InsaneJournal

All Tomorrow's Parties: Watchmen Fic

Author: Bitterfig

Title: All Tomorrow’s Parties

Fandom: Watchmen

Character: Ursula Zandt (the Silhouette), the Minutemen.

Summary: At the Minutemen’s first Christmas Party, the Silhouette measures up her team mates. 

Beta_Reader: Fedink

Word Count: 939

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language, sexual innuendo, references to violence.

Author’s Note: Written for 24xmas Prompt #07: Parties.  A warm-up for The Silhouette’s Last Case, an as yet unwritten fic which I hope to get to someday soon.

All Tomorrow’s Parties

            December, 1939.

            Hitler was in Germany, Stalin was in Russia and Ursula Zandt aka the Silhouette was at a Christmas costume party or rather a Christmas party of costumed crime fighters.  The absurdity of this was not lost on Ursula.  Absurdity rarely was.  Ursula had a sharp mind and an acute awareness of what went on in the world around her, significant or trivial. 

            As the Silhouette, Ursula had recently cracked a well-publicized case involving the murder of a wealthy socialite and that ought to have put her in the mood to celebrate.  However the latest news of the suppression of Jews and Catholics in Poland had too quickly placed her heroism in perspective.  The measure of justice she had delivered by catching the debutante’s killer was swept away by a tide of injustice, cruelty and perhaps even evil.  She was deeply concerned, as a socialist, a Jew, and a human being. 

            But why was she getting so worked up over the fate of Poland, when the Silk Spectre, whose entire grandparents probably still lived there, was having a wonderful time?

            Smiling bitterly, Ursula fixed another cigarette into her long holder and turned her all too astute eyes onto her teammates.  

            There was Nite Owl, chatting with Dollar Bill.  When the two of them were in close proximity they fairly radiated sincerity.  They were both so… nice.  Upright, earnest, well-meaning and as far as Ursula was concerned deadly boring.  Dollar Bill was from Kansas for heaven’s sakes.  He winced whenever Sally Jupiter cussed.  The pair of them drank punch, not cocktails. 

            Well, if they chose to abstain from the hard stuff it meant more for Mothman.  He’d clearly been hitting the sauce.  Ursula found Mothman rather fascinating these days.  He’d started out a boy scout like Nite Owl and Dollar Bill but after just a few short months a change had come over him.  Something must have happened to him, and though he still smiled boyishly his grey eyes had become haunted.  Ursula shivered. What was he trying to forget? 

            Captain Metropolis stood aloft, stalwartly overseeing the proceedings.  Did he ever relax, let down his guard, lose control?   Probably not.  He’d like to organize the world by his timetable, clean up the dark corners, to make everything simple, efficient and well organized.  They might be teammates but they were hardly on the same side.  Ursula loved the cover of darkness, messiness and ambiguity.  It was the reason she did what she did.

            The Silk Spectre (who Ursula had secretly renamed the Chintz Spectacle) was the only other woman present.  Ursula tended to notice women before men and it was hard to miss Sally Jupiter between the gaudy yellow costume and the bright orange hair, to say nothing of the zaftig figure the costume contained and those fabulous legs in their fishnet stockings.  Yes, Ursula could appreciate Sally’s attributes but that didn’t mean she liked the woman they belonged to. 

            Ursula had many reasons for becoming the Silhouette, a desire to do something, to make a difference, had inspired her to put on the costume.  She was also motivated by a love of mystery, of intrigue, of living a double life.  Sally Jupiter on the other hand had no mystery about her and no greater purpose.  She was a showgirl playing at being a costumed vigilante in hopes of winning some sort of notoriety. 

            At the moment, Sally was hanging on the massive arm of Hooded Justice.  He was another one who interested Ursula, the visage he had chosen was so grim and macabre.     In some ways it was painfully unimaginative – the hood, the noose around the neck – and yet it seemed to reach deep into the mind, into nightmares and primordial memories and make him more a figure of myth than a man.  Was this cunning on Hooded Justice’s part or just a lucky accident stumbled upon by a crude and simple mind?  Who was under that hood?  What motivated him?  What did he hope to accomplish?

            Hooded Justice scarcely seemed to notice the fawning starlet who’d attached herself to him, but there was someone else who couldn’t seem to take their eyes off Sally.  Eddie, the Comedian, prowled around her.  He feigned charm but there was something feral about him and the way he looked at Sally. If Ursula had to give a reason for why she went with girls (other than the girls themselves) it would be men like Eddie.  The sad, scary thing was he was hardly a man, just a kid.  What kind of a son of a bitch was he going to be in 10 years?

            “Say, Ursula, just the girl I’ve been looking for.”  Laurence Schexnayder, Sally’s omnipresent agent, situated himself at Ursula’s elbow.  “Some party, huh kiddo?”

            “Sure, Larry.”  She answered.

            “Bang up job on the Flossie Hawthorne case by the way.  Bang up job.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Say, have you ever thought of taking on an agent?”

            “Never.”

            “Think about it,” Schexnayder said extending his business card to her.  “I could make you some real money.  You’ve got a great look, real class.” 

            Ursula couldn’t help but laugh, as she considered real class and being Laurence Schexnayder’s client to be mutually exclusive categories.  What a group they were, the Minutemen – protectors of the innocent, champions of truth and justice.  They’d go places all right; they’d light up the night like a three alarm fire.

            Ursula accepted the business card.  She could tease with it, pretend she planned to steal away the poor stupid tramp’s agent.  She rather looked forward to teasing Sally. 

            “Thanks, Larry,” she said.  “Some party, huh.”