32 // [Dream]

[neverendingbeat]

[The Master rarely sleeps. As an old acquaintance of his said once, "Sleep is for tortoises." And that's at least one thing he's said that the Master can agree with. Why sleep when there are so many more, interesting options for what he could be doing?

Of course, given long enough, he does need sleep, but that's not what's happening tonight. Tonight

Comments

[makes_you_tick]

It's familiar, of course. Sylar can't place his finger on what, exactly, is familiar about it, but it is.

He figures he's still in his dream, because after all, he just opened the door to one of the trailers, and the trailers in his dream lead to some very odd places indeed. But this isn't quite where his tastes lie right now.

He doesn't call out, he just waits with observant (perhaps paranoid) eyes. The expression on his face is the careful devil-may-care one he tends to get when he's really worried.

[ ooc: I think he's already fairly disillusioned. XD Also, feel free to ignore/delete this if your dance card is full already. <3 ]

[neverendingbeat]

The drums become ever louder as the TARDIS acknowledges Sylar's presence. They reach their apex and there is a short period where nothing else happens.

And then the sound of marching begins from behind Sylar which is no longer a doorway but a hall, funny how that works in dreams. It sounds like whatever is marching, there is a lot of it.

[ooc: DANCE CARD NEVER FULL. I HAVE NO CONCEPT OF MODERATION. Just need to. Hm. I'll see what happens here. I'm not sure yet, really.]

[makes_you_tick]

Sylar winces as the drums get louder. If they were synchronized, it wouldn't be as bad, but he's so used to the City's ticking that he can't help but notice the discrepancy.

He turns around at the sound of the marching, and immediately starts looking around for some place to duck into, if he needs to. Not that he should need to, right? He just wishes he knew where he was. He could stand to have a cover story to start off with.

[ooc: XD That is the best part of these dream posts. ]

[neverendingbeat]

There's nowhere to hide and the only two directions are towards and away from the marching down the long, empty hallway.

Then the marchers fade into view and they're...well, they might be human. They're dressed in an array of clothing, mostly tending toward the fashions of the early 70s. They're human shaped, but...they don't seem to have eyes. In fact, there's something off about them in general, they move stiffly, almost as if they aren't quite...real.

And, of course, they aren't. They're shop window dummies, Autons, animated here not by the Nestene but rather the Master's consciousness. They're merely eerie at the moment, the multitude of them stretching back down the hall but if Sylar stays in one place for too long...

[ooc: ...it is and it isn't. Cos this might drag out very slightly as I try to establish what's going on.]

[makes_you_tick]

Sylar only stays still as long as it takes to identify these things- not that he knows they're Autons, but they sure as hell aren't people. He holds a hand up, flat palm straight out towards them, and attempts to shove plenty of telekinetic force down the hallway.

He walks briskly in the other direction, because there's no reason to mess with those things if he doesn't have to. They don't seem worth it.

[ooc: Aw, no worries. <3 ]

[neverendingbeat]

The Autons get pushed back and a few topple over but the others continue inexorably down the hallway. And now that they've been threatened, a few of them raise their arms, the hands flipping down to reveal guns. They fire, hitting the walls just beside Sylar with lasers that leave black marks on the white wall where they hit.

[ooc: Switching back and forth between characters is actually getting a bit confusing, from confusion and awkward terror to absolute assurance. XD]

[makes_you_tick]

Aw, damn. Projectiles were much more fun, he could pull a Matrix move and just stop them in mid-air, which was always impressive. Lasers? Not so much. Well...good thing he could heal, at least.

Still, he turns, stopping for a moment to twist his hand in front of them. At least the front line should have their guns twisted into useless hunks. He takes a little extra time to orient a couple of the guns backwards, just in case that was enough to get them fire backwards into their crowd. He has no idea if these things possess any sort of intelligence.

With that, he turns and foregoes the running, instead jumping into the air and shooting down the hallway. It was flying with a touch of telekinesis to keep him stable, hopefully. Although at the speeds he was attempting it would be difficult to see what was coming up. It's still better than running away, technically.

[neverendingbeat]

Animated plastic has only a certain level of intelligence, and therefore the mangled Autons melt down a few of their own number before they too are shot down in turn. They shoot after Sylar but he is, after all, quite far away at this point. And they're not trying to shoot him. Only herd him. It would, of course, be intriguing to see if Sylar can heal being vapourised but that's not the important bit right now.

