Closed RP - i kan haz mohindah nao?

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

How does somebody just disappear for an entire month?

Was what Sylar wanted to know, pretty much. A month. He didn't even know why he cared so much. This wasn't even caring, it was... outright nosiness. Keeping tabs on the people around him, so he could pinpoint moves. He didn't need another few weeks in a cement cell, strapped to a table, flushed with enough drugs to put an elephant in a coma for a month. Or then there were the sedatives, down in the Slytherin dungeons, Peter Petrelli ending up with an IV pole through his forehead. Or-or being tossed to the bottom of the lake for half the afternoon - no, that was fun, really. Jumped in his own tent by Rachel Morgan, she'd ended up with her neck snapped, him with enough blood loss to kill a lesser man off these school grounds.

Others getting the upper hand on Sylar... it never seemed to end well. Mohinder had already outwitted him once, after all, and he wasn't denying it. It was probably just best not to let history repeat itself.

He'd heard something about a plane crash, two weeks ago. Several people ending up on a desert island or what have you. How they'd gotten back, a mystery to him, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Not that he had cared anyway. Or had noticed. Or had spent hours skulking around the Ravenclaw dormitories, like some kind of deranged stalker. ...Like he was doing now.

An open bar seemed repulsive, in or out of context. No wonder everyone called the Ravenclaw students a load of drunks. ...At least it made for a cover, should anybody hold suspicions? He had no idea. He was just staying away from that one, on the end. With the dreadlocks and the... Was he dressed like a pirate? Sylar wasn't going to ask. He was just going to approach. This was Mohinder's room, right? Like he had to ask. He was going to approach, and he was going to knock. Like a civilized little sociopath.

And if Mohinder tried to shut the door... well. Then they could see.

Comments

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder was, surprise of surprises, working. If he hadn't been working, he'd probably have been thinking about working, possibly while drinking tea or staring out the window or something. He did, in fact, have a mug of tea, but it was sitting cooling on his desk while he sat hunched over his computer, squinting into the screen through his glasses and clacking away at a fascinating set of chemical equations he had spent the last couple of days working through. If he managed to make them fit together in the right way, then he might be able to create a matrix in which he could suspend genetic samples so as to more easily...

Someone was knocking at his door. It took him a few moments to notice, he was so absorbed; but eventually the sound filtered through and he looked up, blinking as he tore his eyes from the screen. Who on earth could it be? Francis had said he might drop by at some point, but he wasn't the knocking type. Perhaps Dr. Maturin?

Curious, he went to the door. "Hello?" He pulled the door open--

--and instantly, any hint of a smile he might have had vanished from his face. His eyes widened, his mouth going tight. "Sylar," he expulsed needlessly, shocked and venomous.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

It was something vaguely resembling fascinating, hearing all that went on behind that wall. The clack of the keyboard, the hum of the computer tower, the steady in and out of Mohinder's breath... and underneath it all, that one, steady heartbeat that he could pick out anywhere, calmly pumping the blood through his veins. Some strange, impromptu melody, everything chaotic and offbeat, yet somehow all refining the one individual inside. Huh.

Sylar almost didn't expect the door to open. Which wasn't much of a matter, a door was no problem when you could look at an armored car sideways and send the thing tumbling over itself down the length of a highway, but it was... some attempt at civility? One of those metaphorical olive branches, maybe. Both a bit off-set by the way Mohinder's face fell when the door opened. Pity.

He was wearing glasses. He didn't usually wear glasses.

"Mohinder," he returned, sharply, just as uselessly, and planted a palm against the wood panels. "It is okay for me to come in?" Like he was waiting for an answer. It didn't take much to slam the door the rest of the way open, a few strides inward - close, too close to Mohinder for comfort, just for a second - and throwing the other man a long sort of stare. Their dormitories were... similar. The only difference being the curtains, for the most part. And, of course, Ravenclaw having more than... How many people resided in Bitchiwitch? Maybe three on the roster?

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder was forced backwards by the opening of the door, though his shock would have done it anyway. He backed away rapidly, trying to keep Sylar at arm's length. Or more, for preference. The further, the better; every time Sylar came in close like that Mohinder thought his lungs had stopped working.

He cursed himself silently. He knew he should have learnt to put wards on the door. It had been a foolish mistake not to, and now look where he was.

