Sylar | Gabriel Gray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gabriel_gray) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-08-03 12:08 am
gabriel_gray) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-08-03 12:08 am
Entry tags:
My mind is set on overdrive
Who: Sylar and Peter
When: August 2nd
Where:
Summary: A tearful reunion. Sort of.
Warnings: tl;dr I guess. Also killers.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence, of confusion, not knowing even his own name, only hearing murmurs, getting feelings about the city, sleeping in dark places and under ripped tarpaulines. He spent his time scaring away the things in the Darkness just as much as having sleepless nights as a cause of them; exhausting nights that left him dozing in the sunshine.
He'd learned that this place was called Siren's Port, and that he knew it, or at least he knew some parts of it, like he'd looked at photographs of it before he'd come here. The problem was that he didn't remember anywhere else. There was just this city, nothing else. He'd woken up in the dark, and stumbled out into it like a newborn, his mind vacant - space for rent.
And so here he was, standing again in an empty space that ought to be familiar but...
His fingers brushed across the brushed steel table outside the cafe, watching the people moving about on their everyday business. There were hundreds of them in sight, probably thousands down here, but he felt like he should steer clear of them, certain they wouldn't be friendly. People so rarely were. Filthy and ragged, he frightened almost everyone he came into contact with, his beard overgrown and hair unkempt, eyes slightly less wild now than they had been when this had started. Even the unfamiliar familiarity was something he had settled into now, and there was just a tiredness about it all.
Would he ever find out who he was, where he was from, how he'd come to be here? Did he want to? What would happen to him?
Almost the instant before he managed to sit down in the wicker chair beside the table a flustered looking waitress rushed out to try and shoo him away, making a disgusted face at the sight of him. He reached out, hand catching hers briefly, and for a moment there was a flash of blood, a knife driven through a hand, and his recoil was almost faster than hers. Whatever that was, he didn't want to see it, and his retreating steps took him back from the almost hidden cafe, and then at a rush out of the Underground Mall and back up to street level, where he filled his lungs with air, feeling the claustrophobia of panic ease from around his lungs.
Quietly, his hands shaking, he edged back into the shade beside the entrance again, wrapping his arms around himself as he went, and sinking quietly, unhappily, all the way down to the ground. Why did he keep seeing those things? What did they mean? The people here had powers - so had he, he'd discovered - so was this one of his? These gruesome flickers of imagery, knowing this place--could it be possible that he was seeing things that had happened? Or maybe would happen? And why not?
He just wished that, maybe for a little while, it would stop.
When: August 2nd
Where:
Summary: A tearful reunion. Sort of.
Warnings: tl;dr I guess. Also killers.
It had been two weeks. Two weeks of silence, of confusion, not knowing even his own name, only hearing murmurs, getting feelings about the city, sleeping in dark places and under ripped tarpaulines. He spent his time scaring away the things in the Darkness just as much as having sleepless nights as a cause of them; exhausting nights that left him dozing in the sunshine.
He'd learned that this place was called Siren's Port, and that he knew it, or at least he knew some parts of it, like he'd looked at photographs of it before he'd come here. The problem was that he didn't remember anywhere else. There was just this city, nothing else. He'd woken up in the dark, and stumbled out into it like a newborn, his mind vacant - space for rent.
And so here he was, standing again in an empty space that ought to be familiar but...
His fingers brushed across the brushed steel table outside the cafe, watching the people moving about on their everyday business. There were hundreds of them in sight, probably thousands down here, but he felt like he should steer clear of them, certain they wouldn't be friendly. People so rarely were. Filthy and ragged, he frightened almost everyone he came into contact with, his beard overgrown and hair unkempt, eyes slightly less wild now than they had been when this had started. Even the unfamiliar familiarity was something he had settled into now, and there was just a tiredness about it all.
Would he ever find out who he was, where he was from, how he'd come to be here? Did he want to? What would happen to him?
Almost the instant before he managed to sit down in the wicker chair beside the table a flustered looking waitress rushed out to try and shoo him away, making a disgusted face at the sight of him. He reached out, hand catching hers briefly, and for a moment there was a flash of blood, a knife driven through a hand, and his recoil was almost faster than hers. Whatever that was, he didn't want to see it, and his retreating steps took him back from the almost hidden cafe, and then at a rush out of the Underground Mall and back up to street level, where he filled his lungs with air, feeling the claustrophobia of panic ease from around his lungs.
Quietly, his hands shaking, he edged back into the shade beside the entrance again, wrapping his arms around himself as he went, and sinking quietly, unhappily, all the way down to the ground. Why did he keep seeing those things? What did they mean? The people here had powers - so had he, he'd discovered - so was this one of his? These gruesome flickers of imagery, knowing this place--could it be possible that he was seeing things that had happened? Or maybe would happen? And why not?
He just wished that, maybe for a little while, it would stop.