1st session - Gabriel Sylarmakes_you_tickMarch 23 2010, 16:46:20 UTC
Sylar spent most of the time while walking to Emma Pillsbury's office hoping that she wouldn't call it off. He spent the rest of the time trying to tell himself that he'd just have to let it go if she did. It felt to him like fate- this woman wearing the face of the first person he saved instead of killed, she was the one who was going to help him. However, he knew where depending on 'fate' could take him.
In short, Sylar was nervous. Perhaps part of it was the release of the Master, the man he couldn't talk about. Well, Sylar wouldn't be able to talk about what the Master recently did to him, thanks to a telepathic command. This was really too bad, considering being eaten alive is probably pretty good fodder for a counselor. However, that was hardly the problem at the moment. He was worried about being vulnerable, again.
Not that he'd show it. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he walked up to the office, but upon reaching it he relaxed them and sauntered in with the usual vague smile on his face. "Ms. Pillsbury?"
1st session - Gabriel SylarpeopletalktomeMarch 24 2010, 01:30:11 UTC
The previous day's curse left the redhead in a state of general panic the midnight of its cutoff. She spent hours awake that she ought to have spent sleeping and then she woke up too early in order to clean her apartment--which was already clean--to the point of scouring, only to then whisper over to her office where she did much the same. When she finishes, it is only eight o'clock and she, not knowing what to do with herself, spends the better part of three hours finding new ways to sub-organize her books and other things she has acquired to give her the semblance of being somewhere she is familiar with. Contradictory for all that she encourages students--or did--daily to step outside of their comfort zones, but she too had planned on a great change before being brought here
( ... )
Sylar almost uses telekinesis to keep the cup from breaking, but he decides at the last second that it'll only make her more nervous. This was not beginning well. He immediately drops into one of his ready-made personalities, biting his lip and moving forward to bend down and help pick up any ceramic pieces she may have missed.
"Don't worry about it. I used to do that with my cup all the time, except it usually had coffee in it," he says with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry I startled you. I'm trying to be more obvious in my movements, but I still have a ways to go...obviously."
He takes the few tiny pieces, picks up the microscopic ones with his telekinesis and discretely places them in his hand, then looks for a dustbin. "You have a very clean office," he notes, and it's obvious it's a compliment from him. He's extremely tidy himself, so he recognizes it in others.
Emma notes the worrying of a lip and the inclination to help like a well trained accountant notes numbers--methodical, technical, indelible--and these things, despite what she has been told of this man so far, stand in his corner. They humanize him, ground him in a way she can appreciate and it is to these things that the displaced guidance counselor so clings, the shake of her hands barely noticeable as she drops shards into a neatly kept waste basket
( ... )
He makes sure he backs away a step or two as soon as he's done helping pick things up. It isn't as if distance makes Sylar any less dangerous. But people do enjoy their personal space, especially around serial killers.
He's absolutely delighted to see her holding out her hand- if he's correct, that might be a big thing for her. He's noticed the sanitizers and the very sterile nature of her office. He reaches out and fairly lightly shook her hand, and while doing so gives her a big, grateful smile. "I really do appreciate you taking me on like this. I'll understand if you want to stop at some point, but- even giving it a try is more than most would do."
Once he's let go of her hand, he steps back just a bit and looks around, anxious. "You know, I've read so many books on the subject of psychiatry, but I have no idea how we're supposed to begin something like this," he admits, a little sheepishly.
