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 no trace of surprise in either Sylar's stance or expression as the other man appeared, apparently, from out of nowhere, and no hint as to whether this absence was genuine, or simply the result of practice at masking his emotions from outside observers. His eyebrows drew up, showing faint bemusement at the comment, though his gaze went a shade colder. "Excuse me?" he replied, quiet voice as mild as the other man's was scathing.
The hands already clenched in his coat pockets pulled just a little tighter, the knuckles of the right scraping lightly over the unfamiliar weight of the device nestled there.
"Maybe your expectations aren't the important ones," Sylar replied. There was just the faintest hint of amusement audible in his voice, as though the other man had stumbled into some private joke. It did not match the slow coil of aggravation that was his honest response. He picked over the situation in his thoughts, settling upon a likely test, considering the circumstances he'd left not long previous. The stranger's barbs struck a little too close to home for it to be otherwise.
"Too bad," Sylar replied, in a tone of voice that implied heavily that he really thought it wasn't after all. He half-turned, though he did not put his back to the other man. Paranoia was not, by this point, so much a pathology as it was a survival mechanism. He had enough people out there who wanted him dead, after all. "...Did you have anything enlightening to say? Or should I just be on my way?"
Sylar canted his head, regarding the other man in a coolly analytical manner that brought to mind a scientist studying a new specimen, rather than anything particularly related to conversation. "You haven't said a single useful word." The reply was quiet, bland-voiced and dismissive. "You're just trying to get under my skin."
And succeeding, to a degree, though he was unwilling to admit the truth of that. And so he smiled faintly, as though ever so slightly amused by the efforts, though his hands flexed and curled invisibly inside his pockets, and walked away.
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The hands already clenched in his coat pockets pulled just a little tighter, the knuckles of the right scraping lightly over the unfamiliar weight of the device nestled there.
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And succeeding, to a degree, though he was unwilling to admit the truth of that. And so he smiled faintly, as though ever so slightly amused by the efforts, though his hands flexed and curled invisibly inside his pockets, and walked away.
It wouldn't do to just let someone else win.
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