heroslayer | rp for youngerpetrelli: restlessness and discontent are the first

Despite the fact that it had been Sylar's suggestion that he and Peter meet to discuss things, he found he wasn't particularly looking forward to the meeting. Not that he didn't feel he had a lot to say to his brother, both of them far too busy to talk much lately, or that it wasn't important that they did discuss the state of things. No, this was more because in the light of the last few days, he didn't particularly want to talk to anyone. He hadn't gone to visit Claire, as was usual for him, he'd been keeping his walks home with Molly after school as brief as possible, and he'd refrained from lurking around Times Square to people watch. For the first time in a very long time--since right after his ability had manifested, actually--the city and its inhabitants felt stifling, and he wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Unfortunately, however, he had told Peter he'd come and find him, and so now he was obligated. And the fact that he was clearly unhappy with this was more than apparent in the way he carried himself as he moved down the street towards Adam's apartment. His brother would probably notice, he knew--if not through simply people-reading skills than empathically--but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nor could he quite bring himself to make a decision as to whether or not he'd tell his twin what his problem was, if prompted for answers. He supposed he'd simply decide when the time came.

And that in mind, frowning, the killer stepped up to Adam's door and knocked, hoping that Peter came to answer it, not particularly wanting to deal with more people than he had to.

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Sylar propped himself against the wall, still staring down at his untouched soda. "She said she used to have dreams about how I would end up, when she was pregnant with us. That if she'd kept me, I would have killed you and Nathan. Her. Our father. Everyone." Funny, considering that despite the fact that she'd given him away, he'd still managed to kill at least two of the people on that list--Peter and their father--but he kept that to himself. It wasn't relevant at the moment; maybe he'd come back to it later. "She thought that if someone else raised me, it wouldn't happen, I guess."

He stared for a long moment, hoping he didn't look as stunned as he thought he might. Finally, he frowned and asked, "So... she gave you away to keep you out of the influence of our family?" Which implied that somehow she agreed that they were, at least in some way, toxic.

"I don't know." He made a face, looking up at Peter briefly, only to lower his eyes again, unable to watch at him. "I didn't think of it like that. She made it seem like it was more my fault than anything else. Like the rest of you weren't the problem--that I was. You were more important to her than me, so she got rid of the problem entirely."

"Hmn... Hard to tell," he answered quietly. "It could just be a matter of perspective -- after all, she and Linderman plotted to have me blow up New York so Nathan could become the leader of the supposedly united and healthier free world..." Yeah, there might still be a little bit of bitterness there...

After a long moment, he sighed and said, "For what it's worth, I am sorry..."

Sylar shrugged, raising his drink to his mouth to take a sip before he answered.

"It's not your fault." Nor was it his; if anyone was to blame here, it was their mother and father for being so damn cold. Maybe he was just a bit bitter still, too, even if he had tried to convince himself that he didn't need a mother or, if he did, Angela wasn't his because she hadn't raised him. "I appreciate it, though. Not many people would bother apologizing to me for anything."

"Family is important to me. Ours may be monumentally screwed up, but it doesn't make you any less my brother," he answered with a little smile.

"So... you said she had a friend with her?"

He returned the smile faintly, but the expression was short-lived, slipping from his face when his brother asked about their mother's friend. "The Haitian," he said simply, shifting a bit uncomfortably, though not quite in the same way he'd been earlier. This was more minor terror that he was trying to hide rather than restlessness; the Haitian frightened him, for how weak he could make him.

"Ah," he said with a flicker of his own discomfort. He could understand why Sylar was uncomfortable around the Haitian -- the one person whose ability he'd never managed to absorb, because by its own nature, it kept his from working...

"An insurance policy..." he mused, tilting his head to look at Sylar. "She was afraid of what you could do..."

"That was my guess," he agreed, nodding.

He shot another glance down at his soda, considering it as if it could decide for him whether or not he wanted to continue pursuing this line of conversation. While there were no answers in the can, however--obviously, and he wasn't insane enough to think there really would be, yet--he took a deep breath, and then, "You know, I was going to go see her on my own. Nathan gave me her address, when he decided he wanted to meet me. I'd been putting it off for weeks--" Angela hadn't been the only one who was nervous about this meeting. "--but Baileigh and Mohinder kept telling me I should just get it over with. So, I decided I was going to go home and take a shower, and when I got there, she was in my apartment. She must have had a key, since the lock wasn't broken, but I'm not sure I understand where she got it from."

That last statement was a lie in part; at the moment, he was paranoid enough to think that Mohinder or Claire had given it to her, since they both had keys to his apartment. Clearly, despite how sane he seemed, he still wasn't in the most stable frame of mind.

He nodded, seeing the logic in what Baileigh and Mohinder had said, but when Sylar said their mother was in his apartment he couldn't help himself. He stared, eyes wide, and for a long moment just tried to figure it out.

Finally, he frowned. "She... she must have known you would come to see her, and wanted to do it on her own terms..." He didn't really want to examine why that made him so uncomfortable, until he realized she already had a key to his own apartment.

"Again, that's what I figured." Another pause, though this time it was his brother that Sylar studied, his head tilted to one side. "That bothers you, though. Maybe not because she broke into my apartment necessarily--" He couldn't quite tell, he could simply feel Peter's discomfort. "--but still."

He shook his head a little, as if trying to clear it.

"I... haven't felt comfortable around her since I learned she was involved in the whole New York plot... I just-- I don't know. She told me I was her favourite, and she wanted me to blow up and kill millions..." He looked up at Sylar, not really aware of the emotions battling in his expression.

"And she poisoned me, after Kirby Plaza." Gave him the Shanti Virus, and while he had a theory as to why, he couldn't say he liked her methods much. She could have potentially killed him, if he hadn't found Mohinder first, just like she would have murdered both her other sons, if things hadn't turned around, that night on the Plaza. Not that he hadn't tried helping move things along to the way Angela would have wanted it, taunting Peter like he had, but he'd been out of his mind, then. He still was, most days. Their mother didn't have an excuse. "Maybe she's the one that should have gone away, rather than abandoning me. Looks like she's the one out to get all of us. Not me."

It was harsh, he knew, but he was still so bitter.

rp for youngerpetrelli: restlessness and discontent are the first

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