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for the_muses_stage: help
Jun. 19th, 2010 11:53 amThe church was disturbingly small, no more than the main building and the bell tower, and in such a state of disrepair that Sylar was surprised it was still standing. It was, though, and not only that but it was still in use if the handful of cars in the lot on its side were any indication, and that was all that mattered. Well, that and the fact that who he'd spent the last few months tracking through time was most assuredly inside. Funny place for a demon singles mixer -- God, he'd been hanging around the Winchesters too long -- but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Fighting back a smirk, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and crossed the parking lot. He let himself into the church quietly, pausing by the basin of holy water to take a look around. The interior wasn't much better than the outside, but somehow they still managed to have a rather healthy patronage even for a Saturday, a handful of parishioners dotting the beat up pews, their heads bowed in prayer. He couldn't help but wonder if they could sense what was going on around them, that the world stood on a knife's edge of ending, and then decided it didn't matter. The Winchesters would put an end to that -- had put an end to if you were from his time -- and the wrench he was going to throw in the machine, sitting in the last pew with his feet kicked up on the one in front of him, wouldn't change that.
Or so he hoped, anyway. He wanted another pawn for the chess game he was playing, not to release their supposed Lord and Master and lose everything.
( His sense of triumph at finding the demon he'd been looking for at least somewhat muted, he moved to join him nevertheless, settling down on the bench next to him. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 823
Note: Based in the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
swallow_theliesverse, though not in the least binding on it and eventually binding on the verse -- I just wanted an excuse to put demon!Sylar and Alastair in the same room right this second. Alastair is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
my_nightlyoffer and all mine to use and abuse.
Fighting back a smirk, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and crossed the parking lot. He let himself into the church quietly, pausing by the basin of holy water to take a look around. The interior wasn't much better than the outside, but somehow they still managed to have a rather healthy patronage even for a Saturday, a handful of parishioners dotting the beat up pews, their heads bowed in prayer. He couldn't help but wonder if they could sense what was going on around them, that the world stood on a knife's edge of ending, and then decided it didn't matter. The Winchesters would put an end to that -- had put an end to if you were from his time -- and the wrench he was going to throw in the machine, sitting in the last pew with his feet kicked up on the one in front of him, wouldn't change that.
Or so he hoped, anyway. He wanted another pawn for the chess game he was playing, not to release their supposed Lord and Master and lose everything.
( His sense of triumph at finding the demon he'd been looking for at least somewhat muted, he moved to join him nevertheless, settling down on the bench next to him. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 823
Note: Based in the
swallow_theliesverse, my_nightlyoffer and all mine to use and abuse.stolen from all over
Jun. 14th, 2010 01:36 pmWho am I to you?
One simple question, maybe a not so simple answer?
[OOC: Fake screened, because real screening is a pain in my ass.]
One simple question, maybe a not so simple answer?
[OOC: Fake screened, because real screening is a pain in my ass.]
for the_muses_stage: hunger
May. 2nd, 2010 05:20 pmThe rain came down in endless sheets, making a muddy swamp of the carnival grounds. No one had bothered venturing outside for morning chores, anything that could possibly have be accomplished likely to get ruined by the rain, and for the first time that Sylar had been there, there had been no morning meeting for breakfast and chatter. Everyone had understandably confined themselves to their trailers, and standing by the window, watching the storm rage outside, he wondered if anyone would be going anywhere today.
He shot a glance over his shoulder at Mohinder, milling about their small living space in what passed for a morning routine, and then moved towards the door. "I'll be right back," he called over the rain as he pulled the door open. "I'm going to run across the way and ask Samuel what's going on as far as today goes."
Mohinder said something but it was lost to the sounds of the storm, and he stepped outside, racing across the semi-circle of trailers to Samuel's, hoping that somehow he wouldn't get wet. Apparently, though, he didn't hold that sort of power, and by the time the barker came to answer the door, he was soaked and shivering, the rain cold despite it being the first week of May. Samuel arched his eyebrows, bemused, and then stepped out of the door way, gesturing him inside.
"Thanks," he murmured, resisting the urge to pick at his soggy shirt.
Samuel hummed, moving back to the table and the half-finished breakfast on it, and he felt immediately guilty. He hadn't thought that the other man would be in the middle of something -- he and Mohinder had eaten when it seemed the rain wasn't letting up -- and he muttered an apology. Samuel waved it off. "It's fine. Come and sit down."
He moved to take the seat opposite the barker, still feeling like a kid who had interrupted his parents' big business dinner. If Samuel noticed this, however, he ignored it, instead casting a glance over his shoulder at the skillet he'd left on the stove. "There's bacon still, if you're hungry. It's probably gone a bit cold, but you're welcome to it if that doesn't bother you."
He got to his feet almost hurriedly, grabbing one of the paper plates that sat on the counter, and helped himself to some of the bacon. Samuel huffed out a sigh of a laugh, and took a bite of his own bacon. "If I'd known you hadn't eaten, I'd have offered before you sat down."
"We -- Mohinder and I sort of already had breakfast," he admitted somewhat sheepishly as he returned to the table. "It's -- I've just been ... "
"Hungry for something you can't put your finger on?" Samuel suggested.
