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_logs2012-02-28 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
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."
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"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?"
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"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.