Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroslayer) wrote2009-07-16 01:42 am
heroslayer) wrote2009-07-16 01:42 am
for muses_gonewild: when did you get so smart?
It's been two years. Two years and a small miracle if he's gotten to be himself as many times over the course of the years. He can't say he minds, though, as he's built up a certain level of trust with them, wearing Claire's face, and he's almost sure that no one really suspects that there's a wolf living among the sheep. He's been too careful, and the only one with more than a handful brain cells to rub together seems to be Claude, who would rather be spouting insults than scrutinizing his friends.
It's been two years. Two years and they're finally starting to think that he's dead or that the Company recaptured him. He can't say he minds, though, as he's a patient man and this is all with the end game in mind, for once. He needs to be stronger than Peter, and with his latest new ability, he's almost sure he has it in the bag. Peter won't be able to figure out how to use it fast enough, if he realizes he has a new ability at all, and he'll finally be able to take what he's coveted -- obsessed over -- since he first came to Virginia.
It's been two years. Two years and they beat him to the punch, waiting for him when he walks in the door of Peter's apartment, wearing Claire's face. That, he does mind. He wanted to be the one to make the great reveal, but Claude doesn't give him the chance, naming him without doubt or hesitation as the door closes behind him. He supposes he could keep up the act, but he's not stupid. His house of cards has come tumbling down, and people who have managed to catch the edges of truth behind a good trick never let go.
It's been two years, and he can't wait two more.
He flashes them a grin, sure that it looks unnatural on Claire's face, and then the air is shifting around him, shimmering like like on broken glass. Suddenly himself again, leering down at them, he cocks his head to one side and then the other, clearly not impressed by their detective work. "Oops. Guess you caught me." A pause, and then in a tone that's nothing short of mocking, he asks, "When did you get so smart?"
"Oh, we've known for 'while, mate," Claude answers around a grin that can only be described as inappropriate, given how tense his hands are on that staff os his. "Jus' wanted t'be sure we were ready. Can' 'ave you 'urtin' one've us, now can we?"
"Guess not, no." Hurt is the least of their worries, really.
At the edges of his vision, he sees Peter press his fingers together, and then the empath is leaping at him, a handful of flames springing forth. Claude and Erin move for him too, but he doesn't bother with them -- they're not a threat, nor are they important in his grand scheme. He throws up a hand to send them flying back, planting the other on Peter's shoulder as he ducks out of the way of a fire-backed punch, and then? Then the show starts.
Peter goes stumbling backwards, the blaze at his fingers dying in a shimmer of smoke. He looks bewildered for an instant, then sick, raising his hands from his sides to stare at them in horror. The pose is familiar to Sylar, but to Erin his reaction is an enigma, and she gets to her feet hurriedly, edging around him to where Peter's standing. She tries to put a hand to his arm, and he shakes his head emphatically, backpedaling a handful of steps away from her.
"Peter?"
"Don't touch me," he hisses through clenched teeth.
She flashes Sylar a dirty look, positive that he did something even if she can't say what, then her eyes are back on Peter. "What's going on?"
The empath doesn't answer, but he doesn't particularly need to as suddenly his hands are aglow again. It's not fire this time, though -- the sick sunburn warmth his hands have taken on are testament enough to that -- and she takes a step back away from him. Her back connects with Sylar's chest for an instant, and she starts before scurrying back around him to go stand by Claude, who's finally managed to get standing again. Sylar can't help but think that it's a small miracle that she didn't try using her ability on him in that moment. It would ruin the game he's winning.
"Wha' did y'do?" Claude demands. It's a stupid question; he should already know the answer. Not that it stops him from asking again, nearly bellowing this time, his accent near non-existent in his rage. "What did you do?"
Taking another step backwards, Peter trips over a section of the floorboards that have come loose and collapses onto the floor with a grunt, still staring at his hands. "I can't -- I can't -- " he stammers through gasps for air, but he doesn't seem quite able to find the words.