"Yeah."
No, not really. Saying he was hungry for something was accurate at least, that way of putting it stirring the ghosts of memory he carried around but could never truly pin down, but it was still wrong somehow. This wasn't a craving for a particular type of food -- he'd established that much even before he'd run around the carnival, trying everything they had to offer -- this was something else. Something with the same seductively dark edges touching Mohinder or using his abilities had, and while a part of him wanted desperately to know what it was exactly, another part wanted nothing more than to run in the other direction. Which, he supposed, explained why he'd eaten so much over the last few weeks; he was hoping that maybe he was wrong, that maybe, finally, he'd find whatever it was he needed and the feeling would go away.
At least his metabolism supported all the sweets he'd been eating lately.
Sighing, he looked away briefly, staring down at his bacon balefully, and when he looked back up, Samuel was watching him with sharp eyes. He decided instantly that he didn't like that look, regretted coming over here in the first place, and that in mind, he shot up from the table and bolted towards the door. Samuel's voice at his back stopped him.
"Sylar." He didn't dare correct him and couldn't bring himself to turn around, frozen in place. "Tell Mohinder I said thank you."
His paralysis seemed to break at that, and he dashed out of the trailer, not bothering to even close the door behind him. And as he hurried away, over the constant drone of falling rain, he was almost certain he heard Samuel say something about the lion waking up after all.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 760
Note: Samuel isoffering_hope and is all mine to use and abuse.
He shot a glance over his shoulder at Mohinder, milling about their small living space in what passed for a morning routine, and then moved towards the door. "I'll be right back," he called over the rain as he pulled the door open. "I'm going to run across the way and ask Samuel what's going on as far as today goes."
Mohinder said something but it was lost to the sounds of the storm, and he stepped outside, racing across the semi-circle of trailers to Samuel's, hoping that somehow he wouldn't get wet. Apparently, though, he didn't hold that sort of power, and by the time the barker came to answer the door, he was soaked and shivering, the rain cold despite it being the first week of May. Samuel arched his eyebrows, bemused, and then stepped out of the door way, gesturing him inside.
"Thanks," he murmured, resisting the urge to pick at his soggy shirt.
Samuel hummed, moving back to the table and the half-finished breakfast on it, and he felt immediately guilty. He hadn't thought that the other man would be in the middle of something -- he and Mohinder had eaten when it seemed the rain wasn't letting up -- and he muttered an apology. Samuel waved it off. "It's fine. Come and sit down."
He moved to take the seat opposite the barker, still feeling like a kid who had interrupted his parents' big business dinner. If Samuel noticed this, however, he ignored it, instead casting a glance over his shoulder at the skillet he'd left on the stove. "There's bacon still, if you're hungry. It's probably gone a bit cold, but you're welcome to it if that doesn't bother you."
He got to his feet almost hurriedly, grabbing one of the paper plates that sat on the counter, and helped himself to some of the bacon. Samuel huffed out a sigh of a laugh, and took a bite of his own bacon. "If I'd known you hadn't eaten, I'd have offered before you sat down."
"We -- Mohinder and I sort of already had breakfast," he admitted somewhat sheepishly as he returned to the table. "It's -- I've just been ... "
"Hungry for something you can't put your finger on?" Samuel suggested.
"Yeah."
No, not really. Saying he was hungry for something was accurate at least, that way of putting it stirring the ghosts of memory he carried around but could never truly pin down, but it was still wrong somehow. This wasn't a craving for a particular type of food -- he'd established that much even before he'd run around the carnival, trying everything they had to offer -- this was something else. Something with the same seductively dark edges touching Mohinder or using his abilities had, and while a part of him wanted desperately to know what it was exactly, another part wanted nothing more than to run in the other direction. Which, he supposed, explained why he'd eaten so much over the last few weeks; he was hoping that maybe he was wrong, that maybe, finally, he'd find whatever it was he needed and the feeling would go away.
At least his metabolism supported all the sweets he'd been eating lately.
Sighing, he looked away briefly, staring down at his bacon balefully, and when he looked back up, Samuel was watching him with sharp eyes. He decided instantly that he didn't like that look, regretted coming over here in the first place, and that in mind, he shot up from the table and bolted towards the door. Samuel's voice at his back stopped him.
"Sylar." He didn't dare correct him and couldn't bring himself to turn around, frozen in place. "Tell Mohinder I said thank you."
His paralysis seemed to break at that, and he dashed out of the trailer, not bothering to even close the door behind him. And as he hurried away, over the constant drone of falling rain, he was almost certain he heard Samuel say something about the lion waking up after all.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 760
Note: Samuel is
offering_hope and is all mine to use and abuse.for writers_muses: sacrifice
May. 1st, 2010 11:59 am"So, uh, mind if I ask what was up with you the last few days?"
It was more than few days, but it seems that for all Peter's curiosity, he can't tackle the subject head on. You're not surprised -- the way you dragged yourself around for the last two weeks looking like death warmed over must have been unsettling for him, even with the animosity that lingers between the two of you. You're the protector, the only one of your merry little band with enough power to keep him and Claire from getting killed, and more than that, you're not supposed to get sick. You're untouchable, immortal, and for two weeks you let them drag you from place to place with barely enough energy to stand. You wonder if he's more worried about the same thing happening to Claire than he is about you, and you smile a bit, thinly.
