heroslayer | remorse for what? you people have done everything in the world to me. (rp for <lj site="livejournal.

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remorse for what? you people have done everything in the world to me. (rp for <lj site="livejournal.

Considering her ability, it really hadn't surprised him that Angela hadn't come to the door. He was disappointed maybe, given the trouble he'd gone to putting on Peter's face especially for her, but he wasn't surprised. He only wondered if she knew who he was bringing with him and what she was capable of. He wanted something out of this beyond her ability and her head on a stick, and it really wouldn't be any fun at all if Angela knew all about the ace he had up his sleeve, too.

Sighing, he cast Gabriella a sideways glance and leaned into the door, pantomiming the use of a key while he picked the lock, and let them in. The door closed on its own behind them, Sylar unwilling to turn to close it manually on the off chance that Angie had set up an ambush in the foyer. There was nothing, however, the house apparently silent and dark, save for the lines of prying mid-morning sun that crept in through ornate security doors, and he frowned. She could have at least had the decency to be waiting for them when they came in. He supposed, though, that that was Angela for you -- a bitch to a fault, even when her fate was sealed.

He moved towards the stairs at the other end of the room, leaning on the banister as his eyes wandered up the spiral staircase.

"Angela," he sing-songed sweetly, not bothering to trade out Peter's voice for his own. Knowing it was him or not, he could just imagine the look on her face -- the look of horrified betrayal -- when he killed her wearing the face of her sole surviving son. He would have smiled at the thought, too, if the bitch would just give some indication of where she was.

Oh, well. It had been such a long time since he'd had a proper hunt.

Turning away from the stairs, he looked first to the front door again, the locks on it and everywhere else in the house snapping shut in unison with an ominious click, then raised his eyes to Gabriella. Finally, slowly, he offered her a wicked grin. "Guess she wants to play hide and seek."

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Late at night, Gabriella would often consider whether or not evil, and hate could rub off on someone like a contact high. She didn’t know these people. They hadn’t done to her the things that they had done to her partner; her other self, yet from all he had told her, and the obvious effect it had had on him, a pit of pure loathing and disgust had started to brew deep inside her, and with time it started to bubble. And now, here at the door of Angela Petrelli it was overflowing, that obvious in the darkness that seemed to glint in her eyes.

A smirk crossed her face at the miming of the key, along with the shake of her head. Always the show off, but in some ways it was something she appreciated – she liked it when he would gloat, at least when it came to things they could both do. When he showed off all the things he kept from her, her body and mind filled with bitter jealousy that she couldn’t do it, and that she wasn’t strong enough to overtake him to take them. While she might be able to get them, she knew he would find her, and tear her apart, and even the healing ability she desired wouldn’t be able to stitch her together again.

She followed him in, making sure to stay quiet as she did, looking around each and every way, and even carefully going to corners, hand out to make sure no one was hiding in one, out of sight. The hall was clear though, and she focused her hearing for any sign of movement in the house, while she let him do his thing.

“Well we shouldn’t deny her the game she wants to play,” she responded quietly, looking around at the grandness of the house, and then down the hall, before her gaze went back to Sylar. “Up and down, or left and right?”

"There's an office on this floor," he answered slowly, the dangerously thoughtful expression he wore wrong on Peter's face, "but if we go there first and she's upstairs, chances are she'll sneak down here and let herself out the front door."

Locking the doors had mostly been for effect, and while true, he was exerting a small margin of will on all of them to avoid the possibility that she'd chose to run instead of staying, if Angela really wanted to get out, it wouldn't be that hard. There were too many doors -- too many windows -- for him to cover entirely effectively, and he didn't trust Gabriella to pick up the slack. Nor did he care to admit he didn't have this place sealed tighter than the tomb it would become in the first place. That would imply weakness and he knew what he, at least, did to those who showed it.

He glanced up the stairs again. "I'm going to check her bedroom. Find the office."

She took instruction surprisingly well from him, being who she was, but she knew what he could do should she choose to disobey at some point, and therefore kept her mouth shut. It was his plan. She was simply there to assist him, and hopefully gain something new out of it, if only knowledge on how to proceed in things like this.

