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.

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[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.