"It's been six years, Peter. Running for six years." The smile turns sick in spite of the fact that your answer is largely an act for his benefit, disgusted with the situation -- you don't like running, but you won't be caged again -- and you put a bit of power into your tone. "Guess that sort of thing takes a toll on people like me, too."
His face goes slack, eyes glassy, and he nods slowly, rapt. A flicker of a smirk dances over your mouth in that instant before he comes back to himself; you may never have managed to take Eden's ability from her, but this is almost as good.
( "Yeah, guess so," he answers. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1005
Note: Peter ishadtobeahero and is used with love and permission.
It was more than few days, but it seems that for all Peter's curiosity, he can't tackle the subject head on. You're not surprised -- the way you dragged yourself around for the last two weeks looking like death warmed over must have been unsettling for him, even with the animosity that lingers between the two of you. You're the protector, the only one of your merry little band with enough power to keep him and Claire from getting killed, and more than that, you're not supposed to get sick. You're untouchable, immortal, and for two weeks you let them drag you from place to place with barely enough energy to stand. You wonder if he's more worried about the same thing happening to Claire than he is about you, and you smile a bit, thinly.
"It's been six years, Peter. Running for six years." The smile turns sick in spite of the fact that your answer is largely an act for his benefit, disgusted with the situation -- you don't like running, but you won't be caged again -- and you put a bit of power into your tone. "Guess that sort of thing takes a toll on people like me, too."
His face goes slack, eyes glassy, and he nods slowly, rapt. A flicker of a smirk dances over your mouth in that instant before he comes back to himself; you may never have managed to take Eden's ability from her, but this is almost as good.
( "Yeah, guess so," he answers. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1005
Note: Peter is
hadtobeahero and is used with love and permission.monthly writing requirements (may)
May. 1st, 2010 10:00 amFor my own state of mind, just so I remember what I've done and still need to do. Yes, my memory is that crummy.
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
"You know, I used to love this part."
The man he had pinned to the wall said nothing, grunting instead, and continued to struggle in a futile effort to get his hands free so he could renew his attack. Sylar looked somewhere between dimly amused and slightly irritated, and chanced a glance down at his shirt, his own blood drying on there from where he'd been caught off guard earlier. Really, he should have known better than to try the I don't want to hurt you angle -- that never worked with the already hostile -- but hindsight was twenty-twenty and he had a lot to learn about this whole hero business.
Shrugging off the thought, he raised his eyes back to his mark and pressed him harder into the cheap paneling at his back before repeating himself. "I used to love this part. Catching people like us, I mean."
He took a half-step forward, watching the other man from under his eyebrows and allowed him a wicked smirk. A part of him wanted to cut into him and see what made him tick, Claire only half right, the hunger that had made him a monster still baying at the back door of his mind in spite of his redemption, but he would restrain himself. Five years in his own personal hell had taught him how to and given him a reason to want to.
All the restraint in the world wouldn't stop him from putting the fear of God into this guy, though, not when he'd taken hostages and cast all of them in a terrible light, and his grin widened, taking on a manic edge. "Last time I bothered, I wasn't playing for Team Hero, though. I was like you." A pause, and then he amended, "I was better than you. I wouldn't have needed to involve other people."
Another skipped beat and he reached up, fingers ghosting over the other man's temple. He shuddered faintly; Sylar hummed approval. "I'd just get you alone, cut you open, and take what I wanted. Your ability. No one would miss you, not even a little bit. The world would be that much better off without you. I'd be that much better off without you. And the high that comes afterwards?"
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He let it out a wistful sigh, eyes opening again sharply, darting to the edges of his hairline. "That's the best part. That's the part I miss the most."
Allowing a moment for that to sink in, he wet his lips with his tongue and took a step back. A thoughtful look that took far less acting on his part than he would have expected crossed his face, and he raised a hand, a single finger level with the other man's hairline. "Maybe it's time I fell off the wagon."
The other man whimpered, renewing his struggle against the wall, clenching his eyes closed, tightly. It took all of his will power to put his hand down and remind himself that he didn't need more abilities.
"Lucky for you I'm not that guy anymore." He took another step away, turning towards the door only to find himself face to face with Peter, instead. He couldn't help but smile fondly, genuinely, and murmured, "I've got other things I care about now. Better things."
Thanfully, Peter didn't see to catch any of that -- or care much if he had -- and glanced past Sylar to the man pinned to the wall. "You ready?"
"You get his family out?" Sylar countered.
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we're done here."
Peter flashed him an instant's worth of a smile then moved around him, shoulders brushing his intentionally as he circled, and Sylar felt the roll of the hunger ebb away slowly. He had loved killing, had loved it and his powers more than anything for the longest time, but it was as he had said just a minute before. There were things he simply loved more, now. Things -- people -- like Peter.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 678
Note: Peter ishadtobeahero and is used with love and permission. The relationship between Peter and Sylar is meant to be platonic, but uh, feel free to read between the lines.