"And if I find it?" she asked, turning to look up and down the hall to determine which way to head. In the distance to the right she could see a dining room, and therefore started off to the left, taking a few tentative steps before she turned to glance back at him. "Injure, but not kill?"

He looked back over his shoulder, already halfway up the stairs now, and flashed her a crooked, wicked grin. "Do whatever you want. Just keep her alive. And no opening the presents until everyone else is awake."

No taking her ability, assuming she could somehow do it without killing her. Sylar had first dibs on that.

She took the order with a nod, understanding perfectly what he meant by it as she headed in her chosen direction; carefully opening every door and surveying what was inside, again making sure there was no one hiding anywhere possible, though from what he had told her, she didn't seem the type that would hide in a closet.

Gabriella wrinkled her nose slightly as she got to the end of the hall without any luck of an office, and opened the last; letting out a satisfied sigh when she opened up into what was the, seemingly, empty office of one Angela Petrelli.

Angela stepped out of the alcove across the hall like a ghost and raised the gun she carried, training it on Gabriella's back almost casually. She allowed herself a moment's hope that the girl wouldn't scream -- she didn't want Sylar barging in on them right away -- and then pulled the trigger, the silencer she'd screwed onto the muzzle hours ago serving to mute the better part of the sound of fire.

Angela got her wish from Gabriella. She didn't scream, because she didn't notice that there was someone behind her until she heard the click of the trigger, and before she could turn around there was a sharp pain entering her back, only getting a soft "Oh!" from her, before she wobbled forward, towards the desk, and crashed onto the floor.

Shock immediately washed over her, paralyzing her for a moment as she assessed the damage; pushing herself up, only to collapse down again as she reached around to touch her back, and saw the blood on her fingers. She wanted to scream, to call out to Sylar in hopes that he would hear her, but the shock had made her lose her voice in a way, so when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

She moved into the room calmly, rounding both Gabriella and the desk so she could sit down. The leather creaked under her, the only sound in the room beyond their breathing, and once she had settled, she put the gun down on the desk expecting that she wouldn't go for it. Guns has never been their style.

"I wouldn't call for your friend upstairs, dear," she said, finally breaking the near-silence, the corners of her mouth curling into a grim smile. "That wouldn't look good for either of us, now would it?"

Gabriella opened her mouth to reply, but again found it difficult as her breathing was laboured. A deep breath was taken before she managed a dry, bitter sentence. "I take it you're Angela?"

She sniffed – she hadn't even realised that there were tears that were trickling down her face, but the pain had numbed her by now. Too powerful for her body to handle, so instead it shut itself down to it.

"And you must be Gabriella." That, apparently, was the only indication she was going to give that the other woman was right in her assumptions. "I'd offer you a seat, but that'd be something like rubbing salt in the wound."

That actually surprised her a bit. That the woman knew who she was, but the surprise wasn't made obvious on her face. She'd simply thought that the anomaly of the situation would have surpassed her ability, but she was apparently wrong. That, however, just made her want what she could do that much more.

With struggle she managed to push herself to a more upright position, as though determined to try to take the unoffered seat, but it was a pained struggle to even manage to pull herself up using one of the chairs opposite her.

"He'll realise I'm missing." Not that it was much of a threat, but there wasn't much she could do. She could try to get the gun, but she was certain that her ability wouldn't allow her to do more than make it wiggle in her current state.

"Eventually," she agreed, folding her fingers over the gun delicately as if she sensed her thoughts. "And when he does, he'll kill me. I'm prepared for that -- I have been since he stopped being my son."

It was why she hadn't brought the Haitian in. Why, when she'd reached both Matt and Bennet's voice mails she'd only warned them to watch out, not begged them to come to her. Even without her ability, she could have guessed her time was nearing its end. Sylar couldn't be gotten rid of or contained, no matter how many times she'd tried, and after the last botched attempt, she knew his efforts to claim her life would be redoubled. She had supposed she could prolong the inevitable if she'd called someone else in, but she was tired. Her son was dead, her other barely spoke to her, there were no grand schemes to continue on for, and Sylar -- both of them -- could be better dealt with by someone else. It was simply time.

Though, of course, not before she'd sewn some seeds of doubt between the two of them. It was her last gift to the son who had all but disowned her. "Though, I think the more important question is what's more important to him. My life or yours." She offered her another grim smile. "At the rate your ruining my carpeting, I'm not sure you'll last much longer."

