This Sylar (and oh God, the narration is getting a headache already) is slowly and reluctantly coming to realise that he must not have gotten the first blow in.
...at least he's not scattered across the landscape?
He rolls over uncomfortably, all ready to (once he gets his equilibrium back, ow ow ow) leap up and rip the top off Darla's--
This-Sylar stares at the hand. It is his hand. On his arm. However, he still seems to possess the requisite number of limbs. That's his face up there, plus a few years (are his eyebrows really that big?), and yet here (after checking) is his own face still firmly attached to his head.
...
"Is this to do with the flash and the teleporting?" he demands. And accepts the hand up, because lying in the dirt is less than fun.
...okay. On the one hand, triffids. On the other hand, stranger things, right? And the dismembered shrubs liberally splattered over the ground look like they might have been triffidish once.
Not expecting duplicate.
Expecting unconscious duplicate less.
Descending rapidly.
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Damn.
*nudge*
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Sylar, for the record, landed face-down and none-too-comfortably. He shifts a little.
"gngtokilly'"
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The mornings that are afternoons, and on the ground in parks strewn with dead triffids.
Okay then.
Crouching beside the younger him, Sylar gives his duplicate's shoulder a gentle shake.
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...at least he's not scattered across the landscape?
He rolls over uncomfortably, all ready to (once he gets his equilibrium back, ow ow ow) leap up and rip the top off Darla's--
--that's... not Darla.
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Sylar-Here smiles wryly, offering Sylar-There a hand up.
"Yes. We're alternates. You'll get used to it."
And all that sci-fi they read as a kid will finally come in handy!
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...
"Is this to do with the flash and the teleporting?" he demands. And accepts the hand up, because lying in the dirt is less than fun.
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And now that they're both standing, "What happened here?"
You know. With the rampant destruction and the napping amid the slowly decaying vegetable matter.
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Here is the less embarrassing part:
"There were... triffids."
He dares you to laugh at him. At least it sounds marginally better than 'trained attack flowers'.
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Sylar-Here nods, and waits.
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...Sylar wonders if it's possible to outstare yourself.
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And lying to yourself doesn't generally do much good, either.
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"And I had a fight."
There. You happy?
"She didn't win. She's run off somewhere."
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Well then.
"Would you like some help finding her?"
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Maybe two can kick her ass where one failed was temporarily discouraged!
...a question of dividing the spoils? What are you chatting about? This-Sylar was the first one to call dibs!
Hang on, he's realised something.
"Are you an older me?"
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