John Ryder, The Hitcher

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

((Spoilers for the original version of The Hitcher but not the remake, because the remake made me cringe. If you haven't seen this movie, you have to--it's cheesy, it's freaky, and there is no way I can possibly do any written justice to the sheer creepiness that is John Ryder))



A tall man wandered up to the application table, eying his surroundings dubiously. He looked like absolute hell--his flannel shirt was still sticky with blood, and his trenchcoat looked as though he'd been dragged down a dusty highway, which wasn't far from the case. He seemed calm enough, but in his faded eyes was a kind of intelligent insanity--a malice that was somehow tired and cheerful all at once. In short, he was quietly batshit.

Scotland. Huh. He'd known he was going to a castle, but knowing and doing were very different things--the closest things he'd seen to castles were some of the hotels in Vegas. Being out of the desert was damned bizarre, but from the look of things he was going to be here for quite a while.

He picked up the quill and read the application with raised eyebrows.

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

That brought a small smile. He didn’t need to eat, but he’d had McDonald's…what, four months ago? “That gooey stuff you slap on a cheeseburger,” he said. “I don’t know what it’s called.”


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

“Why kill just one?" he wondered aloud. "I say start with the redhead--there’s something wrong with his brain.” The irony of that statement was totally lost on him, btw. “The purple dinosaur probably wouldn’t bleed much,” he added thoughtfully. "Even if his legs were cut off."

3. What time is it where you are?

He shrugged. “How should I know? I just got here.”

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.

He snorted. “I’m returned from the dead, and I can’t say I’ve ever really sexually harassed anyone. It’s not part of the game.” Never mind that he’d been totally creepy with Nash, before he ripped her in half

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.

“The Styx,” he said, and laughed almost silently. Pennies over the eyes...it was a joke he doubted anyone here would get, sadly.

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.

He frowned. "Why?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as his thumb traced a gold band on his left hand. "Marriage is damned pointless, if you ask me." He didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

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.

“Because you don’t know how to use a match. Gasoline and a match tend to take care of most evidence--assuming you even care that it’s gone.” Evidence had never seemed to stick to him--not that he'd wanted it to, with the Halsey kid. The more suspicion fell on the kid, the more desperate he became--it had been, finally, what drove the kid to kill him.
To stop him. I want you to stop me. He'd gone through a dozen people, before he finally found someone who didn't fold like a wet taco at the thought of being eviscerated. Granted, he'd had to step in a few times and keep the kid alive long enough to work up his nerve, but it had worked, in the end.

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

That made him laugh outright. “Define ‘useless’,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “When it comes to a certain kind of work, I’d like to say I’m an expert.” He didn’t elaborate on that, but he did keep laughing. Useless. Seriously.

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.

Hmmm… “I haven’t exactly got much on me,” he said. “Pistol and a shotgun, but not a lot of ammo. Oh, and this." He dug a small switchblade from his coat pocket, looking at it like an old friend. "I'm keeping this, though."

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

Comments

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Ryder sat still for a long moment, regarding Sylar impassively as he lit a cigarette. "Arteries tend to spurt," he said at last. "Spray. Make a nice mess on somebody's windshield."

This guy...he wasn't sure what to make of this guy. Great capacity for violence, but broken in a way Ryder had never seen before. Given how many crazies he'd run across, that was saying something. He looked at Sylar thoughtfully, through the blue haze of cigarette smoke. "What's your story?" he asked bluntly.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Grisly, and mildly disgusting. But... "Yes, that's the general result when you hack through an artery," he replied, a little too matter-of-factually to not be creepy.

What a curious man in his own. More smoking, unfortunately, and Sylar waved a hand, impatiently, to usher the smoke away from his face. Ghastly habit, that - it was disgusting. He didn't show any signs of his discomfort, though, choosing instead to fix Ryder with that same, strange sort of look. "Do I need to have one?" he asked bluntly, eyebrow cocked. Because really, what did he go on about here? His watchmaker-turned-serial killer tendencies? Always the way to impress.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

One side of his mouth tilted up in amusement. "Most people have a story," he said. He'd heard any number of them, in various degrees of detail--some people would tell you anything, if they thought it would buy them a little more time. "I'm sure you do, too." His tone indicated he rather wanted to know what it was, without doing anything so obvious as wheedle. He had a habit of getting more out of others than he gave--in most respects, at least.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

"Everybody has a story," Sylar automatically corrected, furrowing his eyebrows at Ryder and shooting him a strange sort of look. "At that point, it's just a matter as to whether the story is interesting or not." His story. What do you even say to that? Sylar's brows automatically leaped up to a halfway interested expression, arms folding. "What are you expecting here, really? Dark past? Think that Daddy had a substance abuse problem or something? Why do you want to know?"

