THE TOXICITY OF OUR CITY, OF OUR CITY

[crazy4pwr]

WHO: Sylar and open to... pretty much whoever.
WHAT: Sylar is in prison, and has no choice when it comes to visitors.
WHERE: The prisons
WHEN: Some time after he was "killed" again and locked up.

((Feel free to post at any time of the day, any day this week. He'll most likely just be lying down when your character(s) arrive. Multiple threads are

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[crazy4pwr]

Everything started going wrong far too quickly. This had never happened before, and Sylar's mind struggled to compensate for the sudden changes. He stumbled back, doing everything he could to keep his balance on the ice that he had created only moments before while not taking his sight off of the monster. As Adam continued to morph into the creature, something within Sylar was reacting quite violently, trying to make some sense of what was going on.

Then the mask spoke, and everything suddenly came into perspective. "Jam?" Sylar suddenly had the sense of being conscious without actually being awake. At first he wondered what could be causing this, when he remembered Jam's final words before leaving him at the house. "So this is what you meant by contacting me..." The man could invade dreams, that explained how he had found his body after he had been killed. All he had to do was go into the mind of Nightwing to see where he had been placed, and he must have gone into Sylar's own dreams before to figure out how to bring him back to life. It was a useful ability, and one Sylar wanted. That would have to wait for a future day though.

Slowly he walked forward until he was almost face-to-face with the mask. "I made a mistake underestimating some of the people here, and trusted too much the secrecy of my location." The location Jam had given him. "I got ambushed, not too much I could have done."

[atwistedfancy]

In response to Sylar's proximity, the shadowy form stretched. It grew upward, its mass swirling darkly and twisting around itself, as elegantly as a drop of ink darkening a pool of otherwise clear water. It grew until the mask had to turn down to look at Sylar, and that carved expression began to seem a little more condescending than playful.

"There you are," drifted Jam's cool, clear voice. "You freely admit your own faults. I can only hope you learn from them, as well as recognize them."

One limb, a long leg, uncurled from the shifting mass. It stretched forward, crawled forward, and with that one movement the entire pillar slunk to follow suit. Jam paced in his shadowy form, graceful, inky blackness circling Sylar where he stood.

"Who," came that voice again, sounding thoughtful, "Has been directing you to your targets?"

[crazy4pwr]

Sylar stood his ground, keeping his expression neutral as Jam's nightmare creature grew around him and then began to circle him. He kept his gaze straight ahead, following the figure out of the corners of his eyes. "Yeah, don't stay in one place." Now he turned to face the mask. "And don't trust people."

So Jam wanted to know about the Shepherd as well. Seems that information was being handled delicately by everyone who found out about it. "What? Can't take that out of my head?" Sylar was not a fan of having his consciousness infiltrated and influenced by others. Jam may have been an ally, but he was also beginning to piss Sylar off. It was one thing to contact him, it was another to question and condescend him inside his own mind. He was getting tired of this trick already. "Enough with the creature, where are you?" Slowly he looked around, but he couldn't see any sign of the man.

[atwistedfancy]

That drifting, circling creation slowed. It made one more floating, smokey move and came to a stop before Sylar, where it had stood before. The mask seemed to watch him thoughtfully, dark eye holes studious. The expression hadn't changed, of course, but tendrils of darkness floated up around it in lazy swirls.

Sylar was irritated. Jam could see that much in the mind's eye representation of the man's form and face, and could pick it even more easily out of the subtle hints the man's dream itself gave him. The twitching breeze around them, the gently flickering sky. Jam read these signs as easily as he would a pattern for a vest. One wraithlike arm rose to the mask, and skeletal fingers passed over its gaudy colors. When it sank back to its side, Jam's face was in place of the mask.

He offered a smile, and the rest of the blackness melted away from his form to reveal a perfectly ordinary-looking man. Merely a representation, of course. His real body rested comfortably a distance away from the jail, but it was indistinguishable from this avatar. "Better, I trust. And to answer your question, I could take the information from your head, and quite easily. I thought you might prefer I take a more polite route about it."