At least she was resigned to the fact that she was going to die that night, although that wasn't quite the response she had been expecting. It didn't give her anything else to say, though that was probably a good thing, since talking only seemed to speed up the process in which her body was going through, having started to tasted blood in her mouth as she coughed.

The bullet had entered high up on her back, something she could feel now that the shock was wearing off, which meant the pain was rearing its ugly head. Perhaps it had gotten to her lung, which would explained why it was so hard to breathe, and the taste of blood when she coughed. She couldn't tell though, since her whole back and chest felt like fire.

"What's..." she stared at her, her outline beginning to grow fuzzy, and she slumped again; leaning heavily against the chair so she didn't fall back fully onto the floor. "His blood can bring me back."

The smile on her lips was nothing short of vicious. "But will he, dear? After all, you're really nothing more than competition."

"If he wanted to get rid of me, he could have done so months ago," she snapped back, and then hissed from the immediate pain that followed it; closing her eyes tightly as she breathed her way through it. "But he hasn't. He will."

"His charming narcissism will only hold up for so long; he'll get bored with you eventually." She shrugged lightly and unfolded her hands over the gun only to re-lace them a second later. He was coming, and while she was resigned to this, she had to admit to a certain amount of fear; God only knew how much he would make her suffer first.

She took a deep breath. "But before he does ... ask him what happened to his last girlfriend, sometime, and try not to be too disappointed when it turns out I'm right."

Not that Elle's death had had anything to do with him growing disinterested in her; she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Noah had dropped the bomb about her and Arthur not really being his family. Still, however, she had a feeling that, given time, Sylar would have gotten bored with her and would have either walked out or killed her. He wasn't a very patient man, after all.

"Just as I could get bored of him," Gabriella replied dryly, licking her lips, though that only coloured them a darker red from the blood in her mouth. Not that she felt as though she'd get bored of him any time soon, especially with the interesting things they did, but it could always happen. She tried now; to get the gun to her, but as expected, it moved, but just barely, and drained her of energy so much that she had to close her eyes as she leaned even heavier against the chair; and further slipping down.

However, as it was, the next statement made her eyes snap open to stare at the other woman. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"I'm sure."

If she planning on saying anything else, it died on her lips, Sylar standing in the doorway now. She raised her eyes to him, fingers tightening on the gun although she knew it would do her no good, and allowed him a moment to take in the situation and took one of her own to steady her breathing. She couldn't quite manage, but she felt confident that she managed to keep a brave face, at least.

"What the hell?" he demanded finally, glancing between Angela and his other self.

Gabriella turned to look at him, part of her expecting him to just let her die because of her failure when it came to the mission she'd been given, but it was nearing the point where it would be a welcomed thing. Blood was covering the floor now, her clothes soaked with it, and she looked tiredly up at him from her spot on the floor.

"S-she came up on me from behind," she replied, her voice softer, and eyes closed as she let out a heavy breath. "'m sorry..."

He made a vague hand gesture, pulling the gun away from Angela before she thought to use it. Not that it would have done her any good to try, but better safe than sorry he figured, and under that logic, he pinned her to her chair, too, before looking back to Gabriella. "I'll help you after I kill her."

While she hadn't been expecting his immediate care, it would have been nice for him to, while keeping Angela in place, give her what help he could. She nodded, despite not thinking that there would be enough of it. Just like Angela had said, really.

"Hurry up." A breath, followed by a sniff. "She's a bitch..."

"You have no idea."

That said, he turned back to Angela, tilting his head to one side, frowning. If Gabriella hadn't gone and gotten herself shot, he might have enjoyed this; now, unfortunately, all the pleasure had been stripped out of his revenge. He'd have to make sure not to take her along next time. He actually wanted to enjoy one of his kills, and Bennet and Parkman were a hell of a lot more dangerous than Angela Petrelli.

Huffing out a sigh, he raised his free hand, leveling it along Angela's hairline. He muttered something along the lines of, "Say good night, Angie," and started sawing into her head, his motions far too quick and mechanical to offer the sort of suffering he'd hoped to visit upon her. He darted around the desk and her chair so fast it was hard to track his movements and put his fingers to her exposed brain, seeking familiar lines of power. It didn't take too long, and with a whimper brought on by rapidly shifting neural pathways, he took a step back, closing his eyes.

