hh_mirror | Application: Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

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Application: Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

(Permission given by the lovely fellow Heroes-muns. Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for Heroes, including the finale!)

(Second warning under cut for potential series spoiler: If your character is thinking particularly loudly, beware, Peter will hear their thoughts :P)

It turned out that exploding from radioactive power hurt like a bitch. And falling from roughly 6 feet onto a stone floor wasn't terribly pleasant, either.

At least - Peter reflected hazily, blinking as his eyes regrew - he had one thing working for him. Already he could feel what little remained of his skin duplicating from what few healthy cells were left, growing back over exposed muscle and bone. It was an odd feeling; like the tingling sensation felt after all the blood had drained out of a limb. Pins and needles. Nerves reforming with tiny sparks of sensation. Kinda painful, really.

For a while, he just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened. It was slow in coming, so instead he just reflected on the spiderweb he could see gathering in one corner of the ceiling.

When the application paper fluttered into existence and appeared on a table next to him, Peter decided he couldn't be bothered moving his neck, let alone his whole body. With a gesture, he floated the paper over and let it hover a few inches away from his face, squinting to read it.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

"Mozzarella," he answered absently. "Food should be fun, and mozzarella is kind of challenging in a fun way seeing how it's so stringy."

Why the hell was he answering questions about cheese? As a break in his skull sealed over, Peter inhaled sharply in surprise. Shit, he'd blown up. His dreams came true, and he really had absorbed Ted's power and been unable to control it. Peter scrambled upwards, accidentally smacking his face into the paper in a particularly dorky move, and threw one hand out to grasp the table for balance.

Nathan. Shouldn't Nathan be here? They'd been together when he'd blown up, he thought, and... oh, shit. Nathan wouldn't survive that. He might have saved the cheerleader, saved the world (or, really, just New York city to be precise), but he'd killed his brother. He'd killed Nathan. All because he couldn't control a little nuclear power.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

After glancing at the next question, it struck Peter as being rather ironic. "I don't want to kill any more people," he answered, the shock of the situation so overwhelming that he still didn't really understand what was going on.

"I just helped kill Sylar, and..." His brother. "I don't really want any more blood on my hands. I don't know if Barney actually has blood," he took a moment to babble, "But even if he did, I wouldn't. Wouldn't, couldn't, and shouldn't."

3. What time is it where you are?

That was a good question, actually. A look at his wrist confirmed that his watch had likely melted off in the explosion. Which meant... oh god. Suddenly panicked, Peter stared down at himself. His clothes definitely didn't survive the explosion. On the fortunate side, 90% of his body was still mostly unrecognizable as even being human - still black and twisted and burnt. He'd been ignoring the pain so far.

"I don't know the time, but... I-I, um, I think I need some clothes," Peter answered, his voice strangled, trying in vain to cover himself and looking horribly embarrassed. He wasn't sure what the small, deformed things that brought them were, but at soon as provided clothes appeared on the table, Peter fled (which meant he mostly stumbled) behind a curtain that the same weird-ass creatures had set up. The still-floating application bobbed along after him.

Eventually he wandered back out, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt far too large for him. With a frown, Peter lifted his shirt and pressed his hands down on a few ribs that had broken the skin, popping them back into place so that they could heal properly. Finally, he was almost back to human.

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

"Uh." Peter scratched the back of head, not noticing when flakes of burnt skin and dried blood fluttered to the floor. "I don't really... know any of them, so, I dunno. I don't think I'd want to sexually harass someone anyway, that's kind of crazy."

He looked at his hand and grimaced, trying to scrape dried blood out from under his fingernails. Just because he was completely healed now, it didn't mean that he wasn't covered in dirt and blood. He really needed a shower.

...Thank god his hair was okay!

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

"Why would you bartend in the dark?" Peter screwed up his face in confusion, grabbing the application out of the air and holding it in his hand. He glared at it as if it were the source of his problems, which it really was, when he thought about it.

This was really confusing. And not at all what he'd been expecting after blowing up. Well, to be honest, he hadn't really though about what would happen post-explosion, he'd been so bent on trying to prevent it. Peter knew he wasn't dead (...though Nathan might be...), but this was just strange. "I'd name it Simone's," he finished, trying for 'impatient' but mostly ending up with ~~emo~~ 'nostalgic'.

