hh_mirror | Closed RP - i kan haz mohindah nao?

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.

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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.

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.

"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."

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.

"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.

Closed RP - i kan haz mohindah nao?

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