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shatterverse2009-02-24 04:35 pm
leto-reficio.livejournal.com) wrote in shatterverse2009-02-24 04:35 pm
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(no subject)
In Metropolis, there is a motel.
It's haunted by something that you can't see, can't hear, can't smell, can only feel as a chill in the air.
It's been abandoned for a long time. There are signs of later habitation -- clothes, disturbed dust, a little food -- but nothing more recent than the unbroken circle of salt around it that was laid down more than a week ago.
Sylar can't cross it. He's tried, many times, but an invisible wall rises up in front of him, as high as he can go. He can't touch the stuff, can't disturb it, can't do anything but hope that someone living will come and create a break in the circle. He's trapped.
The whole setting is somehow eerie.
He wasn't killed by the battle and the exorcisms, wasn't sent over to some more distant afterlife or oblivion, but he was weakened considerably. And, bereft of any human contact, Sylar is losing his grip on the world of the living.
It's haunted by something that you can't see, can't hear, can't smell, can only feel as a chill in the air.
It's been abandoned for a long time. There are signs of later habitation -- clothes, disturbed dust, a little food -- but nothing more recent than the unbroken circle of salt around it that was laid down more than a week ago.
Sylar can't cross it. He's tried, many times, but an invisible wall rises up in front of him, as high as he can go. He can't touch the stuff, can't disturb it, can't do anything but hope that someone living will come and create a break in the circle. He's trapped.
The whole setting is somehow eerie.
He wasn't killed by the battle and the exorcisms, wasn't sent over to some more distant afterlife or oblivion, but he was weakened considerably. And, bereft of any human contact, Sylar is losing his grip on the world of the living.
no subject
He isn't overwhelmed, because to be overwhelmed is to be brought down, suppressed; rather, he is made to overwhelm, he is filled like a balloon inflates with air, like a sponge grows heavy with water. And though he hasn't truly breathed for a long time -- he opens himself to it and breathes it in.
The stain on the air that is him is silent, unmoving, still pale, but stronger. A little darker. A little more defined.
That's an 'I like it very very much', then.
no subject
Mmmm, muffins.