Commentary on Warped
I already had the title in mind for this one. I had this whole idea involving Isaac and going back and forth in time and... well, it didn't work out that way. I didn't really take on the idea because it seemed iffy when I tried to make it into reality. Therefore, this is what I ended up with.
I have to bring up Old Piano by Frou Frou. It was my background music and it set the scene in a lot of places. It's so chill, with so few lyrics but beautiful music.
“Hello Micah.”
Micah looked up from the computer and towards the door where a strange man was standing, watching him with frightening intensity.
“Who are you?” He asked, the carpet muffling the scrape as he pushed away from his computer and slowly got to his feet. He stared at the stranger warily, narrowing his eyes.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. It’s who you are that’s important. What you are. Or rather... what you were.”
“What-"
His scream was deafening and cut off abruptly, followed by absolute silence.
Shhhh
There's something about children's deaths that is absolutely gruesome. As a writer, I wanted nothing more than to play on that (as a person, I was disgusted with the thought). However, I didn't give the reader enough time to really connect to Micah so I failed in that respect.
X
“You fucking bastard!”
Jessica was more animal than human, snarling and shaking, all flashing eyes and deadly intentions. She walked a fine line between desperate killing anger and tormented, drowning depression as she stalked into the room where he sat, stroking something in his hand.
He looked up from the photograph of Micah, Niki, and DL in a classic familial pose and smiled a little- just a little. Just enough.
Jessica attacked, consumed with rage and passionate revenge. She bared her teeth and threw her body at him, taut and ready to snap-
And froze in midair.
Slowly he got up and made his way over to her, the picture fluttering from his fingers to drift to the ground. He laughed a little, condescendingly running his fingertips down her cheek, ignoring her burning eyes.
“If only you had the power to control yourself, Niki. Jessica. If only you had the control I have, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now. I killed him quickly, you know. His tiny body just shut down from too much pain.” He cocked his head to the side, as if considering. “He cried for you, he wanted his mommy.
He’ll have her soon enough.”
Fascinated, he examined the single frustrated teardrop that trailed down her face by the force of gravity alone.
“It wasn’t personal.”
Her scream lasted far longer than Micah’s had, echoing painfully in his ears. He closed his eyes and savoured it, tasted it on his tongue like a fine wine, smiled with pleasure as it sent little shivers down his spine. Yes, there was nothing quite like it.
Perfection at its finest.
Micah's death was my set-up into how Sylar got to Niki/Jessica. I figured nothing would drive N/J more crazy than Micah dying but again, not a lot of set-up for N/J. Still, Sylar would've figured that out (however he found them, I leave it open to interpretation) and would have loved nothing more than to see that. Or so I figured.
X
Why are you doing this? Let’s go home- we can go home now. It’ll all be fine. We can go back to work and reconcile with hi... We can move away. Yes- that’s it. Move away.
“Shut up, you coward.”
Mohinder blinked and raised his eyebrows.
“Not you.”
Sylar had to play this one carefully. Mohinder wasn’t one of those that he could force the list out of, no, that wouldn’t work at all. He needed to coax it out. Mohinder had to think there was a reason why he needed to tell Sylar. There had to be a way.
Sylar was used to seeing those things that other people couldn’t see; the flaws, the imperfections, and especially the plans all intricately linked with human motivation. It was only a matter of time before he came up with something.
Until then, though, Mohinder had to be kept alive and well. Reasonably well. At the moment, as long as Mohinder was off balance, scared, angry, he could be controlled with ease.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
The light in the hotel bathroom was shaky at best, flickering from dim to blindingly bright in a staccato rhythm that was enough to cause mild nausea. Sylar stared at himself in the mirror; a single deep scratch ran diagonally through his reflection.
“Don’t do this,” Gabriel begged, pleaded. It was sickening.
“You disgust me,” He snarled. “Leave. Leave before I kill you myself. Between us, I will always win.”
“You can’t. You won't. You can’t, stop this. Stop this now.”
“I CAN DO ANYTHING I WANT! DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN’T DO!” He screamed, fist smashing into the glass before conscious thought caught up to him.
“FUCK!”