"Still with me?" It was hard to tell whether he was talking to Angela (who clearly was not) or Gabriella.

She'd let him take his time, had he wanted to. His blood could bring her back even if she did die, right? If it could, then there was no problem. Unless he didn't want to do that, then she was screwed, which she was either way. Though she'd try harder the next time. Perhaps even go out alone, to try to find someone to bring him. A reconciliation present of sorts. Something to show she was sorry she'd messed up as badly as she had.

She heard the whimper, and knew fully what it meant, but the desire to take the ability for herself, at least right then was lacking.

"Mmmm," she murmured the reply, eyes still closed though, only half with him, really.

He sagged back against the wall, his breathing ragged, waiting for the high to kick in and when it did, he nearly shivered with it, keeping his eyes closed for a moment more. Then, finally, lazily, feeling too good to be particularly concerned with the fact that she was bleeding to death, he moved over to her and dropped to his knees beside her. Rather than slice into one of his wrists for his blood, however, he reached for one of her hands instead, curling it into a fist, save for her pointer finger, and pressed it to his own forehead.

"Focus," he demanded, hoping she would get the hint and have the strength to do it. "Take it from me. My healing."

Gabriella opened her eyes half way when she felt his presence next to her, and her lips twitched up ever so slightly in an appreciative sort of smile, though the drifted shut again, and when he took her hand it was limp.

The words, however, brought her back to life, enough to have her open her eyes again to stare, to try to see if he was joking. He wasn't, though, and she mustered what she could, focusing on trying to get the cut across his forehead, though fighting his healing ability was proving to be a struggle.

He grit his teeth, eyes watering as pain flared across his forehead, and tried to ignore it all well enough to hold off on healing. He'd done it for Bennet when he'd shot him in front of Danko, trying to make him think he had the wrong man, he could damn well do it now, and under the force of his will, his skin stopped knitting itself back together abruptly.

"Should be easier now," he rasped, closing his eyes. This had not been his best idea ever.

And it was. She knew that this would be her only chance, and this time it went through like a hot knife in butter.

The top of his head off, she let her fingers work blindly through him, though when she found it they flew open, because the pain that engulfed her was a completely new sort. She slumped back again then, because at first it seemed to have no effect at all.

It took a minute really, before she could actually start to feel it work; a pleasant warmth spreading throughout her, before there was a pain as, she supposed, the bullet was pushed back out from where it came,and the wound closed itself. She still felt exhausted, despite no longer being in pain, and slowly opened her eyes again to look at him.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice her."

He groped blindly for the top of his skull, stopping every few seconds to rub blood out of his eyes with shaking fingers. He felt sick, the high he'd thought would help him cope having long since abandoned him, and the fact that his pulse was fluttering in his stomach like some trapped but long exhausted bird wasn't helping. At least, he thought dimly as his fingers closed around his scalp, the pain had stopped somewhere near the end of the incision when shock had set in. At least he'd survive, though no thanks to her.

Putting the remains of his head back where it belonged with a sick, wet slurping sound, he let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes again, letting himself heal without even having to think about getting the process started again, his body desperate to be complete again. And finally, thankfully, his breathing slowed, his heart stopping its frantic marathon race and returning to normal. He didn't open his eyes again, though.

"Just don't expect me to do that again."

She was still tired where she sat. While her body had repaired itself, her mind was tired, boggled from the ordeal of near death, as it would probably be with most. A recovery period would be needed, even if it was just for one night.

"You won't have to," she replied quietly, finally opening her eyes properly to look at him, and the mess that she was sitting in of her own blood. She flicked a glance over to the dead body of Angela Petrelli too, and made a slight face at it, before her attention returned to Sylar for a moment, as she contemplated on what to say. Should she apologize again for screwing up? He was bound not to take her with on anything else. Really, with what Angela had said, she'd been half expecting him to just leave her there.

"I'm...thank you."

He made a soft, affirmative noise in lieu of offering her a you're welcome and shifted away from her, no longer content to sit in the sea of red they'd left smeared on the carpet. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it back in spite of the sticky mess of ruined hair gel and blood, then gave up on it, getting to his feet a little uncertainly. He might have been whole again, but he was exhausted and starving now, and it showed in the way he moved.

