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

[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.