Application - Gabriel "Sylar" Gray, from 'Heroes'
(( Permission granted from Heroes!muns :D Italics are Sylar's written answers. ))
Well, well, well. This place was... interesting.
There was a single chair just by the usual table of applications, all alone. A man sat idly inside, slightly slumped, hands laced together in his lap. Totally not dangerous. Nope, not at all. Everything was so very nondescript. Khaki pants. Simple navy blue t-shirt over a dark gray long sleeved one. So neutral it almost stuck out. The quirked grin tugging up a corner of his mouth might have seemed friendly on anybody else, but on him? ...Damn, it was just creepy.
Vast improvement from before, at least. No gouges through the middle of this shirt. But the sweatshirt he'd had before... Well, getting a little stabbed tended to do that to someone.
He cleared his throat once, cocking his head at the application on the table beside him. Hmm. Stacks of papers and only little old him to fill them out? Don't mind if he does. A lone quill lifted off the table and started to scrawl out a single word across the top of the sheet, in a rough chicken scratch of a handwriting. SYLAR.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
...Oh, that was cute. Really. He'd been shot at, stabbed straight through the stomach by some stupid little Asian MORON, had to make his way through filthy New York sewers, hide out for days, and the first thing he asked about at this new destination, opportunity galore forgotte, was about cheese?
Cottage, was all the quill scrawled out, without so much as a word from Sylar.
and not because it's shaped like brainz, wut
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
From cheese to bumbling television personalities. "And here I was thinking that dirt could get no browner," he marveled to himself with a smirk that was probably meant to be charming. It came out less Pierce Brosnan... more Jason Isaacs. The quill scribbled out, The dinosaur. He'd never been one for television, sure, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know who Barney was.
Sylar's expression contorted into one of disgust. He might've liked Barney, had the show not surfaced when he was too old to enjoy it any longer. Now? Ah, the show didn't fare much better, in his eyes. 'I Love You' had a vaguely funereal, ominous, impending doom tone to it.
3. What time is it where you are?
Time? What was that again? Hadn't he had an affinity for clocks, at some point? Time just kind of meshed from day to night now. Still, Sylar extended his arm, making a big show of reading the broken watch face perched on his wrist.
"Huh." Eleven fifty-three. Seven minutes to midnight. "What a surprise."
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
...This question. It was a joke. Right?
And he'd thought he couldn't get more disgusted. Of all things. Sexual harassment? It was detestable. It was a sin. Not that he hadn't sinned before, of course, which he was fully aware of, and reminded himself of practically ever minute of the day. But to go to that level? I wouldn't, was all he wrote, in slightly shaky letters.
The world was a revolting place. He shouldn't have let himself grow continually surprised by it, and, yet, here he was.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Hypothetical, he was assuming. As if he could land a normal job, when his face was going to be plastered across every television in America. Besides, bartending? The hours would clash horribly with his current gig. He so did favor his night hours.
Mind Trap, the quill scritched out, as a small grin of amusement started tugging at Sylar's mouth. What? He was proud of himself.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Who was Harry? ...Who was Fred? ...Who was George?
Did these boys really think that a man nearly ten years their elder, who had yet to have a real relationship of his own - probably never would - was one to give them advice in the field of love?
The question was left blank.
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
Apparently... they weren't a... serial-killing fuckhead with telekinesis? No, that wouldn't do at all. Sylar turned back to the page, pursing his lips and resting a single index finger against them in thought. Paperwork. How to get rid of paperwork. ...He was over-thinking this. Far too much. A paper shredder, naturally.
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
...What? WHAT?
It was all at once that his breathing started to quicken, back arching into that much straighter of a line. Useless? Useless? His whole life he'd been told that he was just normal, that he needed to be special. His mother had practically beaten the knowledge into his brain, had the woman the means to be that physically cruel. Now, here he was, one of the most powerful men in all of the world, and this... this questionnaire was making him prove he wasn't useless?
"I... am not..." he started to growl, but he couldn't even get out the words. The quill he'd been writing with snapped completely in two, both halves sent shooting off in two directions and into walls on either side of the room. Oops. Calm down, Sylar. Calm down. The Dictaquill sprang into life in the other quill's absence, poised onto the page and ready for writing.
He'd started breathing more regularly, but it didn't stop his hands from gripping the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles had whitened to the color of bone in his discomfort. "You haven't seen the things I can do," he added in a low voice, narrowing his eyes to the floor. "The last thing I am is useless."
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
A bribe? He had to bribe to get into this place? It didn't seem to promising so far. He wasn't even sure it was worthy of needing to bribe the people to get into it. What did he even have? His watch. The clothes on his back. A pocket full of change and a few bills. He grasped the money from his pocket and dropped it onto the application. It couldn't have been more than ten bucks.