Gesturing towards Angela, he shifted towards the door. "If you want that, be my guest. Just do it quick." Brain cells were the first to die, after all -- it was why he generally didn't waste time when he had the top of someone's head off -- and in his estimation, she had about three minutes or so before she wouldn't be able to find Angela's ability. If what remained of her head wasn't completely useless already. "I'm going to go take a shower. I can borrow some of Peter's clothes."

Or, well, assuming he re-shifted into him, anyway -- he'd reclaimed his own face involuntarily when he'd let Gabriella cut into him.

Gabriella nodded at him, though almost fell over again when she got up; her knees shaking so violently that she had to clutch the chair desperately to stay upright.

She managed, albeit slowly to make her way over, though by the time she did, she was exhausted again, and opted to not take it; instead sinking down to sit again and try to gather her energy again. She felt disgusting on top of it, but alas, didn't have the option that Sylar did when it came to showering, and getting new clothes.

She rested for another ten minutes before managing to get up, her step a bit steadier now, but she stayed against the wall just in case as she went towards the kitchen, in hopes of finding something she could eat, to hopefully regain more energy.

He joined her in the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing Peter's face and the least offensive of the junior boy scout's clothing, and allowed her a thoughtful glance. He turned towards the refrigerator when he found whatever it was he'd been looking for and pulled it open, rooting around inside.

"Angela's clothes might fit you, if you wanted to take a shower," he called over his shoulder. They'd be a little big on her, but that was better than too small, he supposed. Or being stuck in bloody clothing while he searched for something to eat. Which, speaking of, "You should eat something, too. It helps."

"...but they're old lady clothes!" Yes. She could be a whiny little child sometimes too, but she supposed that it would be better than what she was in now. "I'll eat after I have a shower."

She huffed as though it was the biggest imaginable burden in that moment, and then turned to head upstairs, to find her bedroom, and take that desired shower. She took her sweet time too; both in the shower as she watched the water first turn red with all the blood, and then clear again, after she had washed her hair a dozen times. The clothes were gathered in a bag, and she even wiped up the floor what she could before she went to try to find something to wear, though everything was too big, and obviously not to her taste. Eventually she went to find something else, and did (http://www.the-anthology.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/mens-shirt.jpg), because she thought it better than the other options.

She went back to the kitchen once she was satisfied, and lingered in the doorway. "Anything good?"

"Not much," he admitted, leaning against one of the counters, a half-eaten apple in hand. "There's some fruit and some lunch meat, but ... "

He shrugged. Personally, he usually went for sugars and carbs after he'd done a lot of healing, under the impression that they helped the most. In honesty, though, his preferences probably had less to do with what his body actually needed and more to do with a subconscious desire for comfort food and lots of it.

Gabriella on the other hand wanted something proper. Some sort of full meal that would fill her up, though that would always make her sleepy after. But the energy to make something was lacking, and she went to the fridge to look in it, muttering to herself as she first too got out an apple, though fussed over it – first peeling it, and cutting it; taking out the core and all, and then searched for a jar of peanut butter and a spoon.

She then hopped up onto the counter to dig the spoon in the peanut butter, and smear it on the apple and eat it.

"I won't screw up next time."

He watched her work at the apple, making faces the entire time -- all that effort was, well, too much effort -- then slid his eyes up to her. "Just don't let Bennet shoot you in the head, when we get around to him. He's better with a gun than Angela."

He could survive that, having moved the sweet spot that would put him down ages ago, but she wouldn't. And if she ruined his revenge a second time, he'd be sure to remove the bullet and end her himself after he was done Bennet or Parkman or whoever ended up being the murder of the day.

"Why are you giving me that look?" She asked after a minute, having eaten, even a bite, it had gotten her spirits back up. "I don't like the skin." Picky, yes, but she grinned at him as she took another bite. "I won't. I know better, now. It'll be better."

"Too much work," he muttered, moving to dump the remains of his own apple in the trash. He glanced over his shoulder at her, frowning. "I'm not a fan of over-complicating simple things."

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remorse for what? you people have done everything in the world to me. (rp for <lj site="livejournal.

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