The man he had pinned to the wall said nothing, grunting instead, and continued to struggle in a futile effort to get his hands free so he could renew his attack. Sylar looked somewhere between dimly amused and slightly irritated, and chanced a glance down at his shirt, his own blood drying on there from where he'd been caught off guard earlier. Really, he should have known better than to try the I don't want to hurt you angle -- that never worked with the already hostile -- but hindsight was twenty-twenty and he had a lot to learn about this whole hero business.
Shrugging off the thought, he raised his eyes back to his mark and pressed him harder into the cheap paneling at his back before repeating himself. "I used to love this part. Catching people like us, I mean."
He took a half-step forward, watching the other man from under his eyebrows and allowed him a wicked smirk. A part of him wanted to cut into him and see what made him tick, Claire only half right, the hunger that had made him a monster still baying at the back door of his mind in spite of his redemption, but he would restrain himself. Five years in his own personal hell had taught him how to and given him a reason to want to.
All the restraint in the world wouldn't stop him from putting the fear of God into this guy, though, not when he'd taken hostages and cast all of them in a terrible light, and his grin widened, taking on a manic edge. "Last time I bothered, I wasn't playing for Team Hero, though. I was like you." A pause, and then he amended, "I was better than you. I wouldn't have needed to involve other people."
Another skipped beat and he reached up, fingers ghosting over the other man's temple. He shuddered faintly; Sylar hummed approval. "I'd just get you alone, cut you open, and take what I wanted. Your ability. No one would miss you, not even a little bit. The world would be that much better off without you. I'd be that much better off without you. And the high that comes afterwards?"
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He let it out a wistful sigh, eyes opening again sharply, darting to the edges of his hairline. "That's the best part. That's the part I miss the most."
Allowing a moment for that to sink in, he wet his lips with his tongue and took a step back. A thoughtful look that took far less acting on his part than he would have expected crossed his face, and he raised a hand, a single finger level with the other man's hairline. "Maybe it's time I fell off the wagon."
The other man whimpered, renewing his struggle against the wall, clenching his eyes closed, tightly. It took all of his will power to put his hand down and remind himself that he didn't need more abilities.
"Lucky for you I'm not that guy anymore." He took another step away, turning towards the door only to find himself face to face with Peter, instead. He couldn't help but smile fondly, genuinely, and murmured, "I've got other things I care about now. Better things."
Thanfully, Peter didn't see to catch any of that -- or care much if he had -- and glanced past Sylar to the man pinned to the wall. "You ready?"
"You get his family out?" Sylar countered.
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we're done here."
Peter flashed him an instant's worth of a smile then moved around him, shoulders brushing his intentionally as he circled, and Sylar felt the roll of the hunger ebb away slowly. He had loved killing, had loved it and his powers more than anything for the longest time, but it was as he had said just a minute before. There were things he simply loved more, now. Things -- people -- like Peter.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 678
Note: Peter is
hadtobeahero and is used with love and permission. The relationship between Peter and Sylar is meant to be platonic, but uh, feel free to read between the lines.monthly writing requirements (april)
Apr. 1st, 2010 12:20 amFor my own state of mind, just so I remember what I've done and still need to do. Yes, my memory is that crummy.
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
1. House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
2. Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (Claire tried to talk me into reading these. I got the first book and didn't get past the first chapter. It read like a sixth grader wrote it)
3. Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett (Someone who used to come into the shop had a dogeared copy of it he carried around all the time. I thought I'd see what it was about and never got around to reading it.)
4. Intervention by Julian May
5. Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science by Atul Gawande (Bet you can guess why I bought this one. Of course, from what I understand now, it wouldn't have been that great a read.)
6. The Blooding: The True Story of the Narborough Village Murders by Joseph Wambaugh (Might go back and actually read this one sooner rather than later)
7. Bonk by Mary Roach (I didn't actually buy this one -- Baileigh bought it for me for Christmas a couple of years back. I read the other two, but I never did get around to this one.)
8. Nine Lives by Dan Baum
9. Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper by Patricia Cornwell
10. Atlas of Brain Function by William Orrison (Grey's Anatomy had mostly everything I needed in it. Everything else, I figured out on my own)
2. Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (Claire tried to talk me into reading these. I got the first book and didn't get past the first chapter. It read like a sixth grader wrote it)
3. Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett (Someone who used to come into the shop had a dogeared copy of it he carried around all the time. I thought I'd see what it was about and never got around to reading it.)
4. Intervention by Julian May
5. Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science by Atul Gawande (Bet you can guess why I bought this one. Of course, from what I understand now, it wouldn't have been that great a read.)
6. The Blooding: The True Story of the Narborough Village Murders by Joseph Wambaugh (Might go back and actually read this one sooner rather than later)
7. Bonk by Mary Roach (I didn't actually buy this one -- Baileigh bought it for me for Christmas a couple of years back. I read the other two, but I never did get around to this one.)
