heroslayer | for muses_gonewild: front steps

"Miss -- " He paused, looking down at the card tacked to the clipboard in his hand and stifled a smile. " -- Jennifer Dunne?"

The woman in question studied him suspiciously through the screen door of her porch and Sylar tried his best to look innocent, though he doubted he needed to go the extra mile to get her to open said door. He looked the part, after all, from the sharp brown uniform to the potted Rhododendrons tucked awkwardly under his arm and his accent, while out of practice, was still passable. He'd gotten lucky when the flower delivery truck had rolled up to the curb with a name and the perfect cover story; he expected his luck would hold out at least long enough to get what he'd come here for.

And if seemed he was right as, after a moment of toying with the rope of salt and pepper hair that hung over her shoulder, a smile crept onto her face and she nodded. "That's me."

"Well, ma'am, seems these are for you." He hefted the pot, backpedaling to the edge of the steps that lead up to the porch as she swung the door open, and passed her the clipboard. "If you could just sign there, I can get outta your hair."

She hummed, scribbling her signature on the line, and handed the thing back to him. He passed her the flowers, flexed his hand as if carrying them had been hurting his arm -- really, they had -- and then flicked his fingers at her, sharply. She flew across the room, hitting the far wall hard, and the pot followed suit, shattering into a hundred terracotta shards. He stepped over them, unmindful, and stalked into the house with a grin, the screen and storm doors slamming shut behind him. Both locked with a loud, satisfying click.

"I wasn't lying you know," he told her as he came to a halt in front of her. She stared up at him horrified, uncomprehending, and he offered her a sly grin before clarifying. "About getting out of your hair, I mean. I just think we have different ideas as to how I meant that."

He raised his hand again, fingers curling in the empty air between them, and she choked, her own hands flying up to her neck to claw at it as she tried in vain to breathe. He took a moment to savor that -- given her ability, he'd been expecting more of a fight, and it was so nice to not have to work for something for once -- and then he was dragging her up the wall. His fingers splayed wide and she stopped struggling abruptly, tacked to the paneling like the victim of some horrible religious punishment.

"See, when I said I'd be out of your hair -- "

"Please. Please, whatever you're doing --"

" -- I meant more like this."

A single finger leveled itself with her hair line, and humming merrily, he started sawing into her head. Whatever she'd been planning on saying dissolved into choked sobs punctuated by the patter of her blood as it spit against the wall, and he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed that she didn't scream. No one screamed anymore. Didn't they know that took all the fun out of the job?

His humming stopped abruptly and he sighed, making quick work of his impromptu brain surgery and hoping that his prize would at least be worth the effort since her reactions weren't. And while he couldn't say whether or not it was, even poised over her ruined skull -- he'd have to test it to find out, and that would have to come later -- at least he could take comfort in the fact that the high was the same, wonderful as ever.

He only hoped Claire's reaction to taking what wasn't meant to be his wouldn't spoil it. He deserved something for taking Bennet's stupid little tip, however accurate it turned out to be.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 668
Note: Follows this, this and this.