He knew it was futile to try to get the upper hand back -- he'd hardly ever had it to begin with -- but he felt like he needed to try to get some ground back. He glared at Sylar, heart hammering against his ribcage. "And I'd just been about to invite you in," he sniped, stalling for time, moving back towards his bed.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Mohinder's heart was hammering away against his ribcage and Sylar almost right-out smirked. He couldn't have even said why, there was just some creepy kind of satisfaction in Mohinder's spike of nervousness.

The door swung shut behind Sylar without anybody having to touch the thing, his eyes flickering back to the man for a moment with a furrowed sort of expression. Invite him in? Oh. Well. That kind of defeated the need to slam open the door. Sylar didn't say anything more, just glanced away and surveyed the room for a few long seconds. Bed, computer, what have you. He was picking at a book on the shelf, rifling through pages, almost as if he was expecting to find something of importance inside.

"You disappeared for a month." The book slammed shut, Sylar's eyes searching around the room more, for what, he couldn't have even answered. "Why." Without even bothering to look at Mohinder, he replaced the book, neatly back in its place, and moving onto a second.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder was so surprised by the question -- even more surprised than he'd been by the dramatic door slam -- that he stopped in his tracks, forgetting momentarily about the Mace that was tucked away underneath his pillow (not to mention the gun in his nightstand drawer). Oh, come on, he wasn't completely stupid.

"That's what you came here for?" he asked bluntly, his face an open book that mostly read what? He had assumed Sylar had somehow found out about the new formula he was working on, or that he was making another attempt on the List... or maybe simply that he'd come to torture Mohinder some more. Questions as to his whereabouts had not been on Mohinder's mental menu.

Well. "If you must know, my plane crashed and I was stranded on an island." He cocked a brow. "For, yes, a month. Satisfied?"

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Sylar slammed the book back onto the shelf with a bit more force than necessary, the binding still sticking out at some haphazard angle. Eyes darting to Mohinder, brows slanting downward, and his expression was an entirely indignant one, as if to say, yes, that is what I came here for, so shut your face.

Because disappearing was where the half of it began, wasn't it? That span of forever spent at Primatech, and he couldn't exactly pick out the days, there had been no time in that cell. But the things he overheard there... Noah Bennet was not exactly the sneakiest of individuals. First Sylar, days in a cell. Something about Isaac Mendez and rehabilitation. Mohinder was not on The List, and was certainly not harboring any abilities in his DNA. But just what on Earth would a company like Primatech do to figure out what the hell Mohinder knew. Frankly, Sylar was surprised he didn't have said gun to his temple already.

The book was still crooked.

Sylar nudged it back into its right place with an index finger, in a straight line with the other books, something vaguely OCD and reminiscent of chairs wrapped in plastic as he strode away from the shelf. A plane crash. Desert island. His heart rate was already elevated from the fear, but it... didn't sound like he was lying.

Of all the far-fetched excuses and he was telling the truth. Sylar fixed him with a sudden sort of look, almost asking if nothing seemed weird to Mohinder about that, before he started off again, his quest for finding... something. Rounding around the desk, his fingers walking across the surface towards the computer. "No. Plane to where?" He was hiding something, dammit, and Sylar was going to find out what it was. Bennet was here. Sylar wasn't exactly putting it past the two of them to work together some kind of plan.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

As if Mohinder would be shocked by Sylar's compulsive tendencies. Even Zane had been a little OCD, and he had been a fiction. Sylar was a monster, as Mohinder kept reminding himself, but one with some distressingly human and fairly regular habits. In the brief time Mohinder had known him he'd known him to have the same kind of attention to detail (the fact that he didn't dispose of his victims notwithstanding -- that was just pure cockiness) that spoke of a technician in another life, or some kind of very extreme specialist.

The whole 'breaking into his apartment' thing that one time had helped this impression a bit; the 'homicidal maniac' thing did nothing to deter it.

Mohinder's attention to detail was sometimes lacking, but he was certainly noticing things right now. Like for example the fact that Sylar was getting increasingly close to his computer. Unfortunately, there was no subtle way of getting between him and it that Mohinder could see, unless he could distract him...

