(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]

[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.