8. Nine Lives by Dan Baum
9. Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper by Patricia Cornwell
10. Atlas of Brain Function by William Orrison (Grey's Anatomy had mostly everything I needed in it. Everything else, I figured out on my own)
for mad_muses: photo prompt (blood)
Mar. 31st, 2010 09:16 pmHe had no idea where the thought had come from or why he was even entertaining the notion after all the close calls he had had over the last few years, but now, standing out on the balcony that overlooked the slow thaw of the Rockies, Nathan couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to die. Not that he would stay dead, not with Sylar's power working for him, and he supposed maybe that was part of the appeal.
He could satisfy the morbid curiosity that had taken the place of horror when he'd finally come to terms with the death of his physical body and be no worse for the wear. He could just throw himself out the window, hope to break something vital, and get up a few minutes later. He held no illusions that it wouldn't hurt like a bitch -- it had every time before, though he couldn't remember what it had felt like to truly die -- but the pain would be temporary. It wouldn't be like after the explosion with Peter after Kirby Plaza. It wouldn't be like being shot.
He shuffled closer to the edge of the balcony, pressed against the railing, and looked down into the courtyard below. A dozen stories wouldn't be so bad, would it?
Sylar, who had been sitting motionless behind him for the better part of an hour, seemed to disagree. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He'd almost forgotten the killer had been there for how quiet he had been, and he was sure for half a second that he wouldn't have to worry about flinging himself over the railing, how high he was sure he jumped more than enough to pitch him over and to his death. Somehow, however, he managed to keep from accidentally taking a swan dive into the courtyard, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before turning to face Sylar. "Do you have to do that?"
( "Yep." He flashed him a small, manic grin. "But like I said, I wouldn't do that if I were you." )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1519
Note: Based on this picture.
He could satisfy the morbid curiosity that had taken the place of horror when he'd finally come to terms with the death of his physical body and be no worse for the wear. He could just throw himself out the window, hope to break something vital, and get up a few minutes later. He held no illusions that it wouldn't hurt like a bitch -- it had every time before, though he couldn't remember what it had felt like to truly die -- but the pain would be temporary. It wouldn't be like after the explosion with Peter after Kirby Plaza. It wouldn't be like being shot.
He shuffled closer to the edge of the balcony, pressed against the railing, and looked down into the courtyard below. A dozen stories wouldn't be so bad, would it?
Sylar, who had been sitting motionless behind him for the better part of an hour, seemed to disagree. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He'd almost forgotten the killer had been there for how quiet he had been, and he was sure for half a second that he wouldn't have to worry about flinging himself over the railing, how high he was sure he jumped more than enough to pitch him over and to his death. Somehow, however, he managed to keep from accidentally taking a swan dive into the courtyard, and he took a deep breath to steady himself before turning to face Sylar. "Do you have to do that?"
( "Yep." He flashed him a small, manic grin. "But like I said, I wouldn't do that if I were you." )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1519
Note: Based on this picture.
He'd let her sleep until somewhere nearing nine o'clock the next morning, occupying his own time spent awake thumbing through a book, sure that it was the safest of all of his options. She'd gotten up, surprisingly without complaint, taken a few minutes to get her bearings, then slipped out the door to bring back the breakfast she'd promised him the night before. He wasn't sure why she hadn't asked what he'd wanted, whether she figured they liked the same things or if she'd simply forgotten, but it had amused him just the same.
Returning to the couch, a hint of a smile on his face, he'd pulled his book back into his lap and waited for her to return. And some twenty minutes later she had, carrying two take-out plates full of surprisingly decent pancakes and a half gallon of ice cream -- for the pancakes, of course. They'd moved into the kitchen and she'd pestered him into telling the rest of his life story as they ate.
Now out of words, or at least things he could talk about without having to edit immensely, the sat in silence as they finished up their breakfast. After a moment, though, he couldn't help but suggest, "Your turn."
Returning to the couch, a hint of a smile on his face, he'd pulled his book back into his lap and waited for her to return. And some twenty minutes later she had, carrying two take-out plates full of surprisingly decent pancakes and a half gallon of ice cream -- for the pancakes, of course. They'd moved into the kitchen and she'd pestered him into telling the rest of his life story as they ate.
Now out of words, or at least things he could talk about without having to edit immensely, the sat in silence as they finished up their breakfast. After a moment, though, he couldn't help but suggest, "Your turn."
The silence between them was deafening.
Even though Sylar proved to be her constant companion and shadow, there weren’t many words traded between them. Peter had noticed the tension, they all had, but no one continued to say anything. What could they really say? She had told Sylar what she wanted and that seemed to be enough to drive them cross-country, looking for a moving Carnival and the man they felt needed to be punished for what he had cost them.
It annoyed Claire though, having Sylar constantly nearby and yet more distant than ever. Things were strained between them; to the point of feeling like something was going to break at any moment and she didn’t know what to say to fix it. Somehow saying ‘I love you’ didn’t feel like enough anymore. How could she reassure him that everything was going to be okay when she wasn’t even sure anymore? Things had been better when it was them against the world but now it felt like the world had somehow managed to come between them.
“Have you talked about it?” Peter asked her finally, keeping his voice low as they sat in the parking lot of whatever motel Sylar had picked out this time. Luckily, the man in question was inside getting them keys or else Peter never would have braved asking such a sensitive question.
