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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'Skulking', really, was the only word to describe what Sylar was doing. Hard to do much of anything else, really - he'd found himself a bit (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1398711.html) injured (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1393385.html) between the last week or so, robots and damned Peter Petrelli. So... skulking. Around the castle. In the library. In the Sorting Room. Painfully boring.

And of all people he was expecting to show up at this school...

He could have probably stood behind Mohinder for a good ten minutes and the guy wouldn't have even noticed. "Fancy finding you in these parts."

Sam smiled at the applicant, eyes hungrily seeking out Mohinder's laptop. "Sure I couldn't get you to part with that?" he asked with a self-deprecating laugh. "Mine got kind of...damaged." Fair way to put it; turns out transfiguration practice and laptops don't mix. "Oh, um, I'm Sam." He held out one hand, trying uselessly to push back his ~~emo~~ bangs with the other. "Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you, professor."

It wouldn't have mattered where he was -- honestly, it wouldn't matter if it were five years from now. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. His blood ran cold. He stiffened where he sat, going rigidly tense. "Sylar," he whispered.

He didn't look. He didn't really need to, did he? He knew the man was there, and that was all he needed to know. He wondered if he could reach the gun in his briefcase before Sylar could get to him and decided that, no, he couldn't. But maybe if he stalled...

He cleared his throat, "I was fairly sure that you weren't dead," he said in a rather calmer tone of voice.

"It's nice to meet you too," Mohinder said politely, shaking Sam's hand. "My name is Mohinder Suresh. And, no..." He flashed another rueful smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I do need to keep it with me. It has some important things on it, and I'm still using it in my research. Assuming I can get it to work here, at least." Suddenly, he appeared to be keenly interested. "Was yours damaged by the magical field?"

There was something sickeningly satisfying in the way Mohinder's heart rate was automatically spiking, and just at the sound of his voice - he didn't even have to do anything besides greet himself.

Sylar didn't speak for a few long seconds after Mohinder had, frowning as a few of his digits subconsciously prodded at the front of his hoodie, where not too long ago there'd been that gaping wound... Criminy. "Ever been in the sewers?" Great places for breeding bacteria. It was a wonder he was still alive right now.

His hand fell from his chest as he started traipsing slowly around the table, his fingers running along the edge. His eyes were focused unblinkingly onto the geneticist, something between amusement and curiosity in his gaze. "What does bring an esteemed professor such as yourself all the way to Scotland, Dr. Suresh? I'm just ever so curious."

"Yeah, I hear that." Well, it'd been worth a try! "Mine had tons of research on it: notes, files, websites. It's going to be a pain to try and replace all of that." God, just thinking about it gave Sam a headache. "Um, what's your research in?"

Oh, right, a question. Sam wrinkled his nose and shrugged, laughing ruefully. "Kind of. It got in the way of my trying to turn a teacup back into a turtle. Um, I actually asked one of the professors here for help - she made it so my room let actual technology work. She wasn't too keen on actually touching my computer, though." He grinned. "Seemed to think she'd make something explode. But I'm sure she'd do the same for you. Your room that is. Not the exploding computer."

Mohinder inhaled sharply as Sylar's fingers touched the table, so close, so near to where he sat. He was as still as a rabbit in the headlights except for his eyes, which moved to track the madman as he entered Mohinder's peripheral vision. His lips thinned as he exhaled. "Yes, I saw the blood trail, but by the time I'd climbed down you had disappeared." He lowered his gaze to the table, to Sylar's trailing fingers. "You didn't think I could let it end there, did you?"

He hadn't quite answered Sylar's question. He wasn't sure he was planning on answering. But after a half a second's pause, he added, "I didn't realize you were here." Just so Sylar knew that wasn't why. For some reason, that was important.

"Specialized genetics," Mohinder explained. "Applied, you might say. Before he died, my father was doing research into people with... certain special abilities. People who he thought -- who I think -- are the next step in human evolution. I'm carrying on his work now." He tipped his head to the side, regarding Sam with genuine curiousity. "And what are you researching?" The boy seemed quite young, but perhaps he was a graduate student. He certainly didn't envy him in his task; of course, if Mohinder lost his work, there wasn't much chance of recompiling it. There was something to be said for not being the only person in the world working on something.

The explanation was enormously helpful. Mohinder looked grateful. "That's very good to know, actually, thank you. It would certainly be difficult if I arrived here only to find that half my material was useless." He grinned. "I'll have to look into that issue."

Really shouldn't have been taking a pleasure in how nervous Mohinder had gotten, from Sylar just running a hand across some oak.

