Title: Movie Night
Rating: G/PG
Characters: Rorschach, Dan, Adrian
Warnings: CRACK. Humor, art history, and GEORGE CLOONEY'S NIPPLE SUIT OH GOD MY BRAIN.
Notes: Written to fill this prompt, in which Dan and Rorschach endure Batman and Robin and Adrian presents his own perspective on the infamous costuming. (I am so sorry.)
Disclaimer: I don't own them, which is probably a good thing as they would never do anything except sit around, drink beer and talk about nothing.

As the credits rolled, the three off-duty superheroes settled back onto Dan Dreiberg's sofa, exhaling in unison.

"Well, that was excruciating. Sorry, guys, I guess I picked a dud this time."
"Indeed, Daniel. Cinematic abortion. Batman is a noble avenger, not a bumbling lovestruck fool." Rorschach's inkblots swirled faster. "Not to mention, overt homosexual overtones. Embodies all that is wrong with filthy liberal influence in Hollywood. Hnnk. Should round up and destroy all copies."
"...You know, for once I'm not sure I disagree with you on that last part, Ror, but it might be difficult, even with your level of focus. DVDs are really cheap to mass-produce, after all." Dan closed his eyes and pressed the cold beer bottle to his forehead. "But...yeah. That suit. The nipples. God. What were they thinking?"
"Actually, I thought that was a brilliant move on the part of the costuming team." A third, speculative voice spoke up from the far end of the couch.
Both Nite Owl and Rorschach pivoted, slow motion, to peer at Ozymandias.
"Heh, good one... ...Wait. Adrian, you're serious? Come on."
"It makes valid psychological sense," Adrian protested, rolling his own beer bottle between his hands. "The idealization of the human form is one of the oldest and most pervasive elements in art, after all: you've only to look at the Venus of Hohle Fels for proof. But that's the female equivalent; to stay closer to the topic at hand, consider the resemblance between Batman's suit and an Archaic Greek kouros, or the way a Classical sculptor would have depicted a deity, or hero, or Olympian athlete. Physical perfection not only hints at reproductive fitness, in an instinctual sense, but has long been equated with godliness: the superior being descended to earth. And that same perfect human form, as idealized by the ancients, still figures centrally in our collective unconscious today - any Calvin Klein ad can tell you as much." His eyebrows quirked.
Behind Dan's back, Rorschach was making some remarkably strangled noises, but Dan was too hypnotized by the ongoing trainwreck to look away. Adrian, warming to his subject, set his drink down on the end table (making sure to grab a coaster, which a corner of Dan's distracted brain noted with appreciation) and leaned forward, gesturing with both hands.
"...And in our culture, what are superheroes but our modern-day Olympians, or demigods? Saviors, come down from heaven - or the planet Krypton, as the case may be - or arisen from among us. Heroes who seek to perfect themselves, in order to perfect society as a whole. It's true that they occasionally fail, often because of certain flaws...that's the tragic mythos at work, which is just as powerful and pervasive a force, but I digress." He waved a hand. "Anyway, given the resonance, the adaptation of the nude male torso in this situation simply makes overt the homage that our superhero archetype owes to its ancient antecedents. A brilliant piece of work, even if it was an unconscious choice on the filmmakers' part. That said, I do agree that certain...aspects of Clooney's suit approximate the Hellenistic ideal, as it were, more than the Classical, and not in the positive sense. Regrettable, but amusing nonetheless."  He smiled, in cat-that-ate-the-canary fashion.

Dan realized that his mouth was hanging open, and closed it abruptly.

"Sex sells, as they say." Adrian shrugged, then settled back and picked up his beer.
"...Good God." Dan rubbed the back of his neck. "As disturbed as I am to admit it, that actually makes one hell of a lot of sense."
"Ehnnnnk." The sound was even more drawn-out and harsh than usual. Uh-oh; Dan whipped his head around. "Veidt." It came out like a curse. "No words. Cannot think. Need sugar. And caffeine." Rorschach pushed himself to his feet, and stalked towards the kitchen, back rigid in outrage, to get himself another Coca-Cola (the green-bottled version, of course).
"Rorschach?" Adrian's tone was bright. "As long as you're up, could you fetch me another beer, please?"

Dan sighed, and buried his head in his hands.

flyingrat: (ozy lol)
Title: Pressure Points
Rating: G/PG
Characters: Dan, Adrian, Laurie
Warnings: humor, fluff, mild historical geekery, abuse of Eastern mysticism, and Adrian being eeeevil.
Notes: First fic ever (feedback welcome). Inspired by speculation as to what, exactly, Adrian learned in China and India, and this animation by the inestimable Lore Sjoberg. Takes place in 1968; I'm assuming that most of the younger masks know each other's real names at this point (correct me if canon says otherwise).
Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen. Please, oh beard of Alan Moore, have mercy on me. Also, this fic is not to be used as medical advice. (Dear God.)

Dan has to admit that his current situation - sitting on his own kitchen floor, being twisted into a remarkable semblance of a pretzel by the World's Smartest Man - was something beyond the standard range of unexpected events. )



March 2011

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