hh_mirror | Application: Dr. Mohinder Suresh, "Heroes"

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Application: Dr. Mohinder Suresh, "Heroes"

((Okayed by the other Heroes muns!))

An Indian man walks into the Sorting Room, carrying a small duffel bag, a computer bag, and a briefcase. Unlike many other applicants, he doesn't seem particularly shocked by his presence in this room; rather, he looks around with purpose, giving a satisfied nod as he surveys his surroundings.

When he spots the quill and parchment he smiles to himself and speaks in a cultured British Indian accent. "Now, how does this work?" He only registers the slightest surprise when the Dictaquill writes down his words.

"Very well, then." He sits down at the table and begins to attend to his application. "I think I can write it myself, though. Er..." He hesitates. "Thank you anyway?" He picks up the quill and begins to write.

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

I quite like paneer, which comes from my home country and is somewhat similar to feta. He smiles again, a little sadly this time, fingering the edge of the parchment as he considers his answer. Since coming to America I have to confess I developed something of a fondness for macaroni and cheese, though.

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

Mohinder stares at the question for a moment before answering. That seems a little... unorthodox. Neither, I should think.

3. What time is it where you are?

He looks at his watch. Seven minutes to twelve. ~~How ironic.~~

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.

Again, he finds himself staring. His cheeks darken slightly. I think that's a little inappropriate, really. But... Tonks does remind me slightly of someone I ~~know~~ knew.

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.

He has to think about this for a bit. Bartending is not exactly his specialty. He hardly ever even drinks. ~~Evolutionary~~ ~~Cup of Chai~~ ~~Cura~~ Finally, he writes The List and leaves it at that.

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.

The question is a little odd, but he's on infinitely more solid ground here. Well, the number three is an extremely powerful one in the mythologies of many countries. Many religions hinge on the concept of three dieties acting in tandem -- Christianity, Mithraism, Hinduism. Some mythologies even contain references to threesomes, such as Min, the Egyptian god of lettuce and sex, and his relationship with Qadash and Reshep.

On the other hand, the natural pattern of evolution indicates that one must inevitably choose one mate and not two. But as that relates to bearing children, it may not be relevant to this discussion. Yet I believe that whether homo- or heterosexual, evolution guides us all; therefore Harry might be far happier following those guidelines that nature has set out and selecting one of the two. In this particular case I don't know enough about either of the two to determine which match would be more successful, and of course in the end it must really be up to Harry.

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.

Perhaps you're a professor, and every time you manage to clear your desk your students pile more on. Or if you're in research, you're probably just adding more and more to the pile every day without even realizing it.

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Mohinder has what is probably the natural reaction to this question and bristles slightly. He's just a little sensitive about being called useless! I hardly consider myself to be useless. Until recently I was a professor at Chennai University in Madras specialising in genetics and evolution. Since leaving I've been working on an algorithm to predict the likelihood of special abilities in any given individual as well as globally. ~~Plus I have this list~~

I also make very good tea.

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. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.

Ah. A bribe. Hm. Mohinder eyes his bags and answers aloud. "Yes, well. I do have some things I could part with. On me at the moment I have my wallet, some clothes -- I have a few scarves I could give away -- some packets of chai, my cell phone... My computer, but I'm afraid I need that. Um..." He starts digging through his pockets thoughtfully, pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and a worn photograph, but smiles ruefully and puts them back. "No, I'm afraid I can't give those away. I suppose that's it, then. Oh, and I can certainly teach a lesson or two, if you like. And I'm a very good driver."

He has a few more things in his bag, nestled in among the clothes; but those, he thinks, had best stay hidden.

"I have read the

hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___MS_________
I have read the

hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ____MS_______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____MS______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____MS_________"

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Sylar could almost hear Mohinder's thoughts racing through his mind, finger to his lips as his heart did that... strange skipping thing. He was wondering if Sylar had killed Peter. If he was planning on killing Molly. Just what the hell was he planning here? Something big? Something end-of-the-world big?

Another pause, a longer one. Mohinder had asked him a question. He hadn't missed it, he just... didn't know the answer himself, really. Magic, it posed an incredible opportunity - simple spells, able to bind people's bodies, stiff as a board or... for torture. To control others. To kill with only a few words. That part, of course, was so many worlds of appealing, and definitely would be even moreso if... Sylar could manage even the simplest of charms.

"You have no idea what you've happened upon here, do you?" he asked in a voice nearly a whisper, that slow smile curling up the corners of his mouth. This school, it was just... a melting pot of people, with special abilities, with magical capabilities. It was intriguing. It was... God, it was damn exhilarating. It was like shooting fish in a barrel here.

It was that slow whisper of Sylar's that really sent shivers up Mohinder's spine. He grit his teeth, hands twitching. "I think I have some idea, yes," he murmured coldly. And then, suddenly, he couldn't restrain himself any longer; he surged to his feet, something sparking in his eyes as he rounded on Sylar. "I came here to learn! To help people!"

