Howler to Sylar

[lilypotter60.livejournal.com]

After treating Susan, Lily felt it her duty, as a Professor, to take care of a little matter. A school owl was sent out, then, posthaste.



Mr. Sylar ~

It has come to my attention that you have felt the need to RIP OPEN OTHER STUDENT'S HEADS IN ORDER TO ATTACK THEIR BRAINS.

THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOUR. YOU WILL CEASE AND DESIST ANY AND ALL BRAIN-SEEKING ACTIVITIES IMMEDIATELY.

DO NOT DOUBT THAT YOUR STAY HERE WILL BE UNPLEASANT IF YOU INSIST ON CONTINUING IN THIS MANNER. IT IS NOT POLITE TO ATTEMPT TO STEAL YOUR PEERS' BRAINS. IF YOU ARE LACKING IN BRAINS, YOURSELF, THIS IS NOT THE WAY TO GO ABOUT PROCURING SOME OF YOUR OWN.

AS A CONSEQUENCE OF YOUR ACTIONS, I AM TAKING FIFTY POINTS FROM BITCHIWITCH AND ASSIGNING YOU A WEEK OF DETENTIONS.

Arrive in my office at six pm, sharp. I will give you your assignment at that time.

~ Professor Evans
Defense Against the Dark Arts

Comments

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

So little Susan had little friends in very high places, hmm? Sylar watched the Howler burst into flames and flutter across the floor of his dormitory, eyebrow cocked in a highly curious manner. Interesting. Letters. Delivered by an owl. That shouted at you. Literally.

This school got more interesting by the minute.

A week of detention, hmm? Six o'clock? He could do that. "Best do what teacher says," he murmured under his breath, eyes flickering across the smoldering remains of his Howler on the floor. "It would be a shame to upset her any more." The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, even. Sounded fascinating. A challenge, perhaps?

Who was The Clash (http://www.oneposter.com/UserData/Poster/Poster_14718.jpg)? He'd no clue. But he was wearing the t-shirt, over a long-sleeved tee, strolling down the hallway towards her office and picking at a bag of Sour Patch Kids. Sure, it was so incredibly Zane Taylor, but if it had fooled a geneticist... well. He didn't even bother with a letter back. Just went for her office. Six sharp.

He stopped outside her door, clearing his throat and taking a moment to let his features slip into something incredibly not Sylar. Jeans? Candy? A nervous look to his face as he anxiously rapped his knuckles against the door? Who would ever suspect little old him to do anything wrong?