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

"I don't know!" Peter threw his hands up the air in exasperation, his forehead creasing in the beginnings of frustration. "I don't even know where the hell I am, let alone who this Harry guy should marry!

Lowering his arms, Peter exhaled a measured breath, trying to calm himself down. It was hard, with the post-explosion and not knowing if Nathan was alive and hoping that everybody else was alive, but he managed. "Okay, maybe he should just wait a year and see what happens. Relationships change, and so does destiny. He might grow closer to one and not the other, and then he can get married. ...I was never the best mythology student, that's all I've got."

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

"Oh, man, paperwork sucks," Peter sympathized. Who he was sympathizing with, he didn't know, but the question called for it. "My brother used to deal with it all the time," he paused awkwardly, "Or maybe he still does, I don't know. And back when I was a hospice nurse, there was way too much of it to deal with. I swear it just kept multiplying. So, if you don't want heaps of it, you should probably just quit your job and become a hobo."

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Abruptly, Peter's expression darkened, and he raked his hands through his hair. That was an interesting question. Could he prove he wasn't useless? Sure, he had the powers he'd picked up from other people. And he'd saved New York. But he'd earned himself exactly one dead brother.

...But maybe Nathan wasn't dead. Maybe Peter was just missing time, and they'd separated at the last moment, far enough away. Maybe. Too many maybes.

"I don't know if I can." Peter frowned at the application paper. "I mean, I can do stuff, and I think I just saved a lot of lives, but... I don't know. I hope I'm not."

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe.

Now that was going to be interesting. Everything Peter had had on his person had been burned to a crisp. He wasn't sure about this bribe business - in a family involved with the government, one tended not to look too kindly upon bribes - but perhaps he should at least offer something. Maybe, if he did, he could prove he wasn't useless.

"I guess I can help with things. Uh, moving big objects... interrogating people..." Peter struggled to find applications for his powers for more menial tasks. "I can probably melt metal now. Or... melt anything. Oh, and I can paint okay." Thanks to Isaac - though it might not be a particularly pleasant subject, depending on what the future held.

But to hell with the future, Peter wanted to know what was happening right now.

I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ______PP______
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _____PP______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____PP______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ______PP_______

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

What the... He'd almost forgotten about the invisibility. Almost. Only this time wasn't nearly so easy a solution to solve, because, no, there wasn't a convenient abundance of glass laying around on the floor. Sylar let his eyes narrow, head bowing towards the floor a bit as his fingers flexed at his side.

Peter wanted to do this the hard way? Fine. They could do that.

It barely took a second for Sylar to pick out Peter's racing pulse, the heart pounding out a staccato rhythm in his chest that was nearly like a snare drum to Sylar's ears. Every hit and... there. Bursts of light flared up from Sylar's hands, and he let one slam squarely towards the center of Peter's chest, his own eyes glittering with malice in light of the situation.

"Is that a dare? Or a double dare?" he asked in a coo of a voice, letting his tone turn just as icy as his gaze. "It's hard to hide from somebody who can hear every... last... breath that you inhale, remember."

Peter didn't really have time to be surprised that Sylar had been able to aim right for him; the energy hitting him in the chest sent him stumbling back into the table, the edge colliding sharply with his spine. "Fuck," he cursed, and was about to retaliate when - what the hell was happening?

The sounds around him increased to the point of ear-splitting pain, and Peter grabbed his forehead, becoming visible again in his distraction. He could hear everything - Sylar's breathing, people moving in other rooms, the buzz of a fly hovering around a window. Breathing harshly, Peter glared furiously at Sylar - he must have murdered someone with super hearing, god damn.

"Sometimes I really I hate you," he gritted, wincing at the sound of his voice. Still clutching his head and narrowing his eyes against what felt like the worst migraine in the world, Peter stumbled a few steps to the left and swept his hand out, baring his teeth in anger as he sent the table hurtling at Sylar.