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

That made him laugh quietly. "I'm a collector of stories," he said, and it was, in a sense, true. He collected all kinds of stories from the people he hitched with, though admittedly most of them were short. "Fine, I'll pose you a question: would you stop to pick up a hitchhiker?" If the guy wouldn't tell his story, his answer would speak volumes to Ryder.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

...Different. Sylar was definitely intrigued. The question was just so random, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. The man was a murderer, that much was completely obvious, but... he couldn't figure out the motive behind the man's actions yet. He wasn't entirely sure how to take it. "I don't drive a car," he replied pointedly, corners of his mouth turning up into a bemused smile. "I walk." More soothing. Less destructive. Hell, he was a New York native. He only drove when he needed to.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Ryder laughed, almost silently. "Good answer," he said. There was something...off about this kid, something even he couldn't define. "This might sound like an odd question, but are you fully human, kid?" The guy seemed to be generating his own low-grade electrical current, very different from those he felt from most people.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Something was automatically bubbling under Sylar's skin, through his veins. Irritation. He was no kid anymore. That was almost insulting, even if it was a comment in passing. "That's not what I would call myself, no," he commented dryly, raising an eyebrow at the new applicant. "Less human, more... special." And not in the rainbow-over-your-heart, try-to-bite-your-ear way.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Compared to Ryder, Sylar was a kid--Ryder could not now remember how old he actually was. "Special...huh." Ryder was nothing if not laconic, and he regarded Sylar speculatively as he lit a cigarette. "You've got power, kid. A lot of it. If you're fully human, how'd you get it?" Sylar was...a curiosity. Ryder liked curiosities--the world was so dull without them.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Ugh. More smoking. Some might have found it... odd, the way the smoke never actually hit Sylar, without his lifting a finger. If they noticed it, that was - subtlety was a virtue at times. "Not exactly 'fully human', no," he corrected, and were this on the show, there would probably be sporadic ticking noises going off right about now. "I started off... seeing things. Seeing how they worked." He paused, tilting his head. "Well, the rest, I suppose, that could just be marked up to... collecting things." Said as though powers were coins, and Sylar's own collection was beginning to become very extensive.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Ryder tended to notice everything, and raised an eyebrow. 'Collecting things'...that was an odd way to put it. Kid had the air of a killer about him--Ryder had a feeling he knew how Sylar did his 'collecting'. Guy didn't seem any too mentally stable, either; Ryder could spot another crazy a mile off. "Seems like you've collected a lot," he said. "You worked out prescience yet?"

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Mentally unstable was a pretty accurate description of Sylar, really, if the current meticulousness in his dorm room, down to the last folded edge of the bedding, the perfectly set writing utensils and various other instruments on the desk, were anything to go by... Yes. He was a little off his rocker.

Prescience. Heh. Heheh. If only he knew how true that was. Sylar only offered Ryder a bit of a quirked smile, something of deviation hidden inside the way his lips curled up at the corners in the slightest. "You could say that," he commented dryly, tilting his head again. "Helps supremely." His voice was a thing of seriousness, as the smile disappeared from his features in place of a nod. "With the collecting, that is. Everything in its right place."

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Damn. Not only crazy, but powerful. He'd be fun to run up against, in the Game. "You're a killer, aren't you?" It was said bluntly, as casually as asking about the weather. "You've got the feel about you."

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

And, see, here were where the discrepancies came into play. 'Killing', it just had such an... ugly connotation to it, for lack of a better word. "Thou shalt not kill," he murmured, under his breath, more to himself than anything, something sending his fingers into a random twitch of discomfort. He let his eyes flicker to Ryder, then, brows furrowing a bit in contemplation. The... 'feel' about him. "I'd like to think of it more as... natural selection. The evolutionary imperative, putting things into their right order. Making things right."

