(no subject)

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar hasn't eaten anything, ordered by himself or not, since walking into Milliways a few days ago and finding it teeming with animals that didn't (tICk) quite sound like (ttticK) animals.

Sometimes, however, precaution only goes so far. Especially if it's precaution in the wrong direction.

During one particular long and barren stretch of highway in rural Ohio, Mohinder, with the passion of a true professor, spent fifteen minutes describing in a rapid-fire cadence how the cockroach was the pinnacle of the evolutionary ladder. Strangely enough, Sylar isn't deriving much comfort from that at the moment.

What he's doing instead is perching on a chair back, motionless save the wary twitching of his antennae, as he struggles to interpret his new senses.


[ooc: eep! I love you all, but please no more new threads. *drowns*]

Comments

[watchmakers_son]

"Time," he snaps, "is something I don't have."

[grandsuccess.livejournal.com]

"No."

She corrected.

"It's a temporally imperative your not willing to wait for. It's a choice."

[watchmakers_son]

I want my son.

The last person who had said that to Sylar was Frank Black.

What did you do with my son?

Very, very softly -- and utterly furious -- he answers, "Maybe so.

"But it's a far better choice than others I've made."

And that said, he whirls around, skittering away into the shadows underneath the table.

[grandsuccess.livejournal.com]

The worst part, perhaps, she thought, as she did not push herself to her feet just yet--






He was quite right about that.