What was he doing? He was grabbing at his head and... almost like... Oh, dammit. How could he have let that slip? Great. Now the guy had his hearing too. Without even trying. There was a difference between Peter and Sylar. Sylar earned what he had taken, at least. Peter leeched off of others, sometimes without even their knowing, his knowing. He didn't deserve what he stole. And then he just flashed the damn things in front of everybody like some kind of stage show. If he knew what the hell he was dealing with, they wouldn't have had to worry about the bomb business in the first place. It wouldn't have happened.

"Trust me," he growled. "The feeling's mutual." Sylar'd gone through all that, with the hearing? Even when you learned to control it, it never stopped bothering you. Hopefully, Peter would have an affinity for rap music. Because he was going to need it.

The table shot at Sylar and he automatically raised his hand, stopping the thing in midair without so much as a blink. "Using my own powers against me?" he asked, his voice delving into a cold, icy tone as the table hovered lazily in midair in front of him. "Cute, Peter. Very cute." His fingers flips, and the tables quite literally turned. Towards Peter. "You know. It's almost poetic." He let the last word jump out in a snarl, sending the table shooting back towards Peter with a flick of his fingers.

That goddamn fly buzzing around was about to drive Peter nuts; the sound was louder than a jackhammer, pounding with a rather malicious intent right into Peter's eardrums. Sylar's voice was even worse. Peter clapped his hands over his ears and hoped blindly that the table had just hit the bastard.

Abruptly, the sound cut out, and Peter's head snapped upwards in surprise - only to find the table heading directly for him. Deprived of the time to react, the hit knocked Peter to the ground, rolling before he stopped finally, sprawled out on his back, dazed. "Ow," he muttered, feeling the bruises start to heal. The corner of the table had caught him in the head, and touching his fingers to his forehead revealed blood. Gee, great.

It felt like they were at a stale-mate, and Peter was beginning to get very frustrated. He sat up, glaring at Sylar, and did a quick check around to see if there was anything he could throw at him. Not much. "I would have thought third time would be the charm," Peter mocked, trying not to sound so breathless. "But you still didn't kill me, did you?"

Crap, there had to be something he could do to knock Sylar out and stop this.

Sylar watched the table slam into Peter with that same sort of sick satisfaction he'd let bleed out earlier, mouth twirling up into a bit of a cruel smile. Not that the thing would have done much damage - look, bastard was already starting to heal himself. God, what Sylar would do for that power.

Not that he wasn't already seemingly indestructible on his own. Third time? Definitely not the charm. But really, neither had been the fourth (http://youtube.com/watch?v=0qaBtD6gmhY). ...Or the fifth (http://www.stripedwall.com/gallery.php?image=/television/Heroes/HeroesS1/heroes113/Heroes000609.jpg&mode=fullsize), really. Sylar was kind of a cockroach - he had no room to talk about not-dying with Peter. He was the prime example of it.

"Here's to hoping that it will be, for you," Sylar shot back in a snippy tone, as the dozens of applications that had once been in a neat little stack on the table suddenly started whirling around in an ominous bit of a flurry behind him. He rounded back in on Peter, his steps slow and precise, until he was only a couple yards away from the other man again. "You can't win, Peter. I think now's the time to stop trying."

Scrambling to his feet, Peter eyed the tornado of paper circling behind Sylar. He raised his eyebrows, laughed sharply. "What, are you gonna attack me with paper next? I don't think paper cuts are really going to take me down," he snerked, repressing the occasional wince as sound continued cut in and out. What a bitch of an ability.

"And," he continued, "I think we've proven that you can't win either, so how about you stop trying to take peoples brains?" It didn't even need to be said out loud that Peter would continue to try and stop Sylar by whatever means possible. Determination was a stubborn quality.

To be honest, the paper really wasn't intentional. He was losing control of his emotions again, sending objects which way and that. Peter's words made him pause a beat, the flurry coming to a halt as the things fluttered easily to the floor, in a smattering of pale parchment across the stones. Right. Control. He had to keep himself in check.

"Tell me, how many times does that actually work on somebody?" Sylar asked in a cool sort of voice, narrowing his eyes to Peter and letting the table lift behind them, his hands burning to a florescent shade of orange. "Why should I stop?" He so no method to Peter's madness. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you right now. Just one."

