(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

[joiningyousoon.livejournal.com]

"Eight days," she raps out with immediate military precision, and the look that she turns on him is no less sympathetic for all her bewilderment. "Not as long as you, I'm guessing."

[watchmakers_son]

One antenna twitches, curiously, at her tone of voice. (The speed and meter of the vibrations, more accurately; the way she answers without any seeming thought.)

He's lost his gifts, but some cues are more mundane -- and easily read -- than others.

"Yes," he answers. A precisely calculated pause follows. "Though it depends on which calendar you go by. It was the middle of winter here when I first arrived. In my world, it's been barely more than a month."

[joiningyousoon.livejournal.com]

She settles back into her chair, across the table from the cockroach. "It is strange, isn't it?" says Maya. Not only is she having a conversation with a cockroach, but, "I think it's been much longer here than it has been for me. I've noticed the seasons change, as well." A note of wistfulness creeps into her voice. "It was warmer eight days ago."

[watchmakers_son]

There: movement that's easily tracked this time, enough to make out her shape far better than before. Sylar can't cock his head, but both antennae move this time, twitching toward the right in a parody of the gesture.

"You're fond of summer."

[joiningyousoon.livejournal.com]

"My land is a cold one," says Maya simply. "It can be unforgiving."