Interlude in the Walk-In Cupboard of Emo...
For once, he has not been dragged in here -- through the dim red passageway that's already like his apartment's split personality, into the tiny room with the bare lightbulb and the walls that are whitewashed under all the pen and paint and dry brown something-else -- by any compulsion. He's not here to add to the pleas for ungiven forgiveness that scrawl untidy spider-trails across the plaster. Neither is he here to avoid the urge to bellow his frustrations to the heavens and give the game away.
This time, he's here to think.
Darla Wood. Will she be his third?
Two disparate parts of him are in agreement that there's no question, though each is still arguing about whether the answer's yes or no. Playing mediator, when he's on both sides himself, is beyond tricky.
Sylar’s immediate reaction comes from his gut, twisting out: of course he should kill her, and he’s been a fool even to wait this long, he should have struck the second he learned what he could gain. Continuing to bluff could be forgiven as window-shopping to an extent, but walking out of there with the same amount of power as when he walked in was a stupid move which is endangering his mission.
His mission? Why, his imperative, of course. The evolutionary imperative. Lions, spiders, sea-turtles? Ringing any bells? If he lets Darla go - and forgoes her power, over nothing more than a moment’s uncertainty - then he’s practically offering to let just anyone go, and he might as well hang up his coat right now and go back to vegetating in his father’s shop. No Gray has ever done anything like this before. It’s really no more terrible than a settler spearing fish for his livelihood: all that’s needed is the right perspective.
How slanted a perspective would he need to make this look utterly right? It’s not just a moment’s uncertainty that’s making him waver - if it was so small a thing, he wouldn’t be here in this graffiti-stained little hole, trying desperately not to rock too hard on the knife’s edge between utter madness and utter despair. It’s more than a moment’s uncertainty. The telekinetic in Manhattan, the cryokinetic in Chicago… both were complete strangers to him, and both were underusing or underappreciating their abilities. Wasting them. Undeserving of them. Darla… doesn’t seem to be that way. She embraces her power, to a point at the least, and admires his own. Is that enough to make her an exception?
Evolution, though, has no time for pity or exceptions. It all depends, really, on how ruthless he is prepared to be. And there are the practicalities to consider as well. He’s seen her manipulate a plant, and feels sure that could be applied to human flesh should she wish to put up a fight; if/when he does take her power he shall have to be quick and-
-what, it occurs to him with a fright, if it was someone closer - Chandra, his mother? If he kills Darla now, would he get to the point where he might - no, he won’t even think about it. Chandra’s - well, yes, he’s useful, and he’s hilariously oblivious, but more than that he’s the person who gave him this chance to be Sylar, someone important. He’s like - another chance at having a father. He’s - a friend, and yes, that’s the same get-out clause he’s debating for Darla, that’s the problem. The geneticist can be frustrating sometimes, but - look, there’s no possible way he would kill him for a power. His mother, too - it’s just - not a notion to consider, not even in example. It’s too - wrong.
But if they’re exceptions, then why not Darla? They’re not amazingly close, in his opinion, but then - he’s not close to his mother. He’s certainly spoken to the chatty pianist more recently than he has the untidy old woman in her matching apartment. And she, like a lesser extent of Chandra, has been awestruck and encouraging of his abilities. She’s validated him.
It wouldn’t be without precedent. There are people he wouldn’t lay a finger on.
So...
...Is that his answer?
This time, he's here to think.
Darla Wood. Will she be his third?
Two disparate parts of him are in agreement that there's no question, though each is still arguing about whether the answer's yes or no. Playing mediator, when he's on both sides himself, is beyond tricky.
Sylar’s immediate reaction comes from his gut, twisting out: of course he should kill her, and he’s been a fool even to wait this long, he should have struck the second he learned what he could gain. Continuing to bluff could be forgiven as window-shopping to an extent, but walking out of there with the same amount of power as when he walked in was a stupid move which is endangering his mission.
His mission? Why, his imperative, of course. The evolutionary imperative. Lions, spiders, sea-turtles? Ringing any bells? If he lets Darla go - and forgoes her power, over nothing more than a moment’s uncertainty - then he’s practically offering to let just anyone go, and he might as well hang up his coat right now and go back to vegetating in his father’s shop. No Gray has ever done anything like this before. It’s really no more terrible than a settler spearing fish for his livelihood: all that’s needed is the right perspective.
How slanted a perspective would he need to make this look utterly right? It’s not just a moment’s uncertainty that’s making him waver - if it was so small a thing, he wouldn’t be here in this graffiti-stained little hole, trying desperately not to rock too hard on the knife’s edge between utter madness and utter despair. It’s more than a moment’s uncertainty. The telekinetic in Manhattan, the cryokinetic in Chicago… both were complete strangers to him, and both were underusing or underappreciating their abilities. Wasting them. Undeserving of them. Darla… doesn’t seem to be that way. She embraces her power, to a point at the least, and admires his own. Is that enough to make her an exception?
Evolution, though, has no time for pity or exceptions. It all depends, really, on how ruthless he is prepared to be. And there are the practicalities to consider as well. He’s seen her manipulate a plant, and feels sure that could be applied to human flesh should she wish to put up a fight; if/when he does take her power he shall have to be quick and-
-what, it occurs to him with a fright, if it was someone closer - Chandra, his mother? If he kills Darla now, would he get to the point where he might - no, he won’t even think about it. Chandra’s - well, yes, he’s useful, and he’s hilariously oblivious, but more than that he’s the person who gave him this chance to be Sylar, someone important. He’s like - another chance at having a father. He’s - a friend, and yes, that’s the same get-out clause he’s debating for Darla, that’s the problem. The geneticist can be frustrating sometimes, but - look, there’s no possible way he would kill him for a power. His mother, too - it’s just - not a notion to consider, not even in example. It’s too - wrong.
But if they’re exceptions, then why not Darla? They’re not amazingly close, in his opinion, but then - he’s not close to his mother. He’s certainly spoken to the chatty pianist more recently than he has the untidy old woman in her matching apartment. And she, like a lesser extent of Chandra, has been awestruck and encouraging of his abilities. She’s validated him.
It wouldn’t be without precedent. There are people he wouldn’t lay a finger on.
So...
...Is that his answer?