Sylar | Gabriel Gray (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sirenspull_logs2012-02-28 01:20 am
gabriel_gray) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-02-28 01:20 am
Entry tags:
And I can't sail my yacht, he's taken everything I've got
Who: Gabriel Gray/Sylar (gabriel_gray) and Amy Pond (sharp) and eventually Peter Petrelli (askedtobe)
When: Monday 27th, early afternoon
Where: Peter's apartment
Summary: Amy drops in on Peter and finds someone else making themselves at home.
Warnings: Mention of violence, possible actual violence, mental malevolence and possible shenanigans, but nothing quite yet.
gabriel_graysharpaskedtobeThe sofa seemed to have recovered from the violence it had been put through a few days ago, and the TV wasn't lying smashed in a million pieces any more, which meant that Sylar, still wearing his collar because Peter was an ungrateful wretch could at least spend his afternoon in exile stretched out watching reruns of old sitcoms. He'd rather, he thought, claw his own grey matter out with the lid of a cat food tin, or better yet someone else's, but he had already done all the washing up and cleaned the fridge, and the whole place smelt of bleach anyway from Peter's vicous cleansing of the house the day after the Joker's attack.
Things were in order, which meant all he had to keep him busy was the TV and Mr. Muggles, whom he combed with the tiny dog brush, doing little more, he thought, than making his fluff fluffier, and pulling ridiculous amounts of it out in the process.
"Yes, I think so too," he said to the dog, as though in the middle of a conversation with him. "TV does rot your brain." But the dog liked it more than he did, and the sound in the apartment made it seem friendlier somehow. He left it on and went to the kitchen to find some OJ, brushing his hand back over his head to flatten his already flat hair in the process. He considered fetching a glass, but Peter wasn't home, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He drunk it from the carton instead, ambling back into the other room.
This wasn't so bad. It was claustrophobic, sure, but he'd spend most of his life in a cramped watch shop, and this was a paradise compared to that. Besides which it was safe, particularly when the Joker might be after him, no matter how much bravado he conjured about strangling the clown with his own bare hands. He dropped onto the sofa again and side eyed Mr. Muggles, standing alert two feet away from the TV, on a foot stool, watching the TV with rapt fascination.
"You're eyes will go square if you stand too close to the TV," he warned, but Mr. Muggles might as well be deaf for all the attention he paid him.
gabriel_gray) and Amy Pond (sharp) and eventually Peter Petrelli (askedtobe)When: Monday 27th, early afternoon
Where: Peter's apartment
Summary: Amy drops in on Peter and finds someone else making themselves at home.
Warnings: Mention of violence, possible actual violence, mental malevolence and possible shenanigans, but nothing quite yet.
gabriel_graysharpaskedtobeThe sofa seemed to have recovered from the violence it had been put through a few days ago, and the TV wasn't lying smashed in a million pieces any more, which meant that Sylar, still wearing his collar Things were in order, which meant all he had to keep him busy was the TV and Mr. Muggles, whom he combed with the tiny dog brush, doing little more, he thought, than making his fluff fluffier, and pulling ridiculous amounts of it out in the process.
"Yes, I think so too," he said to the dog, as though in the middle of a conversation with him. "TV does rot your brain." But the dog liked it more than he did, and the sound in the apartment made it seem friendlier somehow. He left it on and went to the kitchen to find some OJ, brushing his hand back over his head to flatten his already flat hair in the process. He considered fetching a glass, but Peter wasn't home, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He drunk it from the carton instead, ambling back into the other room.
This wasn't so bad. It was claustrophobic, sure, but he'd spend most of his life in a cramped watch shop, and this was a paradise compared to that. Besides which it was safe, particularly when the Joker might be after him, no matter how much bravado he conjured about strangling the clown with his own bare hands. He dropped onto the sofa again and side eyed Mr. Muggles, standing alert two feet away from the TV, on a foot stool, watching the TV with rapt fascination.
"You're eyes will go square if you stand too close to the TV," he warned, but Mr. Muggles might as well be deaf for all the attention he paid him.
no subject
Unsurprised by the fact that she took the opportunity to ask him a question, he tilted his head back up, reminded himself that she was clever if she was using the opportunity to learn more about him, even if it played straight into his trap. And while he wasn't usually one to talk about his past at all, he could use it to manipulate, and now was no different.
"It may sound strange to you, but I was taught to respect the sanctity of human life. When my ability manifested it was instinctive. I knew that what I had to do wasn't what Gabriel Gray was capable of. Poor Gabriel, who said his prayers and went to church, and fixed watches. That wasn't who I was any more."
He exposed the collar again.
"But my ability is gone, and I don't know who I am any more. I can't be Gabriel again, but I'm not Sylar either. Do you know what it's like not to know who or what you are?"
no subject
But honestly, she didn't want to hear what he had to say the moment he started going on about human life. She doubted he really knew its value. She eyed his collar, curious about his ability and what exactly he could do (besides murder and kill). But reminding herself this was probably an act was becoming difficult. The question threw her off.
Of course she knew what that was like. Maybe not what she was, but definitely who. Most people in her village thought she was a bit mad, or that she didn't belong. She never felt she did. After the Doctor came back, things might not have made much more sense, but Amy knew who she wanted to be.
She hesitated, thinking how best to answer. It was part of the game now. "I did. But it's not really a problem anymore."
Which wasn't exactly the truth, but it worked for her. She didn't want to relate to him.
no subject
And if all else failed...well, he'd have to find a way to keep Peter from being implicated. Harbouring a criminal--it was a serious problem.
Quietly he had to wonder whether Peter could still read people's minds or not, like he had back in the street before Ted's murder. If he could, then it might solve all their problems. But first Peter had to get back.
"Your turn. To ask a question, I mean."
no subject
"Okay," she finally decided. And she decided to be direct. "What are you going to do with me?"
She knew he wasn't going to let her just walk out. She also knew she wasn't getting out with this secret.
no subject
Opening the door, Peter was seconds away from taking off his coat when he looked up and found Amy no more than a foot away from him, Sylar kneeling on the floor a little ways away.
Shock evident across his face, Peter had no idea what he'd just walked in to, or what his sudden appearance had stopped from occurring , but he had to think quick, puffing himself up with anger as he was quick to step between Amy and Sylar, giving the other man a fierce sort of look, with an undercurrent of confusion.
Glancing over his shoulder, he nudged at Amy, "Get out of here, okay?" Before turning back to Sylar, and near snarling, "What are you doing here?"
no subject
"Did you know you don't have anything to eat in your fridge?" He stepped slowly forward, his eyes flitting up to Peter, his lips curling into a steely smile. "Oh, I'm sorry--" A glance toward Amy. "I was lying when I said I lived here. Actually, I had hoped to hold you hostage, to answer your question. You see I..." He slipped a knife out of his right pocket. "--Was planning to get close enough to you before Peter came back. Now I see you were just too smart for me."
His eyes moved back to Peter sharply, and he projected as clearly, and urgently as he could think.
Use telekinesis. Hurt me. Make it look real.
Because this was the only way that he could keep safe here, that he could hold onto the sanctuary that he'd found with Peter. If he was forced back out onto the streets to live the way he had for the last month, he knew only one thing for truth--that he would die.