Predictably, Mohinder appeared immediately, eyes wide with shock as he took in Sylar holding his bleeding hand; mirror shards littered around the sink and scattered dangerously atop the tile floor. In the last pieces still attached to the frame, Gabriel shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his hair.
“Fuck,” Sylar repeated, softer. “Leave.” His voice was low and calm again, dark with intensity.
“Really, you should ...”
“LEAVE.”
Confused by his own emotions, his initial desire to help swiftly overcome by the remembrance of why he hated this man, Mohinder left without a backwards glance.
“I don’t have time for you.”
But it didn’t matter what he said or who he said it to.
No one was listening, anyway.
I liked how this scene turned out. Originally, it was a little later on. I took all the little sections and mixed them around multiple times before they ended up where they are here. This was really the last "mixed" scene, with Gabriel and Sylar, before the ending. I was hoping this would be the explanation part. Sylar/Gabriel have Mohinder (they want the list, obviously) and they're residing in a hotel (at the moment).
N/J's power is only really showing up here. I didn't put any focus at all on the super-power aspect simply because Sylar is powerful enough with his telekinesis. It wouldn't add anything.
X
This is easily my favourite scene in the whole piece. I tried to do a longer fic out of it but couldn't without completely copying parts.
“We’re going to twist the world up, Mohinder. That’s what we’re going to do. You’re with me, aren’t you?”
Shout-out to my title. I do this a fair amount. If you see the definition for Warped (which I included in most summaries... minus my own... it includes a part that states: To turn or twist (wood, for example) out of shape.
Mohinder nodded meekly. They were walking down a busy city street hand in hand, heading towards food (or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof). The sky was an oppressive grey, a heavy shroud upon the buildings as well as the people who barely made a facial gesture as they hurried to and fro, blending into one another, into the rush, into a shapeless form that swirled and glided around the two.
Just another city.
“We’re going to shift things around, you’ll see. We’re going to change things- everything will be better. I swear it. Things will be better.”
It was hard not to get lost in Gabriel’s enthusiasm- his smile, his eyes. But still, Mohinder tried. The man loosened his grip and although Mohinder fought to get it back, Gabriel shifted in and out of view as people walked past, around and between them. His voice cut out and back in, hummed and buzzed a scant octave above the general murmur of the crowd.
“It’s all going to be better.”
“Wait!”
Mohinder struggled to keep him in his line of sight, but it was impossible- just a flash of eyes here, a stroke of dark hair there. A sign, WANTED: SY- the rest cut off. Trouble looming just out of sight. Sirens piercing through the haze.
If you caught the Wanted sign, congrats. I wanted to show that they were now on the run, from hotel to hotel. I specifically put the sign there because of a line later on (that I'll point out) which involves Mohinder questioning what they're running from. They are running for a reason.
“I don’t even know who you are...” He cried out helplessly as Gabriel’s disembodied voice came back to him from a distance.
“It doesn’t matter, Mohinder. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter at all.”
Because, in the end, it doesn't matter for any of them (I use the plural to indicate both the Sylar and Gabriel aspects as well as Mohinder).
X
Mohinder watched passively as Sylar yelled at the window looking out over the parking lot, a tempest wind in the middle of absolute stillness. It was unnerving and wrong and...
He had to get out of here. This wasn’t Gabriel.
Another scene that switched places. This was originally at the start (not the very start, after the N/J and Micah deaths.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched towards the door of the hotel. The carpet gave softly, silently, under his shoes. He never took his eyes away from Sylar who, by now, had both hands up against the glass; head bowed a hairsbreadth from the smooth surface.
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! YOU AREN’T ME.”
Even if Sylar didn't have N/J's powers, I still imagine him not being able to accept the part of his personality that is Gabriel; the nice, considerate little boy. He wants to make a full and total separation from that side of himself.
Another step, half a breath, he could feel the growing wave of apprehension start to turn to disbelief, to hope, his heart battering his ribcage with anxious arousal. Hope was dangerous, but no matter how he tried to quell it his anticipation grew unceasing.
“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and then I’ll be free of you, you disease. You tumorous growth. You are nothing without me.
YOU ARE NOTHING.”
Another step. He couldn’t breathe; the air was catching on the inhale and wouldn’t make its way past the nervous lump in his throat on the exhale. So close, if he could just...