Sylar answers for him. "Did I forget to mention that I got a shiny new toy?" He holds up a hand, wiggling his fingers in a deranged mockery of a wave. "It's like an electrical short for abilities. I touch Peter and he loses control of all that delicious power. And right now -- " He shoots a glance back at the other man, grinning wolfishly. " -- looks like we're going to have that explosion after all."
"Yer gonna get us all killed!"
"Oh, don't worry," he tells them, calmly, "I have faith in Peter. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he killed all those people, so I'm sure he'll find a way to keep himself from going boom."
There's a tense moment of silence, then Claude's lunging at him, snarling. "You sonovabitch!"
Not that the staff he's swinging blindly at him ever connects -- instead, the killer makes a sharp swatting gesture, the weapon leaping from Claude's fingers with a mind of its own. Another gesture, this time with his fingers curled as though he were reaching for something, and the invisible man is pinned to the wall before the bo even rolls to a stop at Erin's feet. He reaches up, clawing wildly at his throat, his nails leaving imperfect thin lines on his skin; Sylar can't help but chuckle, lazily.
"What was that about no one getting hurt?"
He manages to choke out something vulgar, but Sylar doesn't catch it -- mostly because he's focused on the girl now, trying to sneak up on him from the side while she thinks he's distracted.
Telekinetically, he bats her away with enough force to send her slamming into one of Peter's counters in the kitchen, and he's sure he hears something in her back snap above the whimpering her draws from her and the clatter of her weapon as it hits the ground. He's not quite sure, it could just be wishful thinking on his part since things are going so right for what a disaster this could have ended up being, but either way, he doesn't think she'll be getting up anytime soon. The fact that he's damn positive she's sobbing on the floor in the other room seems to speak volumes to that effect.
Pleased and already high on the promise of a new ability, he turns back to Claude, leveling a finger at his hairline. He doesn't bother with any clever quips this time, however, instead contenting himself on setting to work in silence. The howl of his ability through the other man's head and his screaming above that works better than any well-phrased comment could, anyway.
All too soon he has the other man flayed open like a pumpkin on Halloween, and he pulls his hands away, letting him slide down the wall, sick red lines following his path of decent on the drywall. He chances a glance at Peter, curled in a ball behind him still, seemingly oblivious to the whole scene as he continues to struggle with control. Then to Erin, watching him with wide, wet eyes from the floor of the kitchen, clearly traumatized. Then, satisfied that he won't be interrupted and that at least someone has front row tickets to the floor show, he crosses over to the mess he's made.
He kneels down, and in a cheap imitation of intimacy, he pulls Claude's head into his lap, fingers seeking lines of power in his remains. He finds what he's looking for with practiced ease, and a moment later he's gasping, eyelids fluttering closed as his own brain becomes a sliding block puzzle of new information. He absorbs, he adjusts, and then he shoves the dead man away from him before staggering to his feet.
A quick survey of the room and then he reaches out, vicious thought hooking around the girl's ankle to drag her across the floor to him. He pins her to the wall, the newest butterfly in his ever-growing collection of dead things, and while she doesn't struggle -- a disappointment, seeing as how he's foregoing trying out his newest toy to give her the honor of giving him hers -- she does beg.
"Please," she pleads around a hiccup generated from minutes spent sobbing. "Please just stop it."
"And I didn't even have to ask." Sylar makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. "Unfortunately, that's not going to work, this time. Sorry." He's not, but that doesn't stop him from bringing his other hand up, impending death fixed on her forehead, this time.
Over the shrieking of her head tearing itself open for him to claim his prize, he barely hears Peter struggling to his feet behind him. "Stop it." He doesn't -- doesn't hear or doesn't care, it doesn't matter -- and so the empath tries again, his voice never raising but now nothing more than a snarl. "I said stop."
Sylar catches that, chancing a glance over his shoulder, and the last he sees of Peter and his apartment is the other man lumbering towards him, more falling than running at him like he imagines Peter was going for.
They crash through the window, tumbling sideways, glass hailing down upon them, and Sylar can't help but think fleetingly that maybe he was wrong. This isn't Kirby Plaza all over again. This is Union Wells, and he can only pray he survives without Company intervention, this time -- though judging by what he can make out of the look on Peter's face, he's not so sure.