He'd climbed down into the sewer? Sylar paused for a moment, his fingers stuttering to a stop on the table's surface as his gaze flickered to something minutely curious, only for a second. Blood trail, of course. The cops, the medics, everyone would have wondered just where Sylar's body had run off to, wouldn't they? Once they'd gotten over the whole... exploding Petrellis thing.

"Peter Petrelli's here. And his brother, the Congressman." He couldn't help the bit of a sour tone taking over his voice. The Petrellis weren't very high up on Sylar's good list. Not that all too many people graced his good list. Maybe three. "The Bennets. Although... no Claire." Pity. His voice suddenly fell to a bit of a hush, careful eyes flickering to attempt to meet Mohinder's. "Molly too."

Sam paused, freezing almost like a hunter who'd spotted his prey in the woods and doesn't dare breathe for fear of spooking it. "Special abilities," he repeated slowly, scarcely believing it. After all this time - the months he'd spent, uselessly going over the same information, desperate for a breakthrough - was it possible that this man might have some answers?

A grin, almost giddy, crossed Sam's face, but he quickly tried to hide it under a short laugh. "Um, supernatural things, actually." Here came the hard part - since coming to Hogwarts, the rigid code of silence had become almost moot. But it still cut against twenty some years of training to just blurt out what they did. "Demonology. Ancient religions. That sort of thing."

Smiling back, Sam ducked his head slightly. "Hey, no problem. Um, her name's Professor Evans. She teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just tell her Sam sent you."

Mohinder's brows lifted high. "Nathan Petrelli is here?" he echoed, his fear overtaken for a few scant moments by pure surprise. He could understand Peter surviving the explosion -- he had, in fact, decided long before that there was at least a fifty percent chance of that happening -- but he had been sure Nathan was killed. How could he not have been? He exploded.

And more to the point, how was he still alive? Or Molly, for that matter? The Bennets were powerless, and therefore, he knew, relatively incidental, no matter what had gone on between Sylar and Mr. Bennet in the past. But the Petrellis and Molly had all been attacked before... Mohinder's eyes narrowed, lifting back up to Sylar's. He didn't dare voice the question, but now he was dying to know -- what was keeping Sylar from going after them now? Instead, he chose the roundabout route. "And they're all doing well?" he asked lightly.

Mohinder, of course, couldn't help but notice the excitement that flashed across Sam's face. Consider his curiousity piqued. Sam Winchester, he thought. Had that name been on the list? No... he was certain that it wasn't. After everything that had happened, and what with Sylar and Primatech's attempts to get their hands on it, he had made himself memorize the entire thing. Sam Winchester appeared nowhere on it, he was sure. So what, then? Had his as-yet-unperfected algorithm missed one?

He gave Sam a sharp, narrow look, but the smile remained on his face, albeit slightly subdued. "I'm afraid I know very little about that sort of thing," he admitted. "Only what I learned from my grandmother as a boy. But are you looking at these... abilities from another angle, then?" He cocked a brow. "Or is there another reason you're interested in my work?"

He realized how aggressive he must have seemed, suddenly, and his demeanor quickly softened. "I can help you, I mean," he offered. "If you're... is there something special you can do?"

The name he noted, but filed it away for later. Right now, he was far more interested in Sam himself than any connections he might have had.

Oh, yes. Here and live and kicking. The latter portion directed in threat form, and towards Sylar's ass. Luckily, Nathan Petrelli was a pushover. Flying? It was interesting, sure, but it didn't give the man much in the way of defense. "Seems to me that Nathan may be skirting around his duties a bit," he commented sarcastically, not much in the way of confirming Mohinder's question. "Bad move, voters."

Luckily for Nathan and Peter, most of Sylar's efforts had been focused on Susan. Persuasion, time-stopping, phasing. All in one little package. Too bad the package fought back, baring her teeth. Two attempts, and the latter had left him at the bottom of the lake. Not that Mohinder needed any of this information shared to him. "Not so sure about Peter," Sylar commented slowly, in a contemplative tone, with an icy quality that made hairs stand up on the back of your neck. "Last I saw, he was a little... indisposed."

Hands fairly trembling with excitement, Sam folded his arms across his chest and tried to remain calm. To not get his hopes up. This could be nothing, or could be something completely unrelated to Sam and the other 'special children'.

Or it could be everything.

Glancing around, Sam lowered his voice, trying to make sure Mohinder was the only one who could hear. "I..." Swallowing, he glanced up at the man, then back down at the floor. It was easier to explain if he wasn't looking at the guy's face when he decided Sam was crazy. "I have visions. Sometimes. Of things that happen. And sometimes I can...make things move."