Thud.
Oh god. The door frame. He ran into the door frame. So stupid, so fuc-
“Where are you going?” The voice was deadly soft, lethal, completely focused on him. Twin sets of eyes staring, measuring, calculating the sum of his parts. His existence.
Twin sets of eyes? Yep, that's Gabriel in the window as well as Sylar in the flesh.
His worth.
“You’re useless to me, I can find the others on my own, but because of him... I can’t get rid of you yet. Soon though.” Careful contemplation, or at least the façade of it.
“Soon.”
Probably couldn't have advertised imminent death any more obviously. I really hope it didn't come as a surprise to anyone.
X
“Sh, it’s ok Mohinder. It’s going to be fine.”
Gabriel wasn’t nearly as dominant as Sylar and lately only appeared when Mohinder seemed to be in great distress. Was compassion dominant over indifference? Mohinder, half awake and terrified for reasons he couldn’t quite remember, wasn’t going to take time out to question.
Again, a paragraph I hoped would share some light on what was going on. It basically switches from paragraph to paragraph which character (Sylar or Gabriel) is dominant.
He was grateful, but the reason why eluded him.
“It’s ok, shhhh, its ok Mohinder. I promise its fine.”
Gasping, choking as tears burned his eyes, Mohinder reached out to Gabriel who pulled him close, arms solid if weak, around his trembling frame. What was going on? Sharp bits of memory poked at him, prodding him to think, to unwrap from his mental foetal position and remember.
He tensed with slight panic, but still said, “Don’t let go,” in a breathless voice.
Gabriel continued stroking him, absentmindedly murmuring with breath hot against Mohinder’s temple.
“It’s all going to be all right. I promise. You’ll see.
I promise. I won’t let go.”
X
“Come here, Mohinder.”
Another hotel room, another state, and more of the constant running that was their daily routine. Sometimes Mohinder wondered if they were running from the police, the other different ones, or from Sylar’s own reflection- from Gabriel, who Mohinder had been seeing less and less of.
There it is, the 'running' line that ties with the Wanted sign. Note Mohinder seeing less of Gabriel.
How much longer would Gabriel keep him alive? Did it even matter?
Is it Gabriel or Sylar that's keeping him alive? I didn't really pursue the question.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The sky was blue. Hotel paintings held no ideological significance. Mohinder obeyed.
It’s just how things were.
My little depricating explanation (without being an explanation) on why Mohinder always does what he's told. Well, almost always. I love my boy but c'mon!
“I think I’ve finally figured it out, Mohinder. Your purpose. His purpose. I get it, I get it now.
Don’t you see?”
Mohinder shook his head, mute.
Sylar’s voice softened, a smirk quirking up one side of his mouth. “Are you sure?”
An ever-so-slight hesitation.
“It’s the only way, Mohinder.” The smirk morphed into a gentle smile, a flash of conflict crossing his face. His eyes squeezed shut before they fluttered open again. “I am sorry. I am- you know that, right? I need you to know that.”
“Sylar... Gabriel? I don’t understand.”
“Come closer.”
So he did.
“Close your eyes.”
The gentle light disappeared, his heartbeat flashed behind his eyelids. “What...”
“Shhh, not now. I always knew I’d win. Don’t let me go, Mohinder.”
A light caress on his face, eyelashes brushed against his cheek. He was trembling.
Lips touched his own with mild pressure, speaking into his mouth, letting him swallow the words before they hit the air.
“I loved you.
I’m sorry he didn’t.”
Shhhh
The kiss crashed into him, knocking him off his feet and sending them both tumbling to crash into the floor. He gasped, and then tried again but couldn’t get any air. His arms were locked in heat, his brain was screaming, he needed air.
That's right- they're kissing. But dying through asphyxiation. Yes, I do love me some cliches. Don't mock.
They twisted together, entwined and struggling until neither could fight anymore.
And all three slowed to a stop.
Shhhh
Another little reiteration of the multiple beings of Sylar.
So that's that. I hope (really really hope) I shed some light on this story because I'm rather fond of it.
Now- off to try and cure myself of Writer's Block.
Much love,
Puckk.