When he'd first heard about Hogwarts he'd hardly been able to believe his ears. A school for magic, they claimed, real magic? An entire castle full of extraordinary people learning to do extraordinary things. Of course he would want to see it.

Of course, he thought bitterly, he should have known that Sylar would too. "So, what did you come for?" he spat. "To plunder the entire school? I'm surprised there's anyone left here." He realized, with a chill, that there might not have been anyone left. Sylar was the first he'd seen. Suddenly feeling rather ill, he sank back against the table, glaring furiously at Sylar.

There was Sylar's good old Mohinder. The professor. Here to learn. Here to help. The regular Dr. Phil of the anomalies all across the globe. Sylar fixed his burst of energy with a steely sort of glare back, actually laughing a little, high and cold and every other description you could think of that made hairs stand up on the back of necks.

"You think I'm really that good?" he asked, head tilted a bit at Mohinder. "No, everybody's still here." He hadn't actually killed anyone yet. Well, unless you counted Peter Petrelli. But judging by Sylar's little chat with the man's brother, he was supposing Claire's little talents had to have kicked in eventually. Pity. He liked Peter so much better when all the light was gone from his eyes, he really did.

Another pause, and he leaned in a bit towards Mohinder, eyes contemplating. "Maybe I came here for the same reason as you," he added after a few seconds, with a nod. "To learn." Beat. "To help people. Fix them." He sat up straight, words threatening to bubble over his lips, something of excitement starting to boil inside. "There's this spell here. An enchantment, I suppose, if you will. People can't die here, Mohinder." There was that flash in his eyes, that something... almost hungry. Endearing. "I can't die here."

And what say you to that, Dr. Suresh?

Mohinder's natural inclination was to pull away from Sylar, to be repulsed -- and he was -- but excitement flashed through him at the man's words, irrepressible and undeniable. He found himself leaning forward, sucking in his breath. "What?" he whispered. People couldn't die?

When it came to Sylar in particular, that was a disappointment, but the overall implications of such a thing...! "My God," he said to himself, looking down with wide, blank eyes. He had known this place would be useful, helpful, wonderful, but this was... he couldn't say miraculous, because that would be rather silly, but... He bit his lip and looked up again, eyes narrowing coolly. "I imagine that's a disappointment to you. You finally have invulnerability, but so does everyone else." Not very special, was it? "And you can't kill anyone, on top of it."

It was probably a bad idea to provoke the crazy man, but Mohinder was starting to take some real pleasure out of this. The idea of Sylar stalking these halls was not a pleasant one, and being unable to kill him would be infuriating, but as long as he stayed here Sylar would surely be far from the top of the pack where he so dearly wanted to be. And any abilities he did come into would be have to be gained honestly, through real work. There was something fine about that.

The thought had occurred to him, yes. Hard to stick out when everybody else could do the same exact thing. Not that he'd had any problems sticking out at this school so far - trying to take Susan's powers alone had cause a bit of a ripple in everything. And yet Mohinder wording the concept aloud to him was enough to send the brief flicker of excitement in Sylar's eyes to a decidedly very sour expression.

Killing had never really been the part that appealed to him, anyway. It was necessary, yes, considering... Well, it was a bit difficult to live once the top of your skull had been removed, your brain prodded around in. Others, the victims of Sylar's who hadn't been special, they were in the way. Casualties of war, for a greater cause, other such excuses. It was the power that had held the interest for Sylar, initially, and he didn't exactly need death to get that.

He planted his hands onto the table, leaning in close enough to feel the breath of Mohinder's against his skin, eyes automatically narrowing down into dangerous slits. "I'm imagining taking powers without the person dying, well, that would just make everything more... What's the word? Interesting?" Imagine life without a brain. Without a scalp? "I imagine there would still be quite a bit of pain involved in the matter." In that kind of voice that warned Mohinder not to test him like that, because it wouldn't end prettily.

Mohinder struggled hard to remain in control of himself as Sylar came in close. His breathing, his heartbeat, all the little signs of life that he quite sickeningly knew Sylar could -- would gleefully -- listen for, all seemed desperately loud in his ears and he fought to rein them in a bit. To himself he couldn't lie and say he wasn't afraid. Of course he was afraid; Sylar had ripped his father, and his family, apart, and in the outside world he could kill Mohinder using hardly any more thought than it took to open a door. He knew intellectually that Sylar couldn't kill him here, but it would take a while for the rest of him to get that message.

And it wasn't just the fear, either, of course. Sylar's presence, even just standing there, brought forward so much twisted emotion -- it was hard for Mohinder, who was used to a far more even keel, to contain it all. He surpressed his fear, his rage, as best he could, forced himself to keep looking Sylar in the eye. Forced himself to think logically.