"New York," he replied anxiously, moving back a little more. "I was looking for... something." He glanced towards his dresser and hoped that Sylar caught the look.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

If 'sometimes lacking', of course, meant 'virtually nonexistent'. For someone who spent so much time paying such attention to detail - the straightened way he kept everything in his apartment, timepiece restoration, down to that well-aimed slice that he used to get inside his victim's skulls - it was laughable, for him, some of the things that Mohinder overlooked. Dale Smither, the woman with super-powered hearing, the one who complained of constant headachers, is murdered. The man Mohinder doesn't know suddenly starts developing mass migraine issues, all within the five minute span that said woman is find murdered, her brain removed. ...But it's all a coincidence.

Not to mention certain precious moments involving IV drip lines and curare, but he wouldn't get into those just yet. Better matters at hand.

Of course he'd caught the look. His hand was outstretched, even, reaching to turn the computer screen towards him, when New York had his fingers stuttering to a halt. Eyes riveted back to Mohinder, maybe to ask why, an answer he didn't have to wait long for, and then...

So Mohinder Suresh was not the sneakiest of individuals. He may or may not have known his way around a tea kettle way back when, but he was by no means a ninja. Naturally, the shift of eyes... Sylar didn't think twice about it being a slip-up and just that. His heart rate, speeding up in his anxiety, and a slow sort of knowing smile started to work its way up the corners of Sylar's mouth. "Something." He took a few slow steps away from the desk, jerking his head towards the bureau with a fixed sort of look in his eyes, stare trained onto Mohinder. "Something... what, exactly?"

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder forcibly kept himself from sagging with relief when Sylar took the bait. Luckily, the adrenaline rush from telling the lie only kept his heartrate up. To Sylar's as-yet-untrained ear it wouldn't be distinguishable from terror. "N-nothing important," he stammered defensively. "Some of my fa... some things from home." He turned his head away and compressed his lips together, saying nothing more. He took a few more steps back, until the backs of his legs hit the nightstand; he took the opportunity to lean against it for support, looking troubled.

Mohinder was sneakier than Sylar gave him credit for. Sylar forgot that artifice was not where his plans had failed. He'd knocked Sylar out, gotten him into the chair, taken the sample he'd needed right from his spine... It was only after the fact that things had fallen apart. But as poor at planning as Mohinder was, he wasn't bad at lying.

Actually, he was quite good at lying. People expected a certain level of stupidity naivete gullibility from him and when necessary he could provide quite easily. He hadn't really known about this talent until he'd met Sylar, but he was discovering it more and more now. It probably would have worried him more if he'd been using it against anyone else; but as far as he was concerned, when it came to Sylar anything was fair game.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

...It had to be something good. Mohinder was skirting around everything. His heart was hammering in his chest, some staccato allegro in his chest, his fear echoing in Sylar's ears, so satisfying. Definitely something on his mind, and it was drawing Sylar's mouth up into an amused sort of smirk. As if he thought he knew better. Definitely as if he thought Mohinder had passed his upper hand straight into Sylar's open palm.

He was doing that thing, where he entirely looked over Mohinder's capability to have moments of surreptitiousness. One would think something would have made an impression here, Mohinder's anxiety so suddenly onset, right around the moment when Sylar was nearing the computer... With an attention to detail like Sylar honed, one would think two and two would finally link together in his mind, at some point.

But... no. There was definitely too much excitement bubbling up right now for him to think of anything relative.

Fa... what? Father? Some of his father's something, possibly, and now his interest was entirely piqued. "Some things, what kinds of things," he shot back, automatically, less a question anymore and more of a demand. His head jerked towards the dresser a second time then, eyes narrowing at the other man. "Show me."

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

People tended to underestimate Mohinder -- even his parents had always done so. He wasn't happy about it, but at least he could use it to his advantage from time to time. If Sylar wanted to keep on thinking he was really that oblivious, then let him.

Meanwhile, Mohinder thought, he was going to start keeping his protection on him. He watched Sylar keenly, waiting for the exact moment the madman's eyes left him for the dresser and its fabricated prize. As soon as they did, Mohinder reached into the nightstand behind him and grabbed the little canister that lay inside, shoving it into his back pocket. By the time Sylar looked back at him, his arms were folded across his chest and he was shifting nervously from foot to foot, bumping the open drawer of the nightstand in his anxiety. Mohinder hoped that was enough to cover the noise.