And that's the last thought he manages before all he knows is black.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1788
Notes: Claude is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
not_theactor and is all mine to use and abuse. Peter is hadtobeahero and Erin is touch_and_know, and both are used with permission and love. This is meant to be the 5YG Dark Future equivalent for the verse, and is a prelude to this.
It's been two years. Two years and they're finally starting to think that he's dead or that the Company recaptured him. He can't say he minds, though, as he's a patient man and this is all with the end game in mind, for once. He needs to be stronger than Peter, and with his latest new ability, he's almost sure he has it in the bag. Peter won't be able to figure out how to use it fast enough, if he realizes he has a new ability at all, and he'll finally be able to take what he's coveted -- obsessed over -- since he first came to Virginia.
It's been two years. Two years and they beat him to the punch, waiting for him when he walks in the door of Peter's apartment, wearing Claire's face. That, he does mind. He wanted to be the one to make the great reveal, but Claude doesn't give him the chance, naming him without doubt or hesitation as the door closes behind him. He supposes he could keep up the act, but he's not stupid. His house of cards has come tumbling down, and people who have managed to catch the edges of truth behind a good trick never let go.
It's been two years, and he can't wait two more.
He flashes them a grin, sure that it looks unnatural on Claire's face, and then the air is shifting around him, shimmering like like on broken glass. Suddenly himself again, leering down at them, he cocks his head to one side and then the other, clearly not impressed by their detective work. "Oops. Guess you caught me." A pause, and then in a tone that's nothing short of mocking, he asks, "When did you get so smart?"
"Oh, we've known for 'while, mate," Claude answers around a grin that can only be described as inappropriate, given how tense his hands are on that staff os his. "Jus' wanted t'be sure we were ready. Can' 'ave you 'urtin' one've us, now can we?"
"Guess not, no." Hurt is the least of their worries, really.
At the edges of his vision, he sees Peter press his fingers together, and then the empath is leaping at him, a handful of flames springing forth. Claude and Erin move for him too, but he doesn't bother with them -- they're not a threat, nor are they important in his grand scheme. He throws up a hand to send them flying back, planting the other on Peter's shoulder as he ducks out of the way of a fire-backed punch, and then? Then the show starts.
Peter goes stumbling backwards, the blaze at his fingers dying in a shimmer of smoke. He looks bewildered for an instant, then sick, raising his hands from his sides to stare at them in horror. The pose is familiar to Sylar, but to Erin his reaction is an enigma, and she gets to her feet hurriedly, edging around him to where Peter's standing. She tries to put a hand to his arm, and he shakes his head emphatically, backpedaling a handful of steps away from her.
"Peter?"
"Don't touch me," he hisses through clenched teeth.
She flashes Sylar a dirty look, positive that he did something even if she can't say what, then her eyes are back on Peter. "What's going on?"
The empath doesn't answer, but he doesn't particularly need to as suddenly his hands are aglow again. It's not fire this time, though -- the sick sunburn warmth his hands have taken on are testament enough to that -- and she takes a step back away from him. Her back connects with Sylar's chest for an instant, and she starts before scurrying back around him to go stand by Claude, who's finally managed to get standing again. Sylar can't help but think that it's a small miracle that she didn't try using her ability on him in that moment. It would ruin the game he's winning.
"Wha' did y'do?" Claude demands. It's a stupid question; he should already know the answer. Not that it stops him from asking again, nearly bellowing this time, his accent near non-existent in his rage. "What did you do?"
Taking another step backwards, Peter trips over a section of the floorboards that have come loose and collapses onto the floor with a grunt, still staring at his hands. "I can't -- I can't -- " he stammers through gasps for air, but he doesn't seem quite able to find the words.
Sylar answers for him. "Did I forget to mention that I got a shiny new toy?" He holds up a hand, wiggling his fingers in a deranged mockery of a wave. "It's like an electrical short for abilities. I touch Peter and he loses control of all that delicious power. And right now -- " He shoots a glance back at the other man, grinning wolfishly. " -- looks like we're going to have that explosion after all."
"Yer gonna get us all killed!"
