[Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later
((OOC: Any and all details about Sylar have been cleared with the mun first!))
( In your own blaze of hate you've spawn a fear in many lives/ You've taken action thinking it was all said on the signs./ Now I have time to dwell on, self-awareness, dreadful crime./ I saw colors too bright, not knowing that I was blind./ To think you are right/ To make sure it won't fly/ Is a making of a hate crime. )
( In your own blaze of hate you've spawn a fear in many lives/ You've taken action thinking it was all said on the signs./ Now I have time to dwell on, self-awareness, dreadful crime./ I saw colors too bright, not knowing that I was blind./ To think you are right/ To make sure it won't fly/ Is a making of a hate crime. )
Peter was nearly knocking him off-kilter, then, over sideways, and Nathan went reeling a couple of steps, an odd sort of frustrated grunt sounding in his throat. This is what Peter would be like if he was wasted, wouldn't it? Or... he'd just be incredibly emo. Whatever the case, this was... mildly horrifying. And he had to resist the urge to slap a palm to his face.
"Ah, no, Pete. That's the bathroom," Nathan replied curtly, tapping a finger against the 'WOMEN'S' sign tacked just by Peter's line of sight. "Close, though, definitely." It had to be around here. Somewhere. "I think it's more down the end of the hall. So. Stop breaking into the girl's bathroom, yeah?"
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"Oops," Peter snickered under his breath, trying to keep his eyelids open. It was getting to the point where his brain was trying to equate 'not moving = a great chance to sleep', so Peter continued trudging along, leaning on Nathan more and more heavily.
Well, at least one of them knew where they were going, because Peter sure didn't. And Nathan sounded like he at least had some clue - Nathan was always right (except for the few times that he wasn't), so Peter thought it was fairly safe to trust in his navigational skills.
"I think my brain is disintegrating," he mumbled. Not the best choice of words for trying to communicate that he was so tired that his brain was going haywire, but Nathan would understand. ...At least he couldn't think about Sylar right now, or anything meaningful like his greater purpose in the world.
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"All right, we're almost there, jeez," he muttered, and half-glanced to Peter at his words. With the kind of expression that showed just how much he agreed with Peter right now. Disintegrating brains. "Oh, yeah?" he prompted right back, almost as if he were talking to a nine-year-old spouting off crazy, dreamed-up plans.
"Brain disintegrating, huh? Y... why's that?" he added vaguely, only half paying attention as his eyes scanned the... There. He'd never been happier to see a door. This had to be it. Jiggling open the knob, Nathan sighed at the sight of the Slytherin common room. Right. Awesome.
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Right, and then left, and Peter suddenly wondered if he was getting blood all over Nathan's clean shirt. There'd been no protests yet, so maybe Nathan didn't mind so much.
"Yeah. Bits of my brain falling to... bits," Peter continued, not even really aware of what he was saying. "Too tired. And Sylar's thoughts keep... rattling around. Shouldn't have listened."
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Nathan settled Peter onto one of the leather sofas, fixing him with the strangest look from all of forever. Bits of brains? Falling... what? He was just babbling on, like, he wasn't even aware of what he was talking about. "Did you get a few screws knocked loose when you got that pole through your head or something, Pete? Jeez," he muttered, clapping Peter once on the shoulder and straightening.
He couldn't help but scratch at his forehead and keep on looking at Peter with that strange sort of questioning look. Almost as if by reading his mind, a house elf - he was never going to get used to those things - ran in with... he was pretty sure it was some kind of cola, but whatever. "Sylar's thoughts, what... what are you talking about? What did Sylar think?"
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"Thoughts," he repeated, as if it were perfectly obvious. Why didn't Nathan understand him the first time round? "'Bout his mother, and... he flipped out, and... he thought about the people he... killed... and..."
Peter promptly tipped over and landed face-first on the couch cushions, already asleep. The dangers of sitting down when sleep deprived.
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"Thoughts? ...About his mother?" Nathan repeated, a bit stupidly, with the kind of outrage that made him sound skeptical that Sylar would even have a mother. He was probably born in a petri dish. In a lab. Or something. "Why? What kind of...?"
Did he just...
Nathan turned around, looking at Peter's face smashed into the cushions, eyebrows jumping up a little. "Peter." He grabbed at Peter's shoulder, shaking it a little. "Peter?" Great. ...At least he was sleeping. "Right. You just... stay there. Good idea."
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