...Yeah. A little unstable.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Ryder was revising his opinion of the guy--this kid seemed even more batshit than he was. The muttered Bible verse made him raise his eyebrows--he'd never run across a religious killer before. It also made him laugh quietly; given what he was, he found the Bible infinitely ironic.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

The laugh was what tugged Sylar out of his own thoughts, really, and his eyes went riveting onto Ryder with the kind of needling precision that took talent to pull across. "I'm sorry," he said lightly, briskly, in the kind of voice that wasn't sorry at all. "Is something funny?"

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

"You," Ryder said, still laughing. "Quoting the Bible. Let's just say the Bible is...funny." And it was, to him. Very, very funny, especially considering several of the people he'd killed had tried to call on God to save them. Needless to say, it hadn't worked.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

The Bible... was funny? Sylar had just heard that wrong, yes? This man couldn't possibly be saying that the Bible was funny. Sylar stared for a few long minutes, eyebrows slowly slanting downwards as Ryder kept laughing, a decidedly unhappy expression crossing his features. He had about ten seconds to shut up, long story short.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

Ryder had no intention of shutting up--nothing could get in the way of his amusement, even getting shot. He'd been proud of Halsey, once Halsey had gotten up the nerve to pull the trigger. And hey, in his experience it was sometimes the Bible-thumpers who made the best killers--convince them they were on a crusade, and the'd hunt you down with every sense they possessed.

"Sorry," he said, tapping out another cigarette. "Inside joke." So inside, in fact, that nobody else who'd ever heard it had lived.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Right. Inside joke. Very inside, because Sylar wasn't exactly 'getting' it. The Bible was not... funny. The Ten Commandments were certainly not anything to scoff at. "Right," was all he noted then, in a dry sort of tone. "I'll keep that in mind." Later, when your headless body is shoved into a fucking suit of armor.

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

"Oh, come on," Ryder said, lighting his cigarette. "Your 'natural selection' is hardly condoned by the Bible, is it? Mine's not, either, but I can see the humor in it." He would have laughed, had he known what Sylar was thinking--he could only be killed when he wanted to, and while he was on 'vacation' he certainly didn't want to.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Which was, of course, entirely true, but Sylar realizing that on his own and Ryder voicing the thought aloud were two entirely different things. Sylar narrowed his eyes a second time, managing to look vaguely offended with Ryder's voicing... the truth, arms folding tightly across his chest. Right. He could find the 'humor' in murder all he wanted. It wasn't funny. People who were murdered could be funny. Isaac Mendez, talking about how he could finally be a hero... Peter Petrelli in general. Both times. Hmm.

"I know," was all he replied in an even, tight voice, in the kind of tone that stated that he clearly did not want to discuss this topic. "But... At least He can forgive me." He paused a second, tilting his head at Ryder. "A natural progression of the species... It's necessary. Evolution, isn't it?"

[johnryder.livejournal.com]

That was a shot that had certainly hit home. The notion pleased him.

"You could call what I do a kind of evolution," he said. "Forced evolution, but still. Cutting out the weak, leaving only the strong...."

Well, hey, that was sort of it. If you wanted to get down to the bald truth, he just killed people until he ran across someone he could force into killing him instead. Often they went insane while doing it, but that was the point--adding one more violent psycho to the world. Sure, it was a slow process, but Ryder liked to think of it as craftsmanship--better one finely-trained whackjob than a dozen fools.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

"They don't deserve it," Sylar automatically shot back in response, almost a snap in his urgency to get his point across. Cutting out the weak, it was... almost... exactly. "What they've been given, they never deserved it." Brian Davis, asking Sylar to take it away because he didn't want it. Charlie Andrews, wasting her opportunity for something great on... mindless trivia and drivel. And Peter Petrelli. His great plan to save the world, when he was losing control of himself and nearly going nuclear over everyone in the mile radius.

Worthless beings. All of them. Sylar was firmly invested in the idea that his victims hadn't earned their gifts. THEY weren't going to use them correctly, so why couldn't HE have them, somebody who was going to utilize all of this power, efficiently? God.