He paused and rubbed one hand over his face. "I can't control it. And I...I want to. I've been trying to." Beseeching eyes raised once more to Mohinder. "Can you help with that?"

'Special abilities?' Mel asks coolly, eyes not leaving his Hufflepuff answer. 'What sort of special abilities?'

Now, she has nothing against men of science usually, but when you've been trapped in another century and being told you're going to be experimented on, Mel has to say she's rather suspicious of anything that interferes where it's not always its business.

The sorting room -- heck, that and the whole damn castle -- was a deafening hubbub of voices, so it took a little while before Dale realised that she recognised one of them. Another second and she'd put a face to it, in a moment of horrified realisation.

(He wasn't the last person she wanted to see here, but he came close.)

There was a whole lot of angry Dale Smither, standing very suddenly in front of Mohinder. "What the hell are you doing here, Suresh?" The volume of her own voice made her twitch uncomfortably.

Mohinder's heart skipped a beat, then began to race as fury welled up inside him. He forced himself to still, clenching his hands in his lap, closing his eyes. Had he killed the Petrellis after all? Mohinder would kill him if he had. Somehow. And he would have to protect Molly, too. Sylar would never get to Molly Walker, not ever.

He had to think this through logically, though. If he just flew at Sylar now, the man would destroy him with a thought. Think... Sylar had said that the Petrelli brothers were here, now. Not that he'd seen them. That implied they were still alive, and torture was only something he enjoyed when it was Mohinder, it seemed. If he could kill Peter and Nathan he'd have done it by now -- so either they kept beating him or there really was something stopping him.

He opened his eyes again and looked up at Sylar. "What are you doing here, Sylar?" He regarded him skeptically. "Did you come to learn magic?"

So, this was kind of like Christmas for Mohinder. He leaned in as Sam did, looking excited; at the confession he positively lit up. "Maybe," he said softly. "That is, I can't promise anything, but I might be able to." His eyes scanned Sam's, his expression inscrutable. God, what luck! The second person he should run into-- and Sam was infinitely preferable to Sylar simply by virtue of not being a raving, murderous psychopath.

"You're not alone, Sam." He reached out to put a hand on Sam's shoulder, though he gave Sam enough time to pull away if he so chose. In his experience, if a person with powers didn't want to be touched, you did not touch. "There are thousands of others like you. Maybe even more. I've been finding them all over."

Mohinder was used to being treated skeptically by this point, so he completely misintepreted Mel's coolness. He stifled a sigh and pressed on with the usual explanation. "Things that some would consider super-human, even impossible. Flight. Telekinetics. Regeneration. Advanced genes that allow for extraordinary things." The problem was, he thought tiredly, that if they didn't believe you before the speech, they pretty much never did afterwards. And generally, they thought you were insane.

But of course, he was right, and he knew it, which helped. Excitement flickered in his eyes. "They are real. I've seen them."

Everything Mel can do. She swallows a little, looking nervous.

'I--and what do you do with them after you've found them?' Oh, God, science labs, weird tests, PAINFUL tests...well, if he's here, he's not--wherever he could be. Mixed blessing.

Mohinder had pretty much the exact opposite reaction to seeing Dale as she did to seeing him. He couldn't have been more shocked, but he also couldn't have been more delighted.

"Miss Smithers?" He gaped at her, then beamed brilliantly. "My God! You're alive! How-- how is that even possible?" He was pretty certain she had been dead the last time he saw her. The fact that her brain had been removed was fairly indicative. He felt a quick stab of guilt; her death had really been his fault. If only he hadn't led Sylar to her...

Wait, wait. Oh God. She was dead. And Sylar had been stabbed and now he was here. And... Mohinder's eyes widened. "This isn't...?" He had come here by choice, but what if you couldn't get in unless you were dead?

Mohinder couldn't help but look a little embarrassed because really, so far, he hadn't done much more than lead them to or away from certain death. And there had been some ~~torture~~ painful tests on one, but that was Sylar and didn't count.

"I... I'm trying to help them. I want to help them." So many people out there who were alone, confused... and so many liable to be hurt. Or to hurt themselves or others. "To learn to use their abilities, or even just to not be afraid of them. Plus, the more I find, the better I get at finding the others."

[[Dr. Monologue! *howls*]]

"A bit of a complicated answer for the Gryffindor question, don't you think?"

Mel eyeballs him for one very long moment, arms still folded and still looking rather on the defensive. Eventually, she asks her final question.

'So you don't want to stick needles in them and try and figure out how their blood could be used to create new bombs?'

"Tea?" Arthur tries not to sound too eager.

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Application: Dr. Mohinder Suresh, "Heroes"

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