heroslayer | 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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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."

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

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