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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[beastlyinsides]

I have more than enough coffee to keep me awake for weeks in the course of a couple of hours and I keep myself on the move, trudging through Central Park with my hands in my pocket. So much for taking it easy, huh? I kick after a couple of pigeons, cursing under my breath. I might as well head for Vegas now, take a bus as far as it will go and fly the rest of the way. It sounds like a plan I can get behind and at least it's doing something other than cursing my own damn abilities.

I head down to the bus station, get myself a ticket and take up the back seat of my chosen bus, glaring holes into anyone daring to try to sit back there with me. My seats. Mine. Fuck off strangers with odd body odors and annoying habits. Go away before I rip your spines out and beat you to death with them.

There's a distinct bubble of empty seats around me by the time the bus is ready to leave, people keeping their distance and choosing to be crowded up near the front instead. It suits me fine, I lounge in my seats, spending the trip reading and eating apples, ignoring the other passengers while they keep an weary eye on me.

The world is my god damn hostage and no bad dreams about Peter Petrelli are going to stop me from getting what I want, when I want it.

I'll be in Vegas by the morning and then Candice can say goodbye to her life as Linderman's go to girl and hello to a long dirtnap.

It's a far better destiny for her at any rate, she's far more useful dead than she could possibly be alive.

[fallen_empath]

I leave my brother at the table with the check, and I don’t miss the affronted expression on his face as I stride purposefully out the wide glass double doors out into the muggy city heat, shielding my eyes against the glare of the sun. God, it’s bright…it hurts. Can’t lose Nathan’s phone, I remind myself, shoving it into my pocket and hailing another taxi, back to my own apartment.

That’s the second time today I’ve used the only power left against my brother, and I feel the same way I did when I pushed him off the roof. Angry. Insulted. Confrontational.

Telekinesis is Sylar’s ability. Well, technically; it’s the first one he ever killed for. I’ve never liked using it, and now it’s my only weapon against him and his murderous intentions. So why is it that I’ve only been able to use it around Nathan?

I’m not going to pretend I know the answer, not yet. Maybe it would be better off if I stayed away from him for the time being, at least until I figure out what the hell Sylar actually did to me. Besides opening up my fucking head and taking everything inside it that made me who I am. I don’t have anything left. Just this damn list.

Concentrate, Peter, I tell myself. You’re their only chance. They’re in danger. Where would Sylar go first?

The sensitivity to light passes, and I rest my head back against the cool leather seat, scanning the list.

Matt Parkman. Telepathy. He’s got that. Niki Sanders. Super-strength. I haven’t met her, so she’s a possibility…as is Molly Walker. Clairvoyance. The ability to locate any person just by thinking about them? He’ll definitely want that. But Sylar is one methodical, depraved bastard, and he’ll want something bigger than that to start. He’ll go for something that will insure nothing interferes with his murder spree, nothing slows it down.

My eyes frantically go over name after name. He already has Claude’s invisibility, thanks to me. But that’s only so effective. He’ll look for something that makes him entirely undetectable, at his own discretion…

Candice Wilmer. Illusions. That’s what he’ll want. Think of how he could torment his innocent victims with this? He could kill someone in a roomful of people, and no one would see or hear a thing.

Las Vegas, Nevada.

I tell the taxi driver I’ve changed my mind. “Take me to the Chase ATM down this block here. Yeah, make a right.” I need to dip into the trust fund for this trip.

Four hours later, I’m on a flight headed to Las Vegas, looking out at the rich colors of sunset when it hits me like that proverbial slap in the face.

This has all been a royal waste of time. Sylar has my brother’s power of flight. This plane isn’t a fucking Concord. Nathan flies faster than the speed of sound, and Sylar must have mastered it by now. I’ll probably just find Candice’s cooling corpse.

I just stare out the window, tears blurring the colors of the sky to an almost red hue. I’ll never be able to stop him. Nathan was right.

[beastlyinsides]

The bus stops in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and I get out, stretching in the cold evening air. The bus driver follows, going to have a smoke and a small break before heading back to New York, more than likely. He's a tough and strong guy, used to handle just about any kind of difficult passenger, I bet. It makes me smirk, weigh my options. It has been a long ride, obviously I can have some fun and at the same time make all of this a hell of a lot easier for myself.

"Busdriver..." I make a show of reading his name tag, noting how his lips tighten slightly. "Mark. Can I call you Marky?" He's about to say 'no' and 'fuck off', but I interrupt him. "I want to know the answer to one question and then I won't bug you."

"Fine, what?" He does want to get rid of me. He probably glanced in his little mirror and saw just how many seats I was occupying as well. Cause for annoyance right there. I show him my biggest smile with far too many teeth, playing at nice.

"I want to know what direction Vegas is in. Do you know, Marky?" I can see the little wheels tick around in his head and then he nods. I was waiting for that. "Excellent. You're going to be my live road map then." I grab a hold of him and fly straight up, being rewarded by a scream. "For shame, didn't think you'd scream like a girl. Here's the deal. You show me the directions and you'll live, I set you down in Vegas."

Translation: You'll be alive when I drop you from great heights down at Vegas. It'll wet my appetite for the main course.

I'm pleased at the immediate cooperation from the once so brave busdriver. I've got a damn good feeling we'll get along. For a while.

[fallen_empath]

When I wake up this time, it’s to the sound of the captain's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, we’ll be landing at McCarran International Airport in the next few minutes."

I stretch my kinked-up limbs as well as I can; I never left my seat the entire five hour flight. I slept through the whole thing. I must have been out like a light, because there’s a slight puddle of drool on the sleeve of my shirt where I rested my head.

Somehow even after all of that, my eyelids fall closed again, like a kid who knows he needs to get up and get dressed for school, but begs his mom for five more minutes.

This time I’m immediately thrust into a dream--more like a nightmare, made up of disjointed, non-linear fragments of images.

I’m fighting yet again with Sylar, and this time feeling every hit because I’m not healing. A gash in my cheek. Bones in my arm and hand snapping as I hit the wall with tremendous force. Sylar laughing, Candice’s dead body splayed out before him, her skull sliced open, blood all over her plush cream-colored carpet. He’s gotten what he wanted from her, and now he’s going to finish me.

But then it all changes...now I’m the one kneeling over Candice as she twitches and moans, and it’s my hands covered in her blood when she screams.

I awake with a start, gasping, and the pretty blonde flight attendant is regarding me cautiously. “Sir, the rest of the passengers have disembarked. Are you all right? Do you need some help?”

I feel the warm trickle of blood issuing from my nose, and I swipe quickly at it, hoping I haven’t smeared it all over my face. My voice is weak as I answer, “No, I’m fine…I just hate flying.”

I try to give her a genuine smile, but I think I’m scaring her more, so I just get up and make for the exit quickly.

Well, it would seem that Mom’s ability is apparently still accessible, if somehow in the near future I become a cold-blooded killer like the man I’m attempting to stop.

Not likely, I reassure myself as I make my way to the car rental counter.

[beastlyinsides]

(bumped it over ----> http://beastlyinsides.livejournal.com/2705.html?view=38033#t38033 )