(no subject)

[flagg]

Friends. Countrymen.

[ A smiling man, a man lowering the hood of his jacket. A man with a U.S. army coat over that, old jeans, worn cowboy boots, and a beat up Boy Scouts backpack. He's almost like anyone but for a touch of something antiquated about his clothes and the way he talks.

That and the smile. ]

Will you tell me a story? A joke or two to while away the time? I am a man for wanderin', but this seems like a fine place to pull up a chair and take a breather. A fine, safe place, where a story or two could do no harm at all.

And if you like, why, I'll tell you one right back. That's only fair.

Comments

[moralabsolutism]

[He's pleased when Flagg refers to it as his face and not a mask, as most people incorrectly do. For that, he gets an actual answer rather than the usual laconic responses.]

Made it. From a very unique fabric. Two layers, with black 'n white fluids inside. They move but never mix. Like what I see in the mirror better now.

[flagg]

[ Where his knack for knowing how to speak to malcontents comes from is in all likelihood a dark, dark place. ]

That is a very singular thing, friend. For a man to make himself. Even I can't claim that! But do you know, when I watch you, I think I can see — yes, I believe I spy with my little Eye —

[ His voice takes on an almost crooning inflection, a merry, avid light in his stare. ]

— a place where the black and white mingle.

[ He makes a gesture by his temple, a hooking motion with the curled finger stabbing in Rorschach's direction, and mouths: behind. ]

[moralabsolutism]

[It's only now that Rorschach is getting the inkling that this man he's talking to may be crazier than a bag of cats. Guess it's harder to distinguish when the superhero isn't exactly all there himself.

He actually turns around and glances behind himself when Flagg makes the motion in his direction. He sees nothing there and so looks back, head cocked in a questioning manner.]

Might mingle but never mix.