At the demand, he shook his head stubbornly. "I can't." This was true -- there was nothing to show, as he'd never made it as far as New York -- but Sylar didn't have to know that.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Of course Sylar underestimated Mohinder. Hard to not do so, considering the slip-ups he'd been held privy to. Granted, certain events, curare, duct tape and chairs... Oh, yeah, he probably should have known better. Pounding heart rate, constant pacing, shifting eyes. He had every indication of lying right now, and... Sylar was chalking it up to fear? Definitely writing it off as nothing out of the ordinary.

That wasn't what was important to him right now anyway.

The... that was what was a little more distressing. Sylar's hand rested on the bureau edge for a moment, fingers drumming against the hardwood. As if he wanted to rifle through all of this in search of... whatever Mohinder was hiding away in here. Much easier just to make him do it, but... 'I can't'? What kind of an excuse was that? Judging by the way his brows were slanting downwards into slightly dangerous slits.

"You can't," he repeated mildly, nails tapping against the dresser one final time before he let his shoulders slouch a bit, relaxed. He... couldn't. Right. "You... don't feel like it? The bureau's locked. Or maybe your legs don't work." He was advancing slowly, a few gradual steps towards the other man. Whatever the excuse, somebody was not looking the part of happy camper. "Unfortunately, it was not a suggestion," he added, with a hard edge of finality to his voice, hand clamping onto Mohinder's shoulder.

That smile was slow and cruel and definitely gave every promise of grotesque things to come.

"So. ...Show me."

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

"I can't," he echoed stubbornly as Sylar tapped on the dresser. He just had to stall for time. Eventually, Sylar would either give up or get angry, and if Mohinder was very very lucky he would choose to pull the answers he wanted out with his bare hands instead of with his powers. It was a big if, but it was worth something, and better than have Sylar see the formula that was plastered across his computer screen at this very moment. In fact, all he needed to do was stall until his screensaver went on, and then the password protection would kick in; as far as Mohinder knew, Officer Parkman was safe, which meant that there would be no mindreading going on. He just needed to wait until Sylar either left, or started coming closer--

Except then Sylar was coming closer, and Mohinder temporarily forgot his master plan. He had perhaps forgotten that the plan would involve Sylar being very intimately in his personal space, which was generally something to be avoided. He froze up as the madman came close. His muscles locked, his hands gripping the edge of the nightstand; he'd suddenly gone from 'planning schemer' to 'deer in the headlights.' Something strange thrummed in his stomach.

He inhaled sharply when Sylar touched him, his spine stiffening as if a current had been put through him -- which, in a way, it felt oddly like. He stared into Sylar's eyes and bit his lip as he saw himself reflected in them. "I-I..." he stammered, swallowing dry. Good God, what had he been thinking?

Oh. Right.

The hand with the mace canister in it came up and squeezed hard on the compressor. Mohinder shut his eyes tightly and ducked his head, pushing his weight forward into Sylar -- who had several inches on him, not to mention telekinesis, but he was sort of hoping shock would be on his side here.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

...Was there a way to word this into any simpler terms?

No, really, Sylar wanted to know. Because he didn't think he could make this any clearer for the man. He wanted... what was in that bureau. Mohinder... was going to get it for him. Mohinder was going to like getting it for him, goddammit, even if Sylar had to drag the guy across the room and make his hands go straight through the freaking dresser drawers to retrieve it. It was a very, very simplistic concept, and yet the geneticist was not able to understand this plan.

This wasn't going to work out. Sylar was trying to play dictator here and Mohinder was throwing some kind of... resistance or something to complete the metaphor. He wasn't listening. He was just repeating that, those two little words that had Sylar's eye twitching in irritation as he marched over to the man and clapped that hand onto his shoulder. Resistance, yes, and Mohinder was rebelling to said plan.

Very violently so. ...Actually, that kind of... really stung. Ow.

Okay, so Sylar, as a human being, had dealt with mace. On the other end. You didn't grow up a scrawny watchmaker's son with a bowl cut, in Queens, without a psychotically protective mother making you keep mace inside your lunch box - including singular incidents where the mace got onto his tuna sandwich and, disaster, he did not care to revisit such an occasion. Of course, that was that aforementioned other end. Having mace and getting mace straight into your eyes were two entirely different events, and... ow.

