward and into the metal tip of her weapon. She gave it a twist and lifted the man off the ground and through a window.

“Rorschach, was it?” 

He hadn’t mentioned his name before, but he’d left enough of an impression to warrant some research. She made no move to untie him.

The way he understood it, Grace was new to this whole connection deal. It was her excuse, yes he understood. More than that he empathized. And while this petty anger surged through him for being abandoned (brushed aside like some insignificant speck in her ongoing timeline) his mind was high like a spitfire.

Humans. They were so fickle minded. How could anyone keep up with constant shifting of emotions? How did anyone categorize them into simple words? How did they make it through a day with going completely mad? Perhaps, he didn’t realize how truly human his reactions were and how fascinated she was with each one. 

Her hands settled around him, gripping tightly and lifting -- legs trapping and pulling him closer despite, the confusion that threatened to cloud her mind. 

               ...

“Sylar.” Her voice was snake like, sound barely escaping her teeth.