[Thread] All that you reason
Characters: Sylar (OU), OPEN
Where: The plaza
When: Late evening
Summary: Quite unexpectedly, Sylar finds himself in a new and entirely foreign place. The logical next step? Find out what's going on.
Warnings: None, currently.
There was something eerily familiar about the city street. It was not, Sylar knew, a place he'd been before. He recognized none of the scant landmarks, not even as ghosts of something glimpsed in his youth, long buried beneath the weight of years and of disinterest. It clicked after a few seconds. The decay, the disuse, the strange, lingering sense of despair. It brought to mind the paintings, the ones of New York after the bomb. It had the feel of a city overwhelmed by cataclysm, sudden and inexorable. The damage was less dramatic, but the sense was there, and his fingers flexed at his side as though in response to some strange yearning to reach out and touch it. To understand what had happened, what had gone wrong.
He buried his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, clenching them tightly against any stray impulse. If there were lingering echoes of whatever had driven this city to resemble a ghost town, he did not want to catch them. There were better ways to learn what he wanted to know than employing his stolen empathy.
He pulled away from the fountain, casting it a considering look. He didn't need his ability to note that it was broken. The water in the bowl was old and stale, and nothing fresh flowed. He marked this, as he marked the details of everything he passed, eyes slightly narrowed and brow furrowed in scrutiny, searching for gaps in what he saw, for something out of place.
He knew better than to assume instantly that this was real. It had weight to it, a sense of solidity that defied him to assume illusion, but he would be a fool to ignore the possibility.
Whatever else Sylar may have been, he was not a fool.
Despite how run-down the city street seemed, it did not appear to be entirely deserted. It was not long before he turned his inspection of the surroundings more completely to a search for other people, or the answers they held and might pass on. The visible intensity of his attention dimmed, his aspect shifting almost without thought to one slightly more benign. The lost and confused traveler was more likely to garner sympathy, and by that method, trust. Discontent still simmered, however, glimpses visible through the gaps in his facade.
It was a bad time for this side trip, however it might have come about.
Where: The plaza
When: Late evening
Summary: Quite unexpectedly, Sylar finds himself in a new and entirely foreign place. The logical next step? Find out what's going on.
Warnings: None, currently.
There was something eerily familiar about the city street. It was not, Sylar knew, a place he'd been before. He recognized none of the scant landmarks, not even as ghosts of something glimpsed in his youth, long buried beneath the weight of years and of disinterest. It clicked after a few seconds. The decay, the disuse, the strange, lingering sense of despair. It brought to mind the paintings, the ones of New York after the bomb. It had the feel of a city overwhelmed by cataclysm, sudden and inexorable. The damage was less dramatic, but the sense was there, and his fingers flexed at his side as though in response to some strange yearning to reach out and touch it. To understand what had happened, what had gone wrong.
He buried his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, clenching them tightly against any stray impulse. If there were lingering echoes of whatever had driven this city to resemble a ghost town, he did not want to catch them. There were better ways to learn what he wanted to know than employing his stolen empathy.
He pulled away from the fountain, casting it a considering look. He didn't need his ability to note that it was broken. The water in the bowl was old and stale, and nothing fresh flowed. He marked this, as he marked the details of everything he passed, eyes slightly narrowed and brow furrowed in scrutiny, searching for gaps in what he saw, for something out of place.
He knew better than to assume instantly that this was real. It had weight to it, a sense of solidity that defied him to assume illusion, but he would be a fool to ignore the possibility.
Whatever else Sylar may have been, he was not a fool.
Despite how run-down the city street seemed, it did not appear to be entirely deserted. It was not long before he turned his inspection of the surroundings more completely to a search for other people, or the answers they held and might pass on. The visible intensity of his attention dimmed, his aspect shifting almost without thought to one slightly more benign. The lost and confused traveler was more likely to garner sympathy, and by that method, trust. Discontent still simmered, however, glimpses visible through the gaps in his facade.
It was a bad time for this side trip, however it might have come about.