Scientific interest - Rp with fallen_empath

[beastlyinsides]

I crouch down next to Peter's prone body, stroking the hair away from his eyes, tracing the line across his forehead where I cut into him. There's nothing there now, just a bit of dried up blood, indicating the injury. I can't wait to see what's hidden in his brain, see what I can take and make mine

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[fallen_empath]

Is Sylar fucking serious? I just killed a man. I just tore apart one of Las Vegas’ most notorious, richest criminals in his private suite, and of all the possible things we could do next, Sylar wants to go shopping for clothes? What are we, best friends all of a sudden? I manage a laugh, but it sounds more like a sob because I’m trying not to let him know I’m still crying.

Oh, yes, Sylar, I imagine myself saying. Those are the perfect pants to go on a killing spree in!

I almost snap that sarcastic comment at him, but I hold my tongue, thinking better of it. If I don’t, he’ll probably just find another reason to hit me or hurt me in some way. Of course I’ll heal physically, but mentally, I don’t think I can take any more pain right now.

The gravity of what I’ve done has finally hit me. My blood is all over the scene upstairs, just like it was in Mohinder’s apartment, and I can’t call Nathan and ask him to fix this one. Oh, God, what is he going to do when he finds out?

Hiding my internal struggle behind the bathroom door that’s open just a crack, I scrub blood off my tearstained face, then out from under my fingernails.

I was so fucking close, and I screwed it up. I killed someone, and I enjoyed it. For once, I held all the power. I was important. Superior. But I wanted it too badly, and because I couldn’t control myself, I ruined it.

Emotions are running through me faster than I can process them, lumping together inside my head and in my heart in a confused jumble, and I almost wish I felt nothing, like I did after Sylar took my abilities from me.

My own conscience is at war with Sylar’s hunger, both demanding to be acknowledged. I don’t want to kill again…but I want to. The hunger is much stronger, and it’s terrifying and thrilling and simultaneously eating away at my sanity and bolstering my will to try again. To do it right this time. If I succeed, I can win Sylar’s approval.

When Sylar decides we’re presentable, we head out of the Corinthian and take a taxi into the commercial shopping district. I let myself be led along against my will, silent and feeling like a kicked puppy, a sullen child.

Sylar pores through the racks quickly, all business. We’re in the Gap, I think. He chooses jeans, t-shirts and sweaters, a jacket, all in black. When it’s perfectly evident I’m not in the mood for a day out on the town, he glares at me until I start doing the same.

I’m surprised I picked anything in the right size, considering I can barely concentrate on anything but the hunger. I want my chance to prove I’m worth something. Like I’ve done with Nathan so many times before. But this time it’s a psychopathic serial killer that I’m modeling myself after. I’m lost, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find myself again.

[beastlyinsides]

I pay for our clothes with make-believe illusional money and go across the street to the McDonalds, going straight for the toilet there. Peter is trailing behind me like a sullen child and I'm imagining that there's a thunder cloud over his head, like he's fucking Eeyore or something.

"Jesus. Will you cheer up? We're going to get to killing someone soon." The guy that's standing in front of the sink when we come in looks at us all wide-eyed. "Not you, asshole." I casually reach out and slam his head into the mirror, letting him drop to the floor. Let him watch the birdies while we change.

I shove Peter into a stall and push the clothes into his arms, then walk into the stall next to him. "I'm dropping the illusion now." Not that I have to tell him. The sudden nudity should be a clue. Hell, the only thing we're really wearing is shoes, socks and underwear. Fortunately I picked up new changes of that too.

I get my clothes on quickly, stepping outside and prodding the man on the floor with my shoe. Still out. Good boy.

"What the hell are you doing in there, Petrelli? You don't have time to jerk off."

[fallen_empath]

I ignore Sylar’s snide comment, and I just sit down on the closed toilet lid, entirely naked, turning Nathan’s cell over and over in my hands, as if I’m waiting for the magical phone call that will deliver me from the evil I’ve made myself a part of, the evil I feel pressing in on my very soul.

I don’t know what to do. Yes, Sylar is a wanted criminal, but no police, not even a SWAT team, probably not even the damn United States military for that matter, can take him down. And even if there were some way to apprehend him, I’d go down right with him, because I’m just like him. There’s no difference between us, even if I know what I’ve done is wrong.

I have no choice but to move forward. I have to get control over this curse of an ability he’s given me. I want to kill again, but I’ve got to do it right. I need to become as powerful as I once was, and then figure out how to stop him myself. There’s got to be a way. I just have to find it.

Actively setting my mind against the hunger gives me a slight thread of hope to cling to, however short-lived the relief will be, and I rifle through the bag Sylar thrust into my hands. A pair of dark jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, a black jacket, some socks and boxers.

Tucking Nathan’s cell phone into my inside pocket, I emerge from the stall, then go right to the sink and wash my face, comb my hair back with my fingers, unable to look myself in the eyes.

The unconscious guy at my feet is starting to stir, and I catch Sylar’s reflection in my gaze and snap, “How fucking generous of you. You let someone live for once. Let’s go before he wakes up and you change your mind.”

[beastlyinsides]

I give him a wolfish grin, certainly not getting any pangs of guilt over our witness on the floor. "See, now you're starting to get the hang of it. It was fucking generous. I can be when I want to be." I grab the bag and head out the door, not checking if Peter is following. I know he is. He might not know it yet, but he's hooked. He can't escape his path now. I couldn't either, after Brian.

We find a cheap motel after another cab ride, dropping off our second shift of clothes. It's good to have a plan for after the kill, somewhere to go. We got one room, two beds. That'll do just fine.

"Hope you're ready Petrelli." He is. I can feel the hunger pulse inside him, work on his insides, his soul. It makes me smile, all teeth and malice.

Niki and DL's house is easy to find. We get into the backyard and I pick the lock on the backdoor with telekinesis, softening our steps with it as well. With a family, you don't want to alert anyone. We could be outnumbered or they could run out different exits and form a defense of some sort. I'm not risking that.

You take the woman. Don't fuck this up, I tell him telepathically. I can only feel two people. I look up towards the ceiling, hearing distinctive sounds from there. Well, fuck. I guess they will be reasonably distracted. Upstairs.