With a narrow-eyed glance from Peter, the table that Sylar had been lifting suddenly slammed back down into the ground again. The loud thunk was hell on his hearing, but Peter kept his ground, restraining himself from shifting nervously. The fact that Sylar looked about ready to use radioactive power didn't scare him, but he'd be happy if he never saw and used the stuff ever again.

"One good reason that you shouldn't kill me?" Peter snorted sharply. "I've got one. You can't."

There was nothing else for it - Peter dodged forward and launched a right hook aimed at Sylar's face, connecting with the strength he'd absorbed from Niki. Sometimes the simplest methods were the best.

Ow. Hadn't been expecting that. Sylar automatically went reeling, the added strength of the punch sending him to the floor, on all fours. Peter was far more trouble than he was cut out for. Sylar was going to thoroughly enjoy when his end came.

Not that it had him off-kilter long. Sylar was back on his feet after an instant, not looking to Peter for a few long seconds. Hand to his cheek, he simply cracked his jaw once, letting his gaze linger on the floor for a moment longer before he darted it to Peter with the kind of malice that took talent to get across. It would have been fantastic if looks could kill. Because Peter would be in a pile of his own limbs on the floor of the Sorting Room right now.

Couldn't kill him. Right. Not with Claire's powers, that regeneration. But that could be remodeled. After a fashion.

"Careful, Pete, remember last time you got a little too into punching someone," was all he replied in turn, however, his voice icily silky smooth. "Little Peter Petrelli just might go..." He held up his fist, letting his fingers fly open with a small flare of radiation. "Pop."

Folding his arms over his chest, Peter put on his best 'I'll kill you if you make another move' look. Internally, he was already calculating ways to get rid of Sylar once and for all. He could grab Sylar and fly a few miles up - even a cockroach like Sylar wouldn't be able to survive that fall, he didn't think. He could just stop time and cut his head off.

But there was always a little part of Peter's brain that was far too optimistic for his own good - if Sylar would just stop killing people, then Peter wouldn't need to defend them. Was that too much to ask? He'd just blown up - was it really too difficult for fate to give him a break and just let him lie around on his couch and watch gameshows for a while?

Apparently. Even at Sylar's taunting, Peter stood his ground. "Yeah, and I also remember that I didn't die. Pity, I could have finished you off if I hadn't gotten distracted."

Peter shouldn't make that face. It didn't suit too well, what with the hair hanging in his eyes and all.

"Distracted?" Sylar repeated, touching his fingers to his jaw one last time and letting his hand slide away. That was certainly going to bruise tomorrow. "Distracted, is that what you're calling it?" His eyes were narrowed, brows slanting downwards into a glare. "Radiation manipulation that you leech off of Ted Sprague. You lose control of it, nearly wipe out half of New York, and you call it distracted?"

He rolled his eyes then, looking away for a moment before letting his gaze land back onto Peter with a hardened look. "Ah, right, right. Because Peter Petrelli gets to be the big hero. He couldn't have possibly been the bomb. Had to be that Sylar guy, the one who killed Molly Walker's parents and cut off the top of Isaac Mendez's head, right? Just blame him, it would be SO EASY." He would love Peter Petrelli a lot more when the guy was splattered across the sidewalk.

Though Peter had no clue exactly who Molly Walker and her parents were, the news that Sylar had killed Isaac was shocking enough to make him freeze up. He'd never been on the best terms with Isaac, but ultimately he hadn't deserved death. Peter had wondered where he'd been.

"Bastard," he said lowly, mostly to himself rather than Sylar. No, he didn't blame Sylar for his own inability to control Ted's radioactive power, that had been all his own fault. "Why Isaac? Was being able to paint the future so necessary to you that you saw no problem with cutting off his head?" Peter's voice had risen to a shout by the end of his sentence.

And chalk another person up on the tally of people that Peter Petrelli couldn't save. At this rate, he might as well just offer himself up if it would stop Sylar from killing more people.

Why did he kill Isaac Mendez? Because... he had been a heroin addict. Because... of some kind of justification in his mind that Isaac didn't deserve them. Because Sylar didn't exactly want half of New York getting taken out by a human nuclear bomb, maybe, and he would have done anything to stop that? God forbid he not want millions of people dying. Who would not want THAT? Honestly.

The way Peter was looking at him, it was like Sylar got off on cutting people's heads open or something. God. He did what he did for a purpose. He wasn't a monster.