To offer her hand is not something she often does, but something tells her to do it, so she does, and it is not a very strong or very long handshake at any rate, but the offer itself means a great deal, even to her. It means she has decided to do as she said, try, despite her own questioning of her training. A guidance counselor though having taken courses in psychology of course is not certified nor necessarily qualified to work with criminals, but Emma tries to burn away her fear with an unnecessary friction when rubbing the sanitizer between her palms and threaded fingers. When she looks up again she has the same nerves--those do not go away, hardly ever--but the smile she wears most often is there too, strained and bad at hiding it, but there. She tells herself not to lose it before she sits at her desk with deceptive ease considering that the reason she sits is because her legs do not want to hold her up any more
( ... )
His lip quirks up as soon as she tells him he's done a good job. He may not be five or fifteen, but he still appreciates the encouragement. He sits, too, when she indicates. He hasn't been watching her movements critically- he'd suspected she'd react about that way, and there's no point in making her any more self-conscious about it than she may already be. It's a far cry from the easy movements Charlie would make, sweeping up and down the diner, but he thinks he prefers Emma like this, anyway. It's easier to have this sort of talk with someone who has more easily visible flaws. Less to keep an eye out for in the future
( ... )
At first she tries to distance herself from his words, to, in a sense, build a shield effect for herself without leaving the room, but this tactic only brings her so far and it isn't even that far. Not really. Her lips go from thinned to pressing together hard and behind them her teeth fairly push against each other, clenched even as her wrists are locked. She can feel it in her knees too and she knew she was way in over her head before but now it is even more obvious. In a way, it is embarrassing to be bowing out so early in the game, but more than that, the trauma that has festered into the present for this man is so terrible that she finds she cannot excuse herself. Not yet
( ... )
He looks up and stares at her for a moment when she apologizes- it's not surprise, exactly. Nearly anyone who would hear that story would be shocked. However, he was expecting it to be followed up with 'but do you really think that explains everything you've done? Does that make up for it?' There's no reason for someone to feel this sorry for something they didn't do themselves
( ... )
Digestion is not a quick process for Emma Pillsbury and at the moment her processing has slowed to a near stop. There is too much to know and too much of that knowing involves directly bending her thoughts to the point of complete, utterly, and unforgivably changing the last vestiges of her own truths. Things like this should not happen to people if for the simple fact that then they make people like Gabriel Sylar.
She wonders about unfairness and the way her heart palpitates most uncomfortably.
"No," she answers because it is the bare minimum of a reply, because she can still continue trying the impossible task of ordering her internalization while fitting herself to the role she so brashly advertised the other day. Her hands previously on the desk have dropped to being folded in her lap and they thread tightly, almost painfully. "Do you think," her shoulders are stone statue stiff, "Do you think that...um...that those are important to..." she bows her head and then forces herself to look up again. "...to who you are?"
Of course, he tamps that down fairly quickly, knowing how tense she is right now. But he can't help it, the question has such a resounding answer. He bites his lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it. "I'd say that they are the single most important thing defining who I am today. In fact, I seemed to spend most of my recent years trying to define myself entirely by these abilities."
His eyes flick up to her, and he makes sure his voice is soft and quiet, and as far from accusatory is possible- before he speaks. "We can stop here, though, if you'd like. I think I just covered more than most people would in several sessions. I'm fine with taking things slow- after all, I've got all the time in the world."
His claims of patience are, of course, a total lie. However, he doesn't want to overload Emma on the first day, not enough to scare her off completely from this. He's hoping he hasn't already crossed that line.
The laughter makes her jump. Literally. This gives way to shaking she hides by keeping her hands busy and turning her head as if she is looking at different things with new interest, only to actually stand up when he speaks to her, making several rounds in the office itself before pausing near a bookshelf. She leans and tries not to make it look obvious as to how much she may or may not be letting it support her as she folds her arms softly in front of her
( ... )
Any smile left over from the laughing dies off at her words. It's not a question he wants to think about, much less answer. It's so much easier to think about what had happened, rather than how he is right now.
After a very long pause, he shakes his head. "They're the only good parts about me," he says quietly, with a sigh. He's looking down at the desk again, instead of keeping eye contact. "I've done a really good job of destroying everything else."
"I see," she says with all the quietness of a page turned or a pencil line drawn across paper and watches him go from smiling to not smiling to avoiding all in the space of a glimpse. It is a fast change and it speaks of backing up in some ways and standing stock still in others, but she makes no assumptions, nodding just once and letting the silence get comfortable with them before she breathes--maybe a little too deeply--and speaks again.