"I suppose," he said in a slow and not-entirely-steady voice, "that would appeal to you. Sadist." He spat the word out at him. "But I don't think you can do it. If you could, you would have already, and you wouldn't just be imagining it. I'm not going to flatter myself by thinking you've been waiting this whole time for me," he added with an angry sneer.

For a few long seconds, Sylar was actually laughing again, amused grin jerking the corners of his mouth up into a haphazard, manic sort of look, head tilting towards Mohinder with the kind of sharpened, focused curiosity that he didn't lend out all too often. "Really," he commented lightly, in a breathy murmur, the sadistic sort of grin softening into a cool smile that wasn't all too much more comforting.

"Are you sure about that?" His brows leaped up shortly in a manner that was almost suggestive. "Sure I didn't just hold out, all this time, just for that one, perfect moment where I could sit back and watch you try to scoop your own organs up back into your body? Intestines slipping through your fingers... It could get a little messy." There was something all too unsettling in how contemplative that look in his eyes was, jumping from Mohinder for a moment, to study the air just to his left. "I wonder just how long you'd have to sit there. Waiting. Unable to do anything. Unable to die. Starving away into some lifeless shell of Mohinder Suresh."

All in the name of science.

He leaned back, then, gaze darting back to the geneticist with the coy grin. Almost reassuring, if you could believe it coming from Sylar's features. "You're right, you shouldn't have flattered yourself. I couldn't possibly pay that much attention to a single individual." Besides, what did Mohinder have that he could possibly want?

...Other than that damned list.

Which he was, of course, never in a million years getting his hands on. No matter what kind of absolutely disgusting threats he made. Mohinder looked slightly pale, but he stood his ground. "You're sick," he muttered, which was really a little weak given the circumstances. "You're sick, and I'm going to stop you." Possibly a little better.

Now if he could only find a way -- now that Sylar would never accept any food or drink he offered ever again in his life, anyway. It occurred to him that being here might in fact be the solution he needed. Sylar had powers that Mohinder couldn't even dream of touching himself (not even with Sanjog's help!) but in a school of magic... a school of magic, where it seemed that all manner of people could come and learn, where he himself was being allowed...

...well, Mohinder was a pretty quick study.

Bit hard to get across, especially with that unmistakable waver overlaying his voice. Mission accomplished, really. Mohinder was fairly terrified right now. Trying to hide it, but his quickened breath and that heart thudding against his rib cage to some kind of frantic, staccato rhythm was like music to his ears. ...Maybe the man hadn't been all to off, when he'd mentioned Sylar's sadistic tendencies. Then again, this was coming from the man who had given him his very own home kit spinal tap in the dim of his apartment, hadn't he? Tsk tsk, hypocrite.

But Mohinder also wasn't the one fantasizing over organs spilling out of someone's slit-open abdomen right now. Um. ...Nobody was really a winner here.

"Really now," was all he offered in return, in a low, soft sort of voice, eyebrow arched in question. The skepticism was rampant, even as he could practically hear the cogs moving in Mohinder's head, parts ticking away as he conjured up some other form of plan to stop him. Let him try. Last time hadn't been all too difficult to escape. "I'd like to see how that works out for you."

This couldn't end well. For either of them.

It was true that when it came to Sylar, Mohinder was a bit of a hypocrite. Most of the time he was a peaceful and mild-mannered man; before his father's death he had enjoyed his life in India with relative ease. Certainly, he'd had fights every now and again -- with his ex-girlfriend Mira, with Nirand his colleague, with his parents, who always had treated him with a little bit of distance he'd only come recently to understand. But those were nothing compared to the darkness Sylar pushed him to. Even now, he'd like nothing more than to get his hands around that pale throat.

He thought Sylar still had him beat in the 'sadistic psycho' category, though.

"I will," he said again, a little more determination behind it this time. "And in the meantime you can be sure that I'll have my eye on you, Sylar. You're not going to be hurting anyone here."

Maybe he'd just take to shooting him every time he acted up. Sylar could stop bullets, but not all of them, and even though it wouldn't kill him it would certainly hurt. The idea made Mohinder smile just a little bit, and that was enough to break the rabbit-like paralysis of fear he'd been caught in. He turned away, bending down to pick up his briefcase in a businesslike manner. "Don't you need to choose a House for me? I thought I'd heard that's how this goes."

Oh, look. Another person promising to stop him. To keep an eye on him, and prevent him from hurting anybody. "Funny. You're the..." Hmm, he ticked off on his fingers, briefly, glancing up a second later. "Seventh? Person to tell me that, I believe, now." Susan Sto-Helit, Lily Evans, Peter and Nathan Petrelli, that robot woman. Even Molly. Now Mohinder.

