rp for genetic_fate: dust is a protective coating for fine furnit

[heroslayer]

To say that Sylar's apartment had clearly been abandoned for some time would have been an understatement. A fine layer of dust coated everything, dulling everything from the furniture to the walls in such a way that the room looked like an old photograph. Spiders had taken up residence in the corners of the room at one point, and then vacated, leaving dark, filthy cobwebs in their wake. And as they pushed into the apartment, they left footprints in the grime. It was a mess, and immediately, the killer frowned; he was nothing if not cleanly, and this was a disaster.

"Guess I haven't been home in awhile," he commented dryly, casting a look back at Mohinder. "Give me a minute, and I'll clean up." They needed this space, after all, and he was more than certain that the geneticist wouldn't want the dust and disuse skewing the results of his research.

That in mind, he moved into the kitchen, shifting the microscope he'd been carrying into one hand, so he had use of the other. Then, with an almost idle gesture, the layer of grime on the table was scattering to the floor, motes of dust swirling to the wood floors like fine falling snow. Unfortunately, however, this didn't seem to be enough for the killer, as before the dust had even settled, he was moving for the cabinet under the sink, hoping he could find something to wipe the table down with.

If he still had his cleaning supplies, this wouldn't take long at all.

Comments

[genetic-fate.livejournal.com]

Nothing much happened when Mohinder injected himself; at least, there was no sudden stabbing pain in his head like the times before. Bewildered, he looked up as he heard Sylar approach, opening his mouth to say that his plan had failed.

But, before he managed to get a word out, the pain finally hit. Far worse than he remembered, he staggered weakly in the other man's direction, hands flying out to grip something - anything - that he could use to keep himself upright.

Crying out at the pain that racked his entire body, Mohinder fell to his knees, eyes screwed shut as if that could help in some way. Something must have gone wrong, it was the only explanation. And, with that in mind, he passed out on Sylar's kitchen floor.

[heroslayer]

The killer hissed out a swear, eyes wide as Mohinder cried out and then dropped to his knees. In less than the time it to him to blink or the geneticist to close his eyes, he was at his side, arms going around him to keep him from taking a swan-dive into the dusty floor. He held him for a moment, expecting him to roll over, perfectly well in spite of the pain he was clearly in, and exhibit some new, wonderful permanent ability--he sounded like them, already--but nothing happened. Nothing happened, and it was him turning the other man so that he was face up rather than face down, frowning down at him.

"Sonovabitch," he hissed, putting a hand to his shoulder to shake him a little, in an attempt to wake him. "Suresh. Get up."

[genetic-fate.livejournal.com]

Mohinder came round quickly, head still spinning although the pain was dissipating now as quickly as it had come on. Looking up at Sylar, face puzzled and unable to work out for a moment why it was that he was on his back on the kitchen floor, his brow furrowed.

"I... I passed out," he eventually worked out for himself, slowly sitting himself up. "That's... well, that's definitely new."

[heroslayer]

"New," he parroted, frowning as he rocked back on his heels to give the geneticist some space. In all honesty, he wanted to spit out something biting--perhaps a thank you for reporting on the obvious--but he bit his tongue, silent for a moment until the urge passed. Practiced neutrality returned to his face where there had been fear, hastily coated with anger, a moment before, and then, "It worked, at least. You sound like them."

Ticking. Wrong. He did his best to ignore it, taking in a deep breath before focusing his thoughts on the sound of Mohinder's heartbeat in an attempt to down out the cacophony in his head. "Wonder what you can do."

And if it would last this time, which he felt it damn well better, since the idiot had clearly almost killed himself.