"Oh, don't worry," he tells them, calmly, "I have faith in Peter. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he killed all those people, so I'm sure he'll find a way to keep himself from going boom."
There's a tense moment of silence, then Claude's lunging at him, snarling. "You sonovabitch!"
Not that the staff he's swinging blindly at him ever connects -- instead, the killer makes a sharp swatting gesture, the weapon leaping from Claude's fingers with a mind of its own. Another gesture, this time with his fingers curled as though he were reaching for something, and the invisible man is pinned to the wall before the bo even rolls to a stop at Erin's feet. He reaches up, clawing wildly at his throat, his nails leaving imperfect thin lines on his skin; Sylar can't help but chuckle, lazily.
"What was that about no one getting hurt?"
He manages to choke out something vulgar, but Sylar doesn't catch it -- mostly because he's focused on the girl now, trying to sneak up on him from the side while she thinks he's distracted.
Telekinetically, he bats her away with enough force to send her slamming into one of Peter's counters in the kitchen, and he's sure he hears something in her back snap above the whimpering her draws from her and the clatter of her weapon as it hits the ground. He's not quite sure, it could just be wishful thinking on his part since things are going so right for what a disaster this could have ended up being, but either way, he doesn't think she'll be getting up anytime soon. The fact that he's damn positive she's sobbing on the floor in the other room seems to speak volumes to that effect.
Pleased and already high on the promise of a new ability, he turns back to Claude, leveling a finger at his hairline. He doesn't bother with any clever quips this time, however, instead contenting himself on setting to work in silence. The howl of his ability through the other man's head and his screaming above that works better than any well-phrased comment could, anyway.
All too soon he has the other man flayed open like a pumpkin on Halloween, and he pulls his hands away, letting him slide down the wall, sick red lines following his path of decent on the drywall. He chances a glance at Peter, curled in a ball behind him still, seemingly oblivious to the whole scene as he continues to struggle with control. Then to Erin, watching him with wide, wet eyes from the floor of the kitchen, clearly traumatized. Then, satisfied that he won't be interrupted and that at least someone has front row tickets to the floor show, he crosses over to the mess he's made.
He kneels down, and in a cheap imitation of intimacy, he pulls Claude's head into his lap, fingers seeking lines of power in his remains. He finds what he's looking for with practiced ease, and a moment later he's gasping, eyelids fluttering closed as his own brain becomes a sliding block puzzle of new information. He absorbs, he adjusts, and then he shoves the dead man away from him before staggering to his feet.
A quick survey of the room and then he reaches out, vicious thought hooking around the girl's ankle to drag her across the floor to him. He pins her to the wall, the newest butterfly in his ever-growing collection of dead things, and while she doesn't struggle -- a disappointment, seeing as how he's foregoing trying out his newest toy to give her the honor of giving him hers -- she does beg.
"Please," she pleads around a hiccup generated from minutes spent sobbing. "Please just stop it."
"And I didn't even have to ask." Sylar makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. "Unfortunately, that's not going to work, this time. Sorry." He's not, but that doesn't stop him from bringing his other hand up, impending death fixed on her forehead, this time.
Over the shrieking of her head tearing itself open for him to claim his prize, he barely hears Peter struggling to his feet behind him. "Stop it." He doesn't -- doesn't hear or doesn't care, it doesn't matter -- and so the empath tries again, his voice never raising but now nothing more than a snarl. "I said stop."
Sylar catches that, chancing a glance over his shoulder, and the last he sees of Peter and his apartment is the other man lumbering towards him, more falling than running at him like he imagines Peter was going for.
They crash through the window, tumbling sideways, glass hailing down upon them, and Sylar can't help but think fleetingly that maybe he was wrong. This isn't Kirby Plaza all over again. This is Union Wells, and he can only pray he survives without Company intervention, this time -- though judging by what he can make out of the look on Peter's face, he's not so sure.
And that's the last thought he manages before all he knows is black.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1788
Notes: Claude is
not_theactor and is all mine to use and abuse. Peter is hadtobeahero and Erin is touch_and_know, and both are used with permission and love. This is meant to be the 5YG Dark Future equivalent for the verse, and is a prelude to this.