At least he'd like to think that he wasn't.

Sylar's mouth only curled up at the corner, into a smug sort of sneer, his eyebrows furrowing at the other man. Peter Petrelli. God, Sylar just wanted him gone. "Right. Because I need to explain myself to you," he replied in a low voice, rolling his eyes.

"Like you could," Peter snapped. "You can't just explain away any kind of screwed up logic that makes you want to kill people, Sylar. Not when you take out their brain and abilities just so that you can feel a little more special."

Shifting his weight from one foot to another, Peter tried to keep his eyes on Sylar while also looking around the room for something he could use to knock him out. The powers he had were mostly non-offensive, something that was really frustrating right about now.

Did he have to repeat himself? Like hell he was going to tell Peter. Like hell. Peter Petrelli didn't deserve Sylar's explanation for why he committed his murders. He wouldn't care. He'd chalk it up to Sylar's craziness. Nobody would understand it like Sylar did. They wouldn't get it, and so he felt no obligation to share. No, Peter Petrelli hadn't earned the right to hear what he had to say.

He'd earned himself a spot of pain, though, definitely.

All at once, one of the chairs that had been sitting calmly by the table, out of the way, slammed against the stone floor, splintering into hundreds of pieces. As each one lifted, slowly, all with a simple outstretch of Sylar's hand, he could only narrow his eyes at Peter, dangerous slits that were warning the boy to stop, now, while he still could. "Unfortunately, I'm not willing to test that theory."

Even as Peter saw the undoubtedly sharp remnants of chair rise up, he continued to stand his ground. Foolish, most likely, but it wasn't anything he couldn't heal from. And stop with time, if he was lucky.

Instead of giving up or pleading for mercy, Peter simply furrowed his eyebrows. Even if Sylar did have some crazy reasoning - which he likely did - it still wouldn't be anything that Peter could hope to comprehend. Killing people for gain just didn't make sense in his mind.

"I have a few theories I'd like to test," Peter commented, forcing his voice into a casual tone despite the threat. "Like, what would happen if I dropped you from miles in the air. Or let you starve. Or chopped off your legs. It'd be harder to kill people when you don't have legs, am I right?"

Ballsy. No, really. Sylar was almost impressed.

"What's that?" he asked in a cautious sort of voice, eyebrows raising in something that almost resembled intrigue. "Someone's developing a back bone." The idea of... It brought back memories of Primatech, being locked inside that damned cell for days (felt like years) on end, lack of food, drugs pumping through his system... Even Sylar would admit that the threats were a little unnerving. ...Aww. His little Peter was growing up.

But still stupid. "Growing a back bone and forgetting the little tiny detail of: 'magic school'," he added in a snipe, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the other man. "You can't win, Peter." Not that Sylar could win either, not here, at any rate, but that was totally beside the point right now. "But I'd like to see you try."

And then, of course, each and every last splinter from the chair started hurtling in towards Peter.

Sometimes it was really hard to ignore basic human instinct. It had been screaming at him to duck down, cover his face, step to the side - none, of course, would have helped. But as soon as Sylar had finished taunting him, Peter had closed his eyes tightly, concentrating fiercely.

He could feel a dozen sharp pains, but not hundreds. Hesitantly, Peter opened his eyes, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief when he saw the wood frozen in midair. Beyond them, Sylar and the rest of the room hung in suspense, too. Collecting himself, Peter stepped out of the way of the barrage. A couple of the ones at the front had actually hit him - he'd been just a little too slow - but it was nothing he couldn't deal with.

Peter let time restart again, and began casually picking the splinters out of his skin, unable to restrain a slight wince every time he did so. "Nice try," he sarcastically congratulated.

He was expecting something, of course. Peter was definitely getting better, Sylar would give him that. Nearly a formidable opponent. He never thought he'd see the day. But he was honing his skills. And Sylar'd expected...

Not that.

The splinters hit the opposite wall and fell to the ground, in a shower of clacks. What the... No. "That's a new one," he replied automatically, before his eyes had even been given the chance to land back onto Peter. "Been hanging out with Hiro Nakamura, have we?" Of course. Even those split few seconds Peter had been near the guy, back at Kirby Plaza, would have been enough. That wasn't even considering the fact that they could have possibly met on some other occasion.