Even now, Claire shot him a look for daring to go there but then she sighed with a shake of her head. “No.” And honestly, she didn’t think they ever would. What could they really say after all?
( "You should," Peter murmured, not bothering to look at her. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 4654
Note: Peter ishadtobeahero and is used with permission.
Even though Sylar proved to be her constant companion and shadow, there weren’t many words traded between them. Peter had noticed the tension, they all had, but no one continued to say anything. What could they really say? She had told Sylar what she wanted and that seemed to be enough to drive them cross-country, looking for a moving Carnival and the man they felt needed to be punished for what he had cost them.
It annoyed Claire though, having Sylar constantly nearby and yet more distant than ever. Things were strained between them; to the point of feeling like something was going to break at any moment and she didn’t know what to say to fix it. Somehow saying ‘I love you’ didn’t feel like enough anymore. How could she reassure him that everything was going to be okay when she wasn’t even sure anymore? Things had been better when it was them against the world but now it felt like the world had somehow managed to come between them.
“Have you talked about it?” Peter asked her finally, keeping his voice low as they sat in the parking lot of whatever motel Sylar had picked out this time. Luckily, the man in question was inside getting them keys or else Peter never would have braved asking such a sensitive question.
Even now, Claire shot him a look for daring to go there but then she sighed with a shake of her head. “No.” And honestly, she didn’t think they ever would. What could they really say after all?
( "You should," Peter murmured, not bothering to look at her. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 4654
Note: Peter is
hadtobeahero and is used with permission.stolen from somewhere
Mar. 24th, 2010 08:36 pmYou can learn a lot about someone from the music they listen to. Here's the game: hit shuffle on your music player, and write down the first 25 songs that come up. No cheating or skipping songs.
( Under the cut. )
He knows that Molly standing at the edge of the door, watching him. She's trying to avoid being seen, fingers curled around the door frame so that she can peek around it whenever she thinks he won't catch her reflection in the mirror, but he can sense her. Smell her. Hear her breathing.
He thinks that she should know better, and briefly considers commenting to that effect, but he thinks better of it. So she's not in bed -- so what? A few more minutes isn't going to make or break her ability to function in school tomorrow morning and he has a feeling she'll wander off when he's finished here in the bathroom. She's just waiting for him to get done brushing his teeth and go to bed, after all. She, like Mohinder, seems to have some extra sense that tells her he hasn't been sleeping lately and she wants to make sure he gets into bed tonight.
He smiles a little around his toothbrush at the thought. The both of the need to worry less about him. With a great number of his abilities combined and working against it, it's not like he needs to sleep. He can function without it and they don't seem to understand that. Maybe it's because they've never thought just functioning is enough.
Pushing the thought away, he leans forward to spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, and spots her hovering by the door as he straightens. She darts back behind it; he ignores her and rinses out his toothbrush, hanging it up next to Mohinder's with a smirk to himself.
He can't say he minds being worried about, even if he thinks it's ridiculous; it's nice to know that he's swayed Molly's opinion of him that much, that he's won her heart away from Parkman. He did promise to take everything from the cop, and even if he never said it out loud, never even thought it too loud, it's good to know that he's still a man of his word. It's good to feel like the winner. And, beyond all the sinister intentions he's certain he'll never be able to shake, he can't say it's not good to simply feel loved.
The smirk turns to a simple smile and he pads out of the bathroom, heading for his and Mohinder's bedroom. Molly follows a few steps behind him, quiet as a mouse, and he continues to pretend he doesn't see her, though he only closes the door halfway once he's cleared it. She lingers just outside even as he slips under the covers next to Mohinder, though he's not the only one who knows Molly's there anymore.
Mohinder shifts away from him. "Molly's -- "
He pulls him back against his chest, shushing him softly. "She'll go back to bed on her own in a minute. She just wants to make sure I got there first."
"She's worried about you," Mohinder concludes, softly.
Humming, he steals a bold kiss from Mohinder -- he can half-imagine Molly drawing little hearts on her notebook tomorrow with their initials in them -- and drops his head back to the pillow. And just loud enough for Molly to hear, his eyes slipping closed, he announces, "I'll sleep tonight. I promise."
That seems to be enough for Molly and she wanders off, heading back to her own bed, and true to his word, he's asleep just a few minutes later.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 575
Note: Molly ishumanmapquest and is used at her request. Mohinder is capableof_both and is used without permission but with love.
He thinks that she should know better, and briefly considers commenting to that effect, but he thinks better of it. So she's not in bed -- so what? A few more minutes isn't going to make or break her ability to function in school tomorrow morning and he has a feeling she'll wander off when he's finished here in the bathroom. She's just waiting for him to get done brushing his teeth and go to bed, after all. She, like Mohinder, seems to have some extra sense that tells her he hasn't been sleeping lately and she wants to make sure he gets into bed tonight.
He smiles a little around his toothbrush at the thought. The both of the need to worry less about him. With a great number of his abilities combined and working against it, it's not like he needs to sleep. He can function without it and they don't seem to understand that. Maybe it's because they've never thought just functioning is enough.