Sylar's hands were at his eyes without a moment to spare, a sharp hiss of pain bursting through his clenched teeth. Not expecting that out of Mohinder, he had to admit. The guy had spunk. ...If that's what you would call it. But a gun! Whatever happened to old fashioned guns? Those were fun to watch people fail with! This just stung! Mohinder's shove caught him off-guard, disorientation and all, sprawled backwards against the dresser, goddammit. His eyes were watering and he definitely threw out an arm, invisible forces meaning to throw Mohinder against the floor or some opposite wall or, damn, just away.

He couldn't see.

...Mohinder maced him!

...This was war.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder also had a gun, as a matter of fact, but he now knew better than to pull it on Sylar when the man had even a second of reaction time availale to him; the four bullets in Matt Parkman's chest spoke to that. Besides, he wasn't actively trying to kill Sylar (for once) as much as disable him, even just distract him. All he needed was the moment it took to turn his computer off and hide his formulas from Sylar's prying gaze...

...and then the moment it would take to get either Sylar or himself out of there so that Sylar wouldn't rip him apart.

It hurt like hell when Sylar slammed him against the far wall, but it actually went to Mohinder's advantage all the same -- the movement brought him closer to his desk. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that immediately with his head swimming and eyes watering; the impact had been hard enough that he'd nearly felt the blood vessels bursting beneath his skin. Wincing, he gripped his shoulder and leaned back against the wall, and sucked in a breath. "Ah..."

With a soft hiss, he wiped at his eyes and stumbled forward towards the desk. He rested his weight on one hand and reached out hurriedly to the shutdown button with the other.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

This was... probably the closest thing to panic that Sylar had been able to experience in a long, long time. He couldn't see. He couldn't SEE. It was one of those things that one forgot to pride themselves most upon having, that was only so appreciated when it was gone, even momentarily. Trepidation, yes, and Sylar kept his eyes clamped shut, mind moving wildly in light of this new development.

The effects of mace lasted for anywhere between a single half to two hours, he remembered seeing somewhere, a time that didn't seem all too long, in retrospect, but in a time of hysteria where even a second of having one's eyes open sent blinding pain ricocheting every which way through his eye sockets... it was a while! He was vulnerable like this, at any rate. The speed of light was millions of miles per second faster than that of sound. Enhanced hearing or not, the bullet would probably have been lodged in his chest before he could register the gun powder being ignited.

Luckily, at least, Mohinder didn't seem to be going for any gun. Sylar pressed a thumb and an index finger to his shut eyes, as if in some kind of attempt to concentrate, hearing elevated exponentially in a moment of not being able to sense any other way and... There. He was recovering from the slam into the wall, going for the... something. Hell, Sylar couldn't tell, he just outstretched his free hand again, invisible fingers tugging... what he hoped was Mohinder - God only knew, his aim could have been feet off - backward, not quite so violently this time, just... curious.

"What... what are you doing?" he hissed out, across the room, attempting to blink away the effects of the mace from his eyes again, and no such luck. Amazing, what little could take down somebody with such abilities.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Mohinder banged his hand down on the button just as Sylar managed to snag his arm. He bit back a sigh of relief and yanked at the telekinetic fingers, trying to gauge their strength. Still strong, even when Sylar was blinded. Mohinder grimaced and pulled again. "Nothing," he snapped. "I-- trying to get you out of here." Let Sylar think he was going for a gun, something else.

The problem was, now he didn't know what to do. His plan had only extended as far as hiding his research from Sylar's prying eyes--he hadn't considered what was going to happen after that point, if Sylar had recovered enough (which it appeared he had) to use his powers at all.

It was time to think fast again. He hoped he hadn't used up all his luck on his computer. "Are you going to let me go?" he asked in a strained voice, looking around the room, around the desk for something he could use against the madman.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

He had no idea what Mohinder was trying to pull right now. Like he could tell, eyes still clenched shut, a fist rubbing against his eyes. Whatever it was, he definitely heard a click, something like the computer shutting down. That one bit less of a hum in the white noise of the room, it was enough to alert anybody's ears, never mind somebody with fucking super hearing. And here he'd thought the man would be going for a gun or whatever could take him down quickest. No, his first priority was... the computer? What the hell had been on that?

