shatterverse | (no subject)

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Sylar is grumpy.

And alone.

And grumpy.

And sitting out in a field. There are wildflowers. He has graciously refrained from setting them on fire, which is the extent of his goodwill towards anything at the moment.

Botherable, if you feel like being yelled at and/or mauled.

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Sam always feels like being yelled at and/or mauled!

Or something like that.

"You don't look so good." He notes from his spot (he wasn't there a few minutes ago) nearby, crouching.

"Allow me to suggest that you never pick a fight with a god. I have discovered it doesn't tend to end well."

Grumpy Sylar is grumpy. Grump grump.

Sam may laugh, a little bit.

"Why would you pick a fight with a god?"

"I believe the technical term is hubris."

He didn't expect himself to say that.

Nor did he expect himself to let Sam get away with laughing at him.

He's still going to glare, however. It's a thing.

Ignore the tiny, tiny smirk starting at the corner of his mouth. Trick of the light.

"At least you survived. It's something."

"True."

All right, now he really is smirking.

"And I managed to discorporate him temporarily."

Sylar can apparently still be a smug bastard even when half his powers are gone.

He may be getting a golf-clap.

"You still lost, man."

Sam sees no problem with mocking Sylar about this, no.

Wordless snarl.

And he sends a blast of heat Sam's way. It's not enough to harm him, just to make the point.

Sam casually dissolves into a stream of mist, and reforms next to Sylar.

"Don't be like that." Smirk.

"Don't be so irritating."

Sylar leans back on his hands and shakes his head.

"Don't be so irritable."

"I think we've already discussed your tendency to willfully annoy irritable, violent people."

Thoughtfully: "We might have."

"Evidently you missed the point of the exchange."

...dammit, he's smiling again, why is he smiling.

"Maybe you missed the point of the exchange."

Soft snort.

"Will you shut up if I give you another pony?"

"I'll consider it." Graciously.

"I'll keep it in mind as a potentially effective solution, then."

In the meantime, he's apparently content to sit back and stare up at the sky.

"You're not going to give me a pony now?"

"Are you going to shut up?" Sylar counters easily.

"I might."

Perhaps to test that, Sylar falls silent himself.

"So, apart from getting hit with the fist of an angry god, what've you been up to?"

"Very little."

He flexes his fingers, and several clods of dirt rise from the ground, fusing under incredible heat and pressure into the vague shape of a three-inch-high pony.

Which he chucks at Sam's head.

These two really aren't going to be winning any maturity contests, are they.

Sam ducks, looking a little miffed.
"You didn't have to throw it."