Was it a new trend that he hadn't been told about, keeping Sylar away from the innocents or something? So many people, all pitted against him. Kind of ironic, considering he'd thrown Nny across the room, Susan had ended up with half of her head sliced open and a poker against her throat, her friend Shaun there had gotten a cricket bat to the head, half of KOS-MOS' armor had burned off. And that wasn't even starting onto Peter Petrelli, who'd ended his week with three feet of steel going through his forehead.

Why was Mohinder still talking? Was the question he really wanted to ask here, though. The two were sparring, yes, verbally, but Sylar hadn't actually done anything, not besides throw around a few... admittedly disgusting threats. He had half a mind to just throw the doctor around a bit. Just for old time's sake or something. And it would be so easy, too. Just a twitch of his fingers and the poor man would be slamming up against the nearest wall. Maybe if he did it hard enough, there'd be that self-satisfying cracking sound.

Anyway.

House. Oh, this just posed such an interesting opportunity. Mohinder... he could go into practically any of these houses. Bravery? Hmm, maybe not Gryffindor. Although the curare plan? Duct taping Sylar to a chair? He would admit that it was pretty ~~kinky~~ cunning. Slytherin? Or the token doctor mold that Mohinder fit so well, so as to mesh with those other Ravenclaws? Then again, considering who else was in that house, who else could be banding with Mohinder to stop Sylar...

"You know, Bitchiwitch... There's hardly anyone in it." Besides Sylar. "Could concentrate on your... work." Or not. Or Sylar could have rather easy access to said work. Or... whichever came first.

"Oh, yes?" Mohinder asked coldly. "You've been making friends, then. Has there been anyone else I know, I wonder?" Far from being offended, Mohinder was quite grimly pleased to hear how many people had already taken a stand against Sylar. He was sure the Petrellis were on that list, of course; he wondered who else was and if he could get in touch with them. Having allies in this matter would be valuable, perhaps even necessary.

Mohinder didn't know anything about the Houses yet, so Sylar's choice meant little to him. Bitchiwitch certainly sounded like an odd place, and the name was not exactly flattering, and he was sure Sylar had some kind of ulterior motive, but what it was was rather beyond him at the moment. "That might be helpful," he agreed dryly, deadpan. "I do have a lot of... work to do here." His gaze flickered briefly from his briefcase towards Sylar's neck, then back again. Hm.

See? He could be a sneaky bastard sometimes, too.

"Well," Sylar replied lightly, raising both eyebrows in contemplation. "You know the Petrellis. You know Molly." With a few moments' pause, he touched a finger to his chin, as if he had to really debate on the subject. "Other than those, you know, I just... can't imagine helping you out. You'd be using it to make my life more difficult and I... just can't have that." He tilted his head back then, to face the other man with a slow, almost coy smile. It might have been warm, were they, you know, not attempting to kill each other.

He smirked back as Mohinder spoke, almost amused, commenting something vague and along the lines of, "Right, plenty or wor..." before he trailed off. It would have taken a lesser man to not have noticed the quick flash of Mohinder's eyes, from the bag by his feet to Sylar's... What was he looking at? His throat, or something? He fought the subconscious urge to grab at the back of his neck, where he could practically still feel the needle jarring into his spine. What was he doing? "Don't waste my time, Mohinder," he warned, in a slow, harsh voice.

Mohinder had figured that Sylar wouldn't make it that easy for him, but it was worth a shot. He would just have to figure out his own way, now, to pinpoint the other three or four and get in touch with them. Surely it couldn't be that hard? This school was only so big, and he doubted Sylar had exactly made many friends. "Then I'll have to do my best on my own," he mused in the same cold voice.

Mohinder tried not to smirk too openly at Sylar's twitchiness. As powerful as the man might have been, as in control as he thought he might be, there was nothing like a good, strong dose of paranoia. Mohinder glanced up again, his gaze resting on the pulse in Sylar's throat. "You're free to leave, Sylar. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again well before I like."

"Let me know how that turns out for you," Sylar commented lightly, and wasn't this adorable. Sniping back and forth as if they were the two bullies on the schoolyard rather than two men who had... attacked each other, tortured each other, killed each other's parents - although, to be fair, that bit had only been committed by... one of the two. This school was surreal in general, though, never mind things like this. What with the not-dying and all that.

It... did he just seriously pull that? You're free to leave? Free to leave. As if Mohinder had control over anything that he did or something. As if Mohinder controlled him. "You thought it would be so simple?" he breathed, in that hush of a voice, almost impressed. There had been that almost seemless transition, from Sylar in control, making Mohinder go nine different shades of pretty pale that Sylar hadn't even known he could achieve... To him looking over his shoulder? What was going on, and how had that even happened? "Like a little person like Mohinder Suresh could control me? Don't try me."

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Application: Dr. Mohinder Suresh, "Heroes"

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