shatterverse | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

There's a flash and a bang and a very confused man with ridiculous hair appears, hovering a few feet above the rubble of a destroyed parking lot.

Hey, when you can cast illusions, you don't need a comb.

"...The hell?" Sylar starts to say, and before he's quite done with the sentence it's President Nathan Petrelli who's making the quizzical exclamation to empty air, settling gently to the ground.

You can never be too careful.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Your walk." Beat. "Answer my questions and I'll answer yours?"

...now that's actually sensible.

Hmm.

Pros, cons...

"Sounds like a deal," says Sylar at last. "No. This isn't my real form."

"Okay. While we're at it, want to go get a drink? There must be an abandoned pub around here somewhere." Beat. "This is usually the point where you show me the real you, by the way."

"A drink sounds good to me." Neutrally. "And that wasn't part of the arrangement."

"Yes, but isn't it so much more friendly?"

"Oh, but I'm a lot friendlier when I'm impersonating the President."

Nathan's grin is back.

It's edged with something a little less pleasant - a hint of cruelty that probably shouldn't be examined too closely.

"Change anyway. I'm curious."

There's a short hesitation, but nobody who fails to recognize the President is going to recognize Sylar, and appeasing this kid seems to be the only way to get a better handle on that power.

The mask ripples and fades and melts into nothingness, leaving a tall, slim man with eyebrows like mating caterpillars and gravity-defying bedhead.

He's really not thinking about the presentability aspect of his true face.

"Wow. Those are some eyebrows." Thoughtfully. He refrains from adding 'I can see why you might try to hide them.'

Sylar's withering glare hasn't seen use in more than half a decade.

It suffered no loss of potency in the interim.

Solemnly: "Don't worry." Sam reaches over to pat him on the shoulder. "You're still very pretty, I'm sure."

...hmm.

Wearing his true face doesn't make Sylar any less adept at playing a part. He smiles slightly, relaxing the glare in a way that suggests a blush might be in the offing, were he undignified enough to indulge it.

"I'm sure I am," Sylar replies lightly.

It's difficult to tell whether Sam's convinced or not.

"Self-confidence is important." Solemnly.

"Naturally."

President Petrelli smiles like a shark.

Sylar doesn't smile like any kind of animal, because no kind of animal can look this calculating.

Not even armadillos?

"So, next question: What else can you do?"

Not even armadillos with abaci.

"Plenty of things," Sylar responds guardedly. "I don't keep a list on hand."

Though since one of them is eidetic memory, he doesn't need to.

"That's not really an answer."

"Is this?"

Where 'this' is a casual gesture that picks up a piece of rubble and cracks it neatly in two.

Showoff.

"No, but practical demonstrations are always fun."

"So they are."

"I know."

"And you? Got any fun practical demonstrations for me, or are you the listing type?"

Sam considers this.

Fair's fair, he supposes.

He flicks his hands, weaving several threads of light into several streams and then into a blast which ignites to become a rather blindingly bright gold flame. He absently blasts a piece of rubble with it.

"Your turn."

Well then.

Remember the 'Boom' moment?

Yeah. Like that.

"Oooh. Pretty."