Miscellanea[Ten challenge fic drabbles, multiple fandoms.]I. GuiseA double-breasted suit straight out of the 1940s, made to measure. Suspenders and a stubbornly white dress shirt. Scarf at the throat, always in a knot. Always. Brown leather gloves scarred at knuckles and fingertips. Brown fedora, drawn low over invisible eyes. Trench coat with seemingly bottomless pockets. Old but well-pedigreed boots showing miles upon miles of walking (and climbing, and fighting) underneath their careful polish they've been re-soled at least twice. The mask, the only truly alien aspect, covering everything in shifting black and white shapes that only appear unreadable.And only Dan is allowed past any of it.II. Ill-Met"You should never have kissed me, Red. Hee!""It wasn't on p-purpose, you idiot c-c-clown. How was I to know you'd b-be here tkkxxnt-too?
Connected*"Hello?""Daniel.""R--" He caught himself just in time and modulated his voice to a much quieter volume. "Why are you calling me?""Wanted to apologize. Phone idea wasn't stupid. Was not at optimum performance last patrol, let tension carry over into our conversation. My initial assessment was hastily formed.""Well... thanks. But - why are you using this number and not, uh. Not my other one?" Dan cringed, wondering how many people around could hear his side of the conversation and assumed he was talking to a mistress. Rorschach would be livid at the association, he was certain."Tried. You didn't answer. Important.""Well, I appreciate that..." A lot, really, considering apologies from Rorschach were about as rare as sightings of Halley's Comet.Rorschach preempted his next question, sounding slightly impatient and... reluctant? "Apology was not only reason for call.""Are you--" No, he didn't sound hurt, Dan realized, and figured he'd best just get to the point. "Wha
PatronusThe children know his name, but they don't say it. To say his name is to call him, and you only do that if you really mean it - if you really need him. Those are the rules.(The adults didn't believe, not at first. Their children had simply been lost, and afraid, and their imaginations ran away with them. Only when enough bloodstains had been found, when enough parents caught their children conversing with shadows, did they begin to wonder.)He only comes to children - to the lost, the endangered. The ones who can't run to safety are found sound asleep wherever they were being held, small peaceful islands at the epicenter of absolute carnage. They never wake until they're brought somewhere safe.(The Sleepers, as they came to be nicknamed, were never quite the same afterward. There was always something about them lying just under the surface of their young, somber faces.)He is not infallible.