Sylar's eyes slit open in the slightest, barely able to see through the blur of his vision, just fixing his gaze on Mohinder for a moment. God, that stung like nothing he'd ever felt before. ...And he'd been shot. ...Several times over. Not to mention samurai swords through guts and fucking tuning forks - he'd had no clue how much that had actually hurt, did he? - and they could totally not go there right now and he'd be perfectly fine with that. "You're working out another formula, aren't you? You're making The List again."

He wasn't stupid. People didn't go for conserving electricity first and then deal with the raving sociopath in front of them. Kind of tended to be the opposite of that, as a general rule. Mohinder was definitely doing something. It was just, again, that 'what' that was starting to eat at Sylar, and he needed damn answers.

Heel of his hand pressed back to one of his eyes - right, as if that was going to fix anything, and there were magical cures for this kind of thing, right? - he didn't quite relinquish his hold on Mohinder's arm yet. Instead, the telekinesis slunk up the length of his arm, tighter, giving a harsh tug back towards Sylar, at least a few good feet. "Right, because I'm entirely inclined to do that when you just spoke of plans to get me out. When you sprayed mace in my eyes." With that kind of poisonous tone that just oh-so-promised that a bruised arm wasn't going to be his only problem, in a minute. His eyes were still open, damn the burn, as he squinted best he could through the haze over his vision. God, and he'd thought getting shot was bad. "Give me one good reason, again? Why I should let you go?"

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

He should have known that Sylar would have heard the computer. Maybe it had just been wishful thinking on his part--he certainly would have liked for Sylar to stay unaware of it. He rather wanted to keep Sylar as far away from the List as possible at all times. He had the feeling it was never far from Sylar's thoughts, but he'd like it to be...

...which gave him an idea. If he threw Sylar something else, the man might not press him on this, perhaps? At least it might be another stalling mechanism--he just needed more time, time to think of something else or call for help. "No," he blurted out. "Not the List. It's a virus."

It wasn't exactly lying, not that the distinction made any difference to him at this point. Mohinder had indeed been devoting a significant part of his research to his sister's virus, and to some kind of cure that wouldn't require him to personally visit every afflicted person and open a vein. At the time Sylar had shown up he had most certainly been working on the List, but that was only a piece of it now.

He swore softly in Hindi as Sylar tugged on him, jerking forward involuntarily. Damn. Invisible fingers creeping further up his arm made him surpress a shudder, try to ignore the goosebumps that swept over his skin. He would never get used to the feeling, he thought.

Of course, he rather hoped he wouldn't have a chance to.

He breathed in deep and let it out again. "I..." More lying seemed necessary here. "I can fix your eyes," he offered weakly. He had absolutely no intention of doing so, and he wasn't sure what was going to happen when it came time to actually deal with that, but he couldn't think of another reason that Sylar would actually agree with or follow along with.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

...Virus?

So this was new. Work on a virus, rather than something of some sort of other importance? The List, for one thing. Which was maybe of more importance to Sylar, in general, than to Mohinder. Mohinder's concern stood for scientific reasoning. And for, you know, keeping the people on said list away from Sylar. But anything outside of that... Sylar was mulling the concept over in his head. Random research in other fields? Or still in the same one? And, by proxy, something very very able to take him down?

First thing was first, though, and with the heel of his hand still ground into his eye, well, Mohinder's proposition was-- actually rather tempting. Of course, stinging eyes, nearly to the point of sizzling with chemicals, who wouldn't take that offer? Even if it meant admitting defeat, to some extent. Sylar paused for a few long seconds, telekinetic fingers tightening themselves in that foreboding sort of hold on Mohinder's arm, before he finally released. "Do it," he ground out in a harsh snarl of a voice, blinking his eyes a few more times.

One little fucking thing and he was practically writhing around on the ground like a four-year-old with a skinned knee.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

He was free! Fantastic!

...Except that he still had a deranged, enraged serial killer in his room, and he still had no idea how to get him out of there. It wasn't like Mohinder could just bolt. Then he would have a deranged, enraged serial killer waiting for him in his room.