Pushing the thought away, he leans forward to spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, and spots her hovering by the door as he straightens. She darts back behind it; he ignores her and rinses out his toothbrush, hanging it up next to Mohinder's with a smirk to himself.
He can't say he minds being worried about, even if he thinks it's ridiculous; it's nice to know that he's swayed Molly's opinion of him that much, that he's won her heart away from Parkman. He did promise to take everything from the cop, and even if he never said it out loud, never even thought it too loud, it's good to know that he's still a man of his word. It's good to feel like the winner. And, beyond all the sinister intentions he's certain he'll never be able to shake, he can't say it's not good to simply feel loved.
The smirk turns to a simple smile and he pads out of the bathroom, heading for his and Mohinder's bedroom. Molly follows a few steps behind him, quiet as a mouse, and he continues to pretend he doesn't see her, though he only closes the door halfway once he's cleared it. She lingers just outside even as he slips under the covers next to Mohinder, though he's not the only one who knows Molly's there anymore.
Mohinder shifts away from him. "Molly's -- "
He pulls him back against his chest, shushing him softly. "She'll go back to bed on her own in a minute. She just wants to make sure I got there first."
"She's worried about you," Mohinder concludes, softly.
Humming, he steals a bold kiss from Mohinder -- he can half-imagine Molly drawing little hearts on her notebook tomorrow with their initials in them -- and drops his head back to the pillow. And just loud enough for Molly to hear, his eyes slipping closed, he announces, "I'll sleep tonight. I promise."
That seems to be enough for Molly and she wanders off, heading back to her own bed, and true to his word, he's asleep just a few minutes later.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 575
Note: Molly is
humanmapquest and is used at her request. Mohinder is capableof_both and is used without permission but with love.
for the_muses_stage: shaken
Mar. 6th, 2010 12:22 pmPeter had disappeared down the hallway under the pretense of going to grab a coffee, and while Sylar doubted the other man would actually come back with caffeine, he couldn't say he wasn't grateful for a few minutes alone. He needed time to think.
Not that Peter had been particularly chatty after the doctor had destroyed their worlds with a handful of words, it was more the way he'd looked at him. He still couldn't quite fathom his and Claire's relationship, but the loss of a life was something he could understand and he'd taken to watching Sylar with soft puppy dog eyes, his expression one of sympathy. Of pity. If this were any other situation, if the doctor's announcement hadn't left him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut, he would have killed him for that look on principle alone. Instead he'd just helped himself to one of the chairs by the window of Claire's room and did his best to ignore him, trying to get his head on straight. And finally, thankfully, with Peter gone, he found his thoughts starting to slow to a pace he could catch up with.
Sighing, he turned sideways in the chair, pressing his face up against the glass and watched Claire through slits in the blinds before closing his eyes. Pregnant. Claire had been pregnant. How the hell had he missed that? He supposed, on one hand, that it was because he'd never expected it to happen. True, they hadn't exactly been careful, never bothering with protection, but he'd just sort of assumed that her ability wouldn't allow for it, her body getting rid of it at the start because it was an imperfection. A parasite it needed to heal through. Apparently he'd been wrong and somehow he'd been too caught up in doing other things to notice the second, smaller heartbeat.
Assuming the thing had been alive long enough to have developed a heart in the first place.
He slid a hand up over his face, knuckles dragging against the glass softly, and rubbed at his eyes. His hand fell back into his lap with the thought that he should have been there. He was fairly certain that he wasn't ready to be a father, positive that he didn't want to be one, but he had an obligation to protect what was his and he supposed that had extended to the child he never knew about. He should have sent Peter to the girl Bennet had pointed out to them; he should have left one of his doubles with them when he went to claim his prize. He should have been there.
Tensing, rage coiled in his chest and he tried to swallow it down, battling down the urge to put his fist through the glass. And when he won out over his anger, he opened his eyes and let something near numbness touch to the places where fury had been a moment before, turning fire to ice. For as much as he hadn't wanted this -- never dreamed of it -- it hurt. Even someone like him could understand the loss of something precious, and now more than ever he was certain that Samuel would die and die horribly by his hand.
It wasn't hate or a love of violence that fueled that thought, though, something too oddly broken within him to contemplate either; it was simply a calm, unequivocal truth. For leaving him with this shroud of emotion that he hadn't felt since his mother's death and couldn't quite cope with, for stripping him of might have been's, whether or not he'd wanted them to begin with, the carnie would suffer.
He had to hold on to that. He had to because the alternatives -- dealing with his apparent grief, accepting Peter's sympathy, anything -- seemed far more frightening than the war he had started.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 640
Note: Follows this, this, this, this, this, this, and this.
Not that Peter had been particularly chatty after the doctor had destroyed their worlds with a handful of words, it was more the way he'd looked at him. He still couldn't quite fathom his and Claire's relationship, but the loss of a life was something he could understand and he'd taken to watching Sylar with soft puppy dog eyes, his expression one of sympathy. Of pity. If this were any other situation, if the doctor's announcement hadn't left him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut, he would have killed him for that look on principle alone. Instead he'd just helped himself to one of the chairs by the window of Claire's room and did his best to ignore him, trying to get his head on straight. And finally, thankfully, with Peter gone, he found his thoughts starting to slow to a pace he could catch up with.
