Sekrit Cabal Ficlet Battle (Version 2)
SEKRIT CABAL FICLET BATTLE HAS BEGUN!!
How to Participate:
Pick a prompt, any prompt, from the list below - then write a ficlet answering said prompt. Post it in the comments to this post, and then bask in praise ^_^
( Posting Rules: )
How to Participate:
Pick a prompt, any prompt, from the list below - then write a ficlet answering said prompt. Post it in the comments to this post, and then bask in praise ^_^
( Posting Rules: )
The bare hardwood is worn smooth, by decades, by generations of passage - the stairs are uneven, oddly balanced, and they creak with every step Mohinder descends.
His palm slides along the railing, polished bright, and he knows (he knows) that the last step won’t creak, that the wood along the edge is rough (check for splinters), that there are eighteen steps in this staircase and that the end of the rail is carved like the head of a tiger. He knows this staircase intimately, and yet he’s never seen it before.
Sunlight whispers through the windows, clouded with frost, weak with the strain of winter. A thin beam falls across Mohinder’s eyes, and it blinds him, for a moment, but he doesn’t blink. Outside, all he can see is a glowing white.
There must have been a snowstorm, he thinks, and he doesn’t remind himself that it’s summer, not winter.
The doorknob is cold, in his hand. The metal looks as though it’s been caught in mid-flow - like a frozen waterfall. But he turns it - of course he does - and forces the door open, against the weight of the outdoors.
A figure, dressed in grey, turns - startled - and meets Mohinder’s eyes.
“Sylar,” says Mohinder. Not shocked, not defensive. Not afraid. He shifts his stance into the doorway, blocking the path into the house.
Sylar looks different, Mohinder clarifies, to himself. He noticed it, all in a rush, the instant before he spoke, but now - it’s in the shoulders, like Sylar is trying to relax, trying to slip in as confident and easy as he always did. But there’s tension, and it’s not so difficult to spot.
“What are you doing here?” asks Mohinder.
Sylar glances away, to a tree dipped in ice. “I took a chance,” he tells Mohinder.
“You’d better come in, then,” and Mohinder gets the fleeting impression of a decade of conversation, of explaining and tears and forgiveness, all slipping past with the strength of a handful of seconds.
~*~
Mohinder awakens in his own apartment, the sheets in a hopeless tangle. He extricates himself, half-falling onto the floor. Wonders, for a moment, why the weather outside is so warm.
~*~
“He was caught almost six hours ago,” says Bennet, coolly. “He didn’t have time to know what hit him.”
Mohinder steps up to the glass, a strange, sinking twist inside his stomach. Inside the cell, Sylar’s eyes open - he doesn’t look around, doesn’t have the least moment of disorientation. Instead, his gaze flicks straight to Mohinder.
Slowly, steadily, Sylar gets to his feet. Doesn’t break eye contact.
Mohinder keys the intercom.
“Not a good idea,” murmurs Bennet.
“What are you doing here?” asks Mohinder. To Sylar. The question doesn’t quite make sense, he feels, but he needs the answer. He needs -
“I took a chance,” rasps Sylar.
Mohinder flicks off the intercom, steadying himself against the wall.
“Are you ready?” asks Bennet.
“To do what?”
“To kill him.”
Mohinder pauses; a half-formed “what if” trembles, uncertainly, on his tongue.
“Mohinder.”
“Yes,” says Mohinder. “I am.”
“Good,” says Bennet. “It’s about time.”
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And because I'm a romantic at heart who loves happy endings, I hope that 2 seconds after this ends Mohinder knocks Bennet out and escapes for a life of torrid passion on the run. ;)
I'm a little confused about the storyline, though. Is the first part a dream? An alternate reality or parallel universe? I can't really tell what's real and what's not.
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The beginning was a dream. A dream that creepily coincided with what happened in the second part, in real life. What I was thinking was that Sylar controlled the dream, or maybe sensed that Mohinder had it, and responded accordingly. And that Mohinder rejected him - or, in the happy-ending way, pretended to reject him :P
I'm glad you liked :)
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This has completely satisfied my craving for your Mylar fics for now :D
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Thank you! I'm glad you liked :P
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