Oh God, was he actually going to have to help him? How sickening. Mohinder winced. "All right. Um..." He sat down on the edge of his desk, rubbing his arm unconsciously. "Stop rubbing your eyes. You're making it worse. Water will help the stinging a bit..." He hesitated, then added, grudgingly, "Cold water." Because as much as he would love to add to Sylar's suffering, would love to see him burn for hours yet, that was not going to help him right now.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Stop rubbing. Cold water. Right.

Sylar paused for a moment, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose as he waited. He would have shot Mohinder an extremely decisive look, were it not for the mace sizzling away in his sockets right now. "And... what, I can just make this appear out of nowhere?" he shot back, waving a hand in the general direction of Mohinder, patience definitely waning in light of the situation. Frost, maybe, but he couldn't exactly freeze over his eyeballs right now.

"What are you waiting for?" he added in a snap, that sort of voice sliding towards the edge of so desperate that he nearly sounded something approaching human for a minute. "Go get it."

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

Oh, for goodness' sake. "I have a bathroom," Mohinder snapped back, all but rolling his eyes. It should have figured that the big, bad boogeyman would get a little pepper spray in his eyes and suddenly turn into the world's bloody biggest baby. "I thought you might want to do it for yourself." What did Sylar expect Mohinder to go, go over there and dab at his eyes with a wet tissue? Because that was not likely.

In the interests of not further angering the raving psychotic, though, Mohinder relented with an aggravated sigh. "Just sit down. I'll get a glass."

Muttering to himself in Hindi, Mohinder headed for the bathroom door, but paused before entering the room and looked back at Sylar. "Not that I believe you'll listen to me," he said evenly, "but don't touch anything." With that note of menace, he escaped into the bathroom.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

He would've rolled his eyes if he could open them. "Right, I could do just that, without being able to see," he grumped automatically, throwing a glare in what sounded like Mohinder's general direction, judging by the direction from which his voice was coming. If the stupid man hadn't sprayed pepper spray in his eyes...

It was some manner of wit, when Sylar had just spent the last twenty minutes or so noting just how much Mohinder couldn't think of or what have you, and he had to give the guy credence, at least. Somewhere between the cursing him under his breath and swearing to God that he was going to snap Mohinder's damn neck once he could see it again. ...At least he would have if he didn't have to find out about this damn virus thing now. He just made things so difficult, didn't he?

If he had just cooperated, they wouldn't have had this problem now. And Sylar wouldn't have to kill him later, right? He just made everything very frustrating.

Not sitting down was some manner of rebellion, at least, as he listened intently for the sink, for any signs of Mohinder planning something decidedly not relative to Sylar's eyes getting better. Even pepper sprayed, he had enough power to tide him over, to keep the guy more than in line. He blinked his eyes again, through the haze of the mace, squinting up towards the direction of the bathroom as he resisted that urge to rub at his eyes. "Tell me about this virus."

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

This was all unbelievably surreal. Here he was, filling up a glass of water to fix the eyes of the person he'd just sprayed with Mace -- who was, by the way, his father's killer. Mohinder stared at himself in the mirror with a bleak expression, halfway expecting his reflection to start shouting at him. Or possibly just shake his head in disgust. Why not? He was disgusted with himself.

He wondered if he could get away with putting lye in the water and decided that he probably couldn't. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair. He couldn't believe he was doing this. As if they were friends.

He looked up when Sylar's voice cut through his own inner monologuing, brow creasing. The virus? Why did Sylar care about the virus? At least it was better than him asking about the List. Mohinder sighed and straightened, turning on the sink. "It affects people with abilities," he replied loudly. "I think it might be spreading." Maybe, if he was lucky, he thought grimly, Sylar would pick it up from his next victim-- oh, that was a really awful thing to think, wasn't it? Mohinder winced and glared at his reflection.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Yes, because all friends did this, Sylar would have snapped in return, had he been held privy to Mohinder's thought process. All friends had physical fights like this. And maced each other. This happened all the time. Best friends initiation. ...All right, he might not be taking the comment so far as to say all aforementioned, but of all things - curare, guns, spinal taps, what have you - and it was the pepper spray that was irritating Sylar the most of grievances Mohinder had inflicted upon him.

As if Mohinder had a choice, Sylar would have reminded him, with a sort of a smirk. That cool kind of confidence, even with his eyes watering and his lids sealed shut so as to keep his sockets from burning. He'd manage, somewhere, to keep that kind of cockiness in store.