Sighing, he turned sideways in the chair, pressing his face up against the glass and watched Claire through slits in the blinds before closing his eyes. Pregnant. Claire had been pregnant. How the hell had he missed that? He supposed, on one hand, that it was because he'd never expected it to happen. True, they hadn't exactly been careful, never bothering with protection, but he'd just sort of assumed that her ability wouldn't allow for it, her body getting rid of it at the start because it was an imperfection. A parasite it needed to heal through. Apparently he'd been wrong and somehow he'd been too caught up in doing other things to notice the second, smaller heartbeat.
Assuming the thing had been alive long enough to have developed a heart in the first place.
He slid a hand up over his face, knuckles dragging against the glass softly, and rubbed at his eyes. His hand fell back into his lap with the thought that he should have been there. He was fairly certain that he wasn't ready to be a father, positive that he didn't want to be one, but he had an obligation to protect what was his and he supposed that had extended to the child he never knew about. He should have sent Peter to the girl Bennet had pointed out to them; he should have left one of his doubles with them when he went to claim his prize. He should have been there.
Tensing, rage coiled in his chest and he tried to swallow it down, battling down the urge to put his fist through the glass. And when he won out over his anger, he opened his eyes and let something near numbness touch to the places where fury had been a moment before, turning fire to ice. For as much as he hadn't wanted this -- never dreamed of it -- it hurt. Even someone like him could understand the loss of something precious, and now more than ever he was certain that Samuel would die and die horribly by his hand.
It wasn't hate or a love of violence that fueled that thought, though, something too oddly broken within him to contemplate either; it was simply a calm, unequivocal truth. For leaving him with this shroud of emotion that he hadn't felt since his mother's death and couldn't quite cope with, for stripping him of might have been's, whether or not he'd wanted them to begin with, the carnie would suffer.
He had to hold on to that. He had to because the alternatives -- dealing with his apparent grief, accepting Peter's sympathy, anything -- seemed far more frightening than the war he had started.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 640
Note: Follows this, this, this, this, this, this, and this.
monthly writing requirements (march)
Mar. 1st, 2010 02:00 pmFor my own state of mind, just so I remember what I've done and still need to do. Yes, my memory is that crummy.
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
( Monthly Writing Requirements )
for the_muses_stage: wrecked
Feb. 28th, 2010 06:48 pmHe hadn't bothered to change back into the clothes he'd been wearing before he'd killed Jenny nor had he even gone to retrieve them. He'd thought about it briefly on his way back to the car, of course, knowing that changing his clothes would be the smart thing to do, lessening his risk of getting caught or having to explain things to Peter, but he found he really didn't care. He was in too good a mood, acquiring an ability of this magnitude leaving him near shivering with pleasure and certain that he couldn't be stopped.
So what if someone saw the blood that the browns of he uniform proudly displayed? Maybe he'd see if he couldn't make himself pyrokinetic -- he'd always wanted to be pyrokinetic -- and make them sorely regret seeing anything. Maybe he'd do something else to the same effect. Telepathy, the Haitian's ability, something. It didn't matter; he could do anything. He was sitting on a Goddamn gold mine, and while admittedly getting a new toy this way probably wouldn't be as satisfying as tearing through someone's skull like cheap wrapping paper, it didn't matter. Not right now, not while basking in the afterglow of a hunger sated.
And speaking of and in a mood to press his luck, he shifted slightly, his steps carrying him now to the diner he'd seen on the way from the motel rather than back to it immediately. His need for abilities might have fallen silent, but it occurred to him idly that he was still starving. He wanted breakfast -- waffles, maybe, and he'd sit in the booth, bathed in blood and eat them merrily, ignoring all the looks he was sure to get -- and he would damn well have it.
( Grinning, he pushed open the door and straightened a bit, drawing attention to himself, and moved to stand by the hostess stand, all but bouncing on his feet. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1029
Note: Follows this, this, this, and this.
So what if someone saw the blood that the browns of he uniform proudly displayed? Maybe he'd see if he couldn't make himself pyrokinetic -- he'd always wanted to be pyrokinetic -- and make them sorely regret seeing anything. Maybe he'd do something else to the same effect. Telepathy, the Haitian's ability, something. It didn't matter; he could do anything. He was sitting on a Goddamn gold mine, and while admittedly getting a new toy this way probably wouldn't be as satisfying as tearing through someone's skull like cheap wrapping paper, it didn't matter. Not right now, not while basking in the afterglow of a hunger sated.
And speaking of and in a mood to press his luck, he shifted slightly, his steps carrying him now to the diner he'd seen on the way from the motel rather than back to it immediately. His need for abilities might have fallen silent, but it occurred to him idly that he was still starving. He wanted breakfast -- waffles, maybe, and he'd sit in the booth, bathed in blood and eat them merrily, ignoring all the looks he was sure to get -- and he would damn well have it.
( Grinning, he pushed open the door and straightened a bit, drawing attention to himself, and moved to stand by the hostess stand, all but bouncing on his feet. )
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1029
Note: Follows this, this, this, and this.