Like hell he was using his powers to do any favors for people here, though. He was not a circus monkey.
Well, well, well. This place was... interesting.
There was a single chair just by the usual table of applications, all alone. A man sat idly inside, slightly slumped, hands laced together in his lap. Totally not dangerous. Nope, not at all. Everything was so very nondescript. Khaki pants. Simple navy blue t-shirt over a dark gray long sleeved one. So neutral it almost stuck out. The quirked grin tugging up a corner of his mouth might have seemed friendly on anybody else, but on him? ...Damn, it was just creepy.
Vast improvement from before, at least. No gouges through the middle of this shirt. But the sweatshirt he'd had before... Well, getting a little stabbed tended to do that to someone.
He cleared his throat once, cocking his head at the application on the table beside him. Hmm. Stacks of papers and only little old him to fill them out? Don't mind if he does. A lone quill lifted off the table and started to scrawl out a single word across the top of the sheet, in a rough chicken scratch of a handwriting. SYLAR.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
...Oh, that was cute. Really. He'd been shot at, stabbed straight through the stomach by some stupid little Asian MORON, had to make his way through filthy New York sewers, hide out for days, and the first thing he asked about at this new destination, opportunity galore forgotte, was about cheese?
Cottage, was all the quill scrawled out, without so much as a word from Sylar.
and not because it's shaped like brainz, wut
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
From cheese to bumbling television personalities. "And here I was thinking that dirt could get no browner," he marveled to himself with a smirk that was probably meant to be charming. It came out less Pierce Brosnan... more Jason Isaacs. The quill scribbled out, The dinosaur. He'd never been one for television, sure, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know who Barney was.
Sylar's expression contorted into one of disgust. He might've liked Barney, had the show not surfaced when he was too old to enjoy it any longer. Now? Ah, the show didn't fare much better, in his eyes. 'I Love You' had a vaguely funereal, ominous, impending doom tone to it.
3. What time is it where you are?
Time? What was that again? Hadn't he had an affinity for clocks, at some point? Time just kind of meshed from day to night now. Still, Sylar extended his arm, making a big show of reading the broken watch face perched on his wrist.
"Huh." Eleven fifty-three. Seven minutes to midnight. "What a surprise."
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
...This question. It was a joke. Right?
And he'd thought he couldn't get more disgusted. Of all things. Sexual harassment? It was detestable. It was a sin. Not that he hadn't sinned before, of course, which he was fully aware of, and reminded himself of practically ever minute of the day. But to go to that level? I wouldn't, was all he wrote, in slightly shaky letters.
The world was a revolting place. He shouldn't have let himself grow continually surprised by it, and, yet, here he was.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Hypothetical, he was assuming. As if he could land a normal job, when his face was going to be plastered across every television in America. Besides, bartending? The hours would clash horribly with his current gig. He so did favor his night hours.
Mind Trap, the quill scritched out, as a small grin of amusement started tugging at Sylar's mouth. What? He was proud of himself.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
Who was Harry? ...Who was Fred? ...Who was George?
Did these boys really think that a man nearly ten years their elder, who had yet to have a real relationship of his own - probably never would - was one to give them advice in the field of love?
The question was left blank.
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
Apparently... they weren't a... serial-killing fuckhead with telekinesis? No, that wouldn't do at all. Sylar turned back to the page, pursing his lips and resting a single index finger against them in thought. Paperwork. How to get rid of paperwork. ...He was over-thinking this. Far too much. A paper shredder, naturally.
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
...What? WHAT?
It was all at once that his breathing started to quicken, back arching into that much straighter of a line. Useless? Useless? His whole life he'd been told that he was just normal, that he needed to be special. His mother had practically beaten the knowledge into his brain, had the woman the means to be that physically cruel. Now, here he was, one of the most powerful men in all of the world, and this... this questionnaire was making him prove he wasn't useless?
"I... am not..." he started to growl, but he couldn't even get out the words. The quill he'd been writing with snapped completely in two, both halves sent shooting off in two directions and into walls on either side of the room. Oops. Calm down, Sylar. Calm down. The Dictaquill sprang into life in the other quill's absence, poised onto the page and ready for writing.
He'd started breathing more regularly, but it didn't stop his hands from gripping the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles had whitened to the color of bone in his discomfort. "You haven't seen the things I can do," he added in a low voice, narrowing his eyes to the floor. "The last thing I am is useless."
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
A bribe? He had to bribe to get into this place? It didn't seem to promising so far. He wasn't even sure it was worthy of needing to bribe the people to get into it. What did he even have? His watch. The clothes on his back. A pocket full of change and a few bills. He grasped the money from his pocket and dropped it onto the application. It couldn't have been more than ten bucks.
Like hell he was using his powers to do any favors for people here, though. He was not a circus monkey.