"Affects people with abilities," he repeated in a quiet sort of voice, peering up through that sting again, wetness welling up in his eyes against the mace. A virus. Targeted towards evolved humans. ...Spreading. It was more than enough to catch the madman's attention, at any rate, and he had most definitely riveted his scrutiny towards the bathroom. "It... really. Interesting." Which was one word for it. "And you've found this out... how?"

Paranoid? Sylar? For the first time in a while? Never.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

"How do you think?" Mohinder snapped impatiently. "I've found someone who has it. There have been two documented cases so far." Their names he was not about to share. Nor, for that matter, the only known cure. If Sylar knew that Mohinder's blood was the only way he'd found of eradicating the virus so far... well, even for Mohinder, who sometimes missed the obvious, that would obviously be a terrible thing.

"I'd like to keep there from being more, if possible." Although the idea of Sylar becoming infected... was tempting, he had to admit. Not that he would. Something that dangerous, he wouldn't inflict even on Sylar, if only because it meant other people might become exposed to it.

Mohinder turned off the tap and carried the glass back into the bedroom, holding it out at arm's length towards Sylar. He didn't care to get any closer; even being this near Sylar made him... nervous. "Here. You can use this."

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Sylar's mouth drew up into a slight smirk in light of Mohinder's
words, somewhere between ironic and amused, despite the tears still
welling up in his eyes from the effects of the pepper spray. As if
someone in his position, as many powers as Sylar honed or or didn't, had
room to exhibit smugness at a time like this. Whether he was dealing with Mohinder right now or not.

"Now, now, someone's a little snappy," he commented dryly, eyebrow cocked in a somewhat settled amusement. Two cases, well, that wasn't so bad at all. Here he'd been drawing horrible images in his mind, of plagues and pandemics and everything he'd built starting to come crashing down, all because of one little wayward sneeze. But, no, this was child's play, yes? Two cases? Just... stay away from those two people, naturally. ...Unless he'd already been exposed to them. Damn.

He blinked again, outstretching his fingers and taking the glass from Mohinder with a bit of a snappy air on his own. All this over a little spray of mace, honestly. If it were anyone else, some 'thanks' may have been in order, but here Mohinder was, the timid mouse - it was mildly unnerving. The man was acting as if Sylar had murdered his father or something. ...Oh, wait.

"I could make you tell me the name of the virus' carriers, of course," he mused aloud, as he took a moment to ponder the physics of just how to get the water from point A to point B in the best way possible. "Not that you will." Mohinder had a surprisingly steep learning curve in how to keep mum about what he didn't want to reveal, even under pain of... well, lots of creative techniques, all of which ended up in the man bruised and beaten and pinned to the ceiling. "But there's always the fun in trying. Ah, well." As he decided on the old-fashioned way, of goading the water towards his eyes with a few well-aimed splashes.

If this didn't work, he'd just have to kill the geneticist. That was all. No harm, no foul.

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

"You can't," Mohinder protested, even as visions of a thousand different ways Sylar could try to make him talk flashed through his mind. "You don't have the ability, not yet. I'd know it if you did." If Sylar could make people do whatever he wanted them to... well, there was no telling what he'd have done by now, kill rule or no. And he couldn't read minds yet -- that was Matthew Parkman's ability, and last Mohinder had heard the man was still alive and well despite the four shots to the chest he'd taken in New York.

"And you're right," he added stiffly. "I wouldn't anyway. I won't." What Sylar might do with the information, he didn't know, but none of the options he could think of were any good. And anything that might put Molly into more danger was completely out of the question. Mohinder was much too fond of her to allow any further trouble to come her way.

Mohinder stood awkwardly as Sylar splashed his eyes, watching him narrowly. It wasn't exactly comfortable to just... stand there like this, but he wasn't sure what else he could do. The last time he had been around Sylar and they weren't actively trying to kill each other, Sylar had been Zane and that had been... easier. A great deal easier.

It was more difficult now, in fact, because he still remembered that, remembered the way he would have reacted if it was Zane whose eyes were hurt. He might have helped him to the sink and gotten him a washcloth, and then made him some tea while they sat and talked, and... Mohinder cleared his throat, folding his arms. "Any better?" he asked coldly, looking away.