"Well," and she pauses because it is like she has to regroup after every exchange of sentences. "I think that you...if you really want to..." and here she stops rather than pauses, her brow furrowing again as she cuts herself off. "Actually, okay, how about this: what do you want? Do you...want forgiveness? Or to be different than you are in some...way? Do you want something else entirely?" The motivations of this kind are most important and she knows she's been remiss in not addressing them more quickly, but that she is still in this office with him at all is so very nearly as much as she can
He doesn't answer her for a long time, instead frowning thoughtfully at his hands. He was almost embarrassed to answer this one, knowing that what he wants is going to sound not only stupid, but impossible
( ... )
I see reiterates itself in her head but not aloud, aware of how patronizing repetition can fast become. When he leans away she watches with renewed acuteness, her own eyes widening a little when she notes the recognizable motion of a person willing something to leave them; perhaps the instinct to break apart. His words travel through a series of loops and while she follows their patterns she also follows the tones that wrap around them, her hands lifting from her lap to the desk edge again, her features unsmiling but not unkind
( ... )
In short, Sylar was nervous. Perhaps part of it was the release of the Master, the man he couldn't talk about. Well, Sylar wouldn't be able to talk about what the Master recently did to him, thanks to a telepathic command. This was really too bad, considering being eaten alive is probably pretty good fodder for a counselor. However, that was hardly the problem at the moment. He was worried about being vulnerable, again.
Not that he'd show it. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he walked up to the office, but upon reaching it he relaxed them and sauntered in with the usual vague smile on his face. "Ms. Pillsbury?"
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"Don't worry about it. I used to do that with my cup all the time, except it usually had coffee in it," he says with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry I startled you. I'm trying to be more obvious in my movements, but I still have a ways to go...obviously."
He takes the few tiny pieces, picks up the microscopic ones with his telekinesis and discretely places them in his hand, then looks for a dustbin. "You have a very clean office," he notes, and it's obvious it's a compliment from him. He's extremely tidy himself, so he recognizes it in others.
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He's absolutely delighted to see her holding out her hand- if he's correct, that might be a big thing for her. He's noticed the sanitizers and the very sterile nature of her office. He reaches out and fairly lightly shook her hand, and while doing so gives her a big, grateful smile. "I really do appreciate you taking me on like this. I'll understand if you want to stop at some point, but- even giving it a try is more than most would do."
Once he's let go of her hand, he steps back just a bit and looks around, anxious. "You know, I've read so many books on the subject of psychiatry, but I have no idea how we're supposed to begin something like this," he admits, a little sheepishly.
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She wonders about unfairness and the way her heart palpitates most uncomfortably.
"No," she answers because it is the bare minimum of a reply, because she can still continue trying the impossible task of ordering her internalization while fitting herself to the role she so brashly advertised the other day. Her hands previously on the desk have dropped to being folded in her lap and they thread tightly, almost painfully. "Do you think," her shoulders are stone statue stiff, "Do you think that...um...that those are important to..." she bows her head and then forces herself to look up again. "...to who you are?"
Who you
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Of course, he tamps that down fairly quickly, knowing how tense she is right now. But he can't help it, the question has such a resounding answer. He bites his lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it. "I'd say that they are the single most important thing defining who I am today. In fact, I seemed to spend most of my recent years trying to define myself entirely by these abilities."
His eyes flick up to her, and he makes sure his voice is soft and quiet, and as far from accusatory is possible- before he speaks. "We can stop here, though, if you'd like. I think I just covered more than most people would in several sessions. I'm fine with taking things slow- after all, I've got all the time in the world."
His claims of patience are, of course, a total lie. However, he doesn't want to overload Emma on the first day, not enough to scare her off completely from this. He's hoping he hasn't already crossed that line.
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After a very long pause, he shakes his head. "They're the only good parts about me," he says quietly, with a sigh. He's looking down at the desk again, instead of keeping eye contact. "I've done a really good job of destroying everything else."
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"Well," and she pauses because it is like she has to regroup after every exchange of sentences. "I think that you...if you really want to..." and here she stops rather than pauses, her brow furrowing again as she cuts herself off. "Actually, okay, how about this: what do you want? Do you...want forgiveness? Or to be different than you are in some...way? Do you want something else entirely?" The motivations of this kind are most important and she knows she's been remiss in not addressing them more quickly, but that she is still in this office with him at all is so very nearly as much as she can
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