Challenge: Kitty Attack
The blame for this challenge lies entirely at pythfic and aplysia_06's feet.
Trapped by telekinesis, Sylar's next victim writhed on the floor, mewling intelligibly. It'd taken Sylar three days of wandering through the city's dirtiest alleys to find this one, and a further chase through definitely the smelliest stretch of concrete in the whole city to catch him.
Sylar was more than a little frustrated by all this.
With a flick of his wrist, he levitated the struggling mass of fetid streetlife and pinned it to the wall at face level. The undeservingly-special brute continued to twist and flail in a rage. Sylar increased the telekinetic pressure, grinding the squirming body against the wall.
As Sylar approached, the tramp's attention settled completely on Sylar, ignoring the invisible force pinning him down. The writhing stopped, though the tramp hissed continuously through clenched teeth.
"Finally, some cooperation," said Sylar, raising his index finger. His eyes locked with his victim's for an instant and that, apparently, was all it took.
Suddenly his mind was invaded by a dozen desires. He wanted to help the tramp, clean him up, ease his pain, bundle him close and keep him warm, feed him fi-
With a cry of rage, Sylar wrenched the kitten's skull off and let the corpse drop to the floor. Sylar backed away, eyes tightly shut and hands clenched into fists as the burning need to help - to coddle - faded. As his breathing eased back into its normal rhythm, Sylar opened his eyes and stared at the open skull before him.
Then, slowly, he began to smile. Setting to work acquiring the felid's power, he formed his plan.
***
Mohinder stood over his desk, pencil in his mouth, riffling though a stack of papers with one hand and glancing back at printout in the other. He almost groaned in frustration when the doorbell rang. The article he'd been reading a moment ago had to be somewhere in that pile. It'd couldn't have just -
The doorbell rang again, and this time he did groan. Grabbing the stack of papers he'd already checked, Mohinder strode across the room and tried to open the door with his hands full of documents. "Mm curmum", he mummbled, pencil still tightly between his teeth. Finally, freeing one hand by the perilous method of chin-against-chest method of holding papers, Mohinder managed to open the door.
Seeing who was waiting on the other side, Mohinder's head shot up. The flutter of a dozen documents hitting the ground was soon followed by a pencil, sorely chewed.
"Hello, Mohinder," said Sylar. He sniggered at the stunned look on Mohinder's face, then watched carefully as the shock began to give way to other emotions. He had to time it perfectly. Just as Mohinder's lips parted, hate on his tongue, Sylar smiled.
It wasn't just any smile. This one was special.
Whatever Mohinder had been about to say died on his lips. He stared at Sylar, face blank for a moment. Sylar almost thought it hadn't worked, but then Mohinder grinned brightly. "Come in," he said. "You must be cold."
And Sylar waltzed in, smiling like the cat that got the cream.
Trapped by telekinesis, Sylar's next victim writhed on the floor, mewling intelligibly. It'd taken Sylar three days of wandering through the city's dirtiest alleys to find this one, and a further chase through definitely the smelliest stretch of concrete in the whole city to catch him.
Sylar was more than a little frustrated by all this.
With a flick of his wrist, he levitated the struggling mass of fetid streetlife and pinned it to the wall at face level. The undeservingly-special brute continued to twist and flail in a rage. Sylar increased the telekinetic pressure, grinding the squirming body against the wall.
As Sylar approached, the tramp's attention settled completely on Sylar, ignoring the invisible force pinning him down. The writhing stopped, though the tramp hissed continuously through clenched teeth.
"Finally, some cooperation," said Sylar, raising his index finger. His eyes locked with his victim's for an instant and that, apparently, was all it took.
Suddenly his mind was invaded by a dozen desires. He wanted to help the tramp, clean him up, ease his pain, bundle him close and keep him warm, feed him fi-
With a cry of rage, Sylar wrenched the kitten's skull off and let the corpse drop to the floor. Sylar backed away, eyes tightly shut and hands clenched into fists as the burning need to help - to coddle - faded. As his breathing eased back into its normal rhythm, Sylar opened his eyes and stared at the open skull before him.
Then, slowly, he began to smile. Setting to work acquiring the felid's power, he formed his plan.
***
Mohinder stood over his desk, pencil in his mouth, riffling though a stack of papers with one hand and glancing back at printout in the other. He almost groaned in frustration when the doorbell rang. The article he'd been reading a moment ago had to be somewhere in that pile. It'd couldn't have just -
The doorbell rang again, and this time he did groan. Grabbing the stack of papers he'd already checked, Mohinder strode across the room and tried to open the door with his hands full of documents. "Mm curmum", he mummbled, pencil still tightly between his teeth. Finally, freeing one hand by the perilous method of chin-against-chest method of holding papers, Mohinder managed to open the door.
Seeing who was waiting on the other side, Mohinder's head shot up. The flutter of a dozen documents hitting the ground was soon followed by a pencil, sorely chewed.
"Hello, Mohinder," said Sylar. He sniggered at the stunned look on Mohinder's face, then watched carefully as the shock began to give way to other emotions. He had to time it perfectly. Just as Mohinder's lips parted, hate on his tongue, Sylar smiled.
It wasn't just any smile. This one was special.
Whatever Mohinder had been about to say died on his lips. He stared at Sylar, face blank for a moment. Sylar almost thought it hadn't worked, but then Mohinder grinned brightly. "Come in," he said. "You must be cold."
And Sylar waltzed in, smiling like the cat that got the cream.