At the hallway, which eventually will end, there is a single doorway. Simple and wooden, painted black with a silver metal doorknob. Hopefully, Sylar will be able to stop himself in time by the time he reaches it.

[makes_you_tick]

Unfortunately, flying is one of Sylar's weak powers, and he doesn't manage to slow down to a stop before he reaches the door. Instead, he crashes nicely into it, and falls back like a crash test dummy. Luckily, he's slightly more resistant, and he rises to a standing position very quickly, hoping no one saw that.

With a bit of a growl, he walks toward the offensive door and turns the knob. Despite that, he has been rather enjoying himself. He hasn't had a challenge in ages. He just wishes the noise would stop for a moment.

[neverendingbeat]

The room on the other side of the door is black and empty except for a black chair on a silver swivelling section on which the Master is seated casually.

"Well done against the Autons," he says. "That was fairly interesting. Especially the bit where you smacked into the door at the end: I liked that." He grins and waves at Sylar, wiggling his fingers. "Hello, Gabriel! How do you think you're doing so far?"

[makes_you_tick]

Sylar looks rather unamused, especially at the Master pointing out his lack of control with the flying. That was unnecessary, wasn't it?

In the back of his head, he'd known this is who he'd find here. He's not sure why, but it felt right. He's almost surprised that he wasn't surprised.

He does look around the room for awhile, saying flatly, "Nice color scheme. How am I doing with what?"

[neverendingbeat]

"It's a shade, not a colour," says the Master, wagging a finger admonishingly. "Very basic fact. And--oh, I don't know. How are you doing in your search for the perfect orange? How is your head doing, all broken pieces only a short time ago and now, presumably, all perfectly fixed? How do you think you'll do against my Toclafane?" He holds out his hands and three hovering metal balls materialise around him.

"Hello Mister Master!" says one of them. "We are ever so happy to be here!"

"What shall we do to the nasty man?" says another one.

"Oh, you can try your very best to kill him," the Master says. "Good luck. To all of you." He throws his head back to laugh and then isn't there anymore. Neither is the room, although there are vastly more Toclafane gradually appearing into the factory building that they are now in. There's lots of corridors and doors to escape into, pipes and concrete walls and the like.

[makes_you_tick]

He supposes he should be annoyed, but he isn't. He hasn't felt this alive in ages- which is probably a bad turn of phrase, considering what he's planning.

"Am I really all that nasty?" he asks the floating balls, but then he sees the massing number and he figures he'd better get on with it. He decides to get the obvious out of the way and holds out a hand towards one of them, tugging it into a fist. The metal doesn't crumple, unfortunately. And he bets these things shoot lasers, too.

All right, time to leave. He's not going to waste time messing with his telekinesis, just shoves some force at them in the hopes it'll pull them back and runs. He has a plan- well, more of an idea- but it'd be best if he was out of the open. He bolts into a hallway, and then behind another door. He stands for a moment, vaguely winded and wishing he'd grabbed a speedster before this gauntlet. But- well, no helping it now.

[neverendingbeat]

The Toclafane don't move too quickly right now. They have all the time in the world.

"Broken man..." singsongs a Toclafane. "Mister Intruuuder..."

"We know you're in there," says another as a group of them float into the hallway.

"We just want to play!" says a Toclafane, and giggles. "We want to play and burn and rip and tear you into little little pieces. C'mon, Mister Man. Come out come out wherever you aaare!"

[makes_you_tick]

Sylar doesn't like to use this power, partially because of the memories it brings up and partially because he has to bring them up for it to work. It's the only other ability he had that he couldn't completely control. But in a smaller room, in a hallway, it's less likely to go off course or sputter out.

The Toclafane are making it easier, however, because the way they speak actually reminds him of her. This could have been a sign that something was very off, and perhaps a relationship with her wasn't in his best interest. Ah, well.

"Of course," he says, walking out behind the door- only about a foot so he can jump back if he needs to. He takes aim at one of the closest and holding his palm out, sends a bolt of white-blue lightning at it. "I want to play, too."

He really hopes that hurts them on some level, or else that line is just going to fall completely flat.

[neverendingbeat]

The Toclafane he hits laughs for a brief moment before the lighting reaches the precise voltage and the Toclafane clatters to the floor.

"Naughty man!" says a still-hovering Toclafane, and knives emerge from it, whirling as it advances viciously on him. "Naughty, naughty man!" Behind it, ever more Toclafane fly into the hallway, alerted by the conversation.