Bastard. He evolved so easily. He didn't even think twice about what he was doing.

It wasn't actually that new, even if Peter had only used it once before. He almost hadn't expected it to work, it took a lot of a effort, but at least he'd stopped it. One of those shards of wood could have gone into his brain, and it would have been bye, bye, Peter. For a little while, anyway.

"Actually," a rare expression came over Peter's face, something that almost resembled smugness, "That's not the only new thing. The people here have a lot of interesting abilities." That was safe to give away, Sylar would know that. And Peter would never give out the names.

With a quiet "Ow, son of a bitch," Peter pulled out the last of the splinters, and sighed. He'd just borrowed these clothes and they were already full of holes.

"Lots more tricks up my sleeve. I'd think twice about trying to kill anybody," he warned. It was kind of like a pathetic looking puppy trying to bare its teeth, but hey, his teeth were sharp. And he couldn't wait to try the wall-crawling thing he'd picked up off of May.

It was then, of course, that all glee dropped from Sylar's face, seemingly unprompted. That little... Of course. Sylar knew about powers at this school - so much power, and around every which corner - but of course Peter would be able to pick them up so much easier. With a blink of an eye. Just who had he come across here? How many people had he met? What else had he picked up on? Had he taken Susan's powers?

Sylar was going to slaughter him.

"I'm shaking in my boots, Pete," Sylar replied (even though he was wearing Converse) in a flattened, acidic sort of voice, narrowing his eyes at Peter. Great. More things he had to worry about. Maybe he could just wait for Peter to absorb the entire school and kill the bastard himself. No, really, it would all work out in Sylar's favor. He wouldn't have to go around, offing people, if he could do what Peter could do.

Peter wasn't typically the person to take pleasure in other peoples misery - he'd never been like that, always too centered around taking care of them - but he felt a small amount of triumph at the sudden change in Sylar's expression.

Hah. Peter narrowed his eyes, feeling slightly more confident. A hard thing to do, when standing in front of a serial killer. One that had nearly killed him on a number of occasions, in fact.

"You know, I am serious about dropping you off a roof," he replied, feigning casualness. "Whatever it takes, I'm going to stop you. I've proven that already."

Wow. He kind of really hated Peter right now. No, really, he would feel so much better smashing the guy's face into the pavement. It would just be so satisfying.

Still, he fixed his eyes on the other man, narrowed for a moment, before he tugged his mouth back into a pleased sort of grin that didn't quite match his features. Creepy, still, but it didn't have nearly the same zip to it for a long, few seconds.

"I wonder," he murmured aloud, tilting his head at Peter, "just how far of an extent that regenerative power reaches to. What would happen if we put Peter Petrelli through a wood chipper? ...Well, he might look somewhat like his brother probably does now, wouldn't he?"

"Shut. Up," Peter ground out, fury flashing across his expression. For a moment, he almost wished that he knew something personal about Sylar, something that would really push his buttons, just so that he could return the insult. It was a strange thing to wish for.

Twitching his hand, Peter telekinetically ripped a leg off a nearby chair, and with a thought, it was rushing towards Sylar - missing impaling his head by what was probably only a few inches. The miss had been intentional, but Peter still looked like he would have liked nothing more than to his his target.

"The next one goes through your head," he warned, his voice low in anger that was getting the better of him. "I doubt you'd survive in a wood chipper much better than I would. Good luck finding one."

The leg of the chair went flying past Sylar's head, inches from connecting and... Damn, how had he missed that? Peter Petrelli was getting better and better at honing his powers - particularly the telekinesis, which, considering Peter had just sponged the power off of him... made Sylar a very Not Happy camper - and Sylar was not liking this one bit. Peter was supposed to be the bumbling fool who couldn't even keep track of how long his own bangs were getting, never mind contain a nuclear explosion. Not the guy who posed an actual possible threat.

"I'd like to see you try," he sniped back in return, nonetheless, glowering towards the male and stretching his fingers. "You'd be surprised just what I can make it through, Pete." A wood chipper, okay, maybe not, but you'd have a hell of a time getting him into one of those anyway.

Application: Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

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