002 - Audio - Sylar - Anonymous NV

[fixesclocks]

Some scallywags mighten accuse me o' likin' th' sound o' me owns voice. Thar they may be right. 'tis rude indeed that I be yet ta introduce meself properly, don't ye reckon? One soul that went t'Davy Jones be hardly a proper 'Ahoy.'

Me name be Sylar. Ye may 'ave heard o' me. If ye haven't, 'tis only a matter o' time.

[I couldn't resist. Sylar has

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[paterelohim]

[Trying so hard not to laugh in the middle of his sentence.]

If ye be sending souls to see Old Hobb, ye'll be soon findin' yerself keelhauled and kicked o'erboard, yeh scabrous dog.

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[fixesclocks]

[His was totally not intentional. Which is why he stares at the NV a little puzzled, pausing before he goes on. He records, then goes back to listen to it, and sure enough:]

Wi' the wind behind me, thar be no way. Fate smiles on ol' seadogs.

[The translator isn't clever enough for how Sylar talks, I swear]

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[paterelohim]

Clever be yer words, welp, but ne'er can ye run from the law's long arm.

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[fixesclocks]

There ain't be a lock-up in these seven seas that can hol' me, nor a braggard brave enough t'try.

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[paterelohim]

Ay, but ne'er have ye set foot in a place as can hold angels and the Devil himself. Ye'd better have a few tricks up that sleeve if ye mean to evade justice.

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[fixesclocks]

A whole chest full o' treasures.

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[paterelohim]

Those're some big words fer a lonesome bilge rat like yerself. Mind ye watch yer steps.

[Okay, okay. So. How would Captain Barbossa say this? ...If he gave a shit about justice. Sob.] Justice might run up its colors in the light o' day, but comes harsh and swift by night.

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[fixesclocks]

[That is seriously badass, Chuck. NICE.]

Big black scully rats with wings, ain't that the truth? I be quiverin' in me boots.

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[paterelohim]

[Yay! Mission accomplished. :D ]

As well ye should. He's got no patience fer th' crowin' of cocks nor prideful boastin' from skirt-wearin' scallywags.

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[fixesclocks]

Aye, but he's a landlubber if he were born one yorn.

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[paterelohim]

If he's a landlubber then ye be a lily-livered, pestilent, yeasty skirt-wearer and ne'er mind th' witless dogs ye've cut down.

[Oh no bitch you did NOT just insult his man. He will throw down. Someone hold his earrings.]

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[fixesclocks]

[Oh my god I can't breathe. /sobs into shoulder.]

I be sorry, did I insult ye wench?

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[paterelohim]

Methinks th' the rum is gone t' yer head. Me point is tha' ye can't run forever and yer well outclassed. I wonder tha' yer mind went down tha' road. Should I give ye time t' adjust yer corset, lassie?

audio; You are beautiful.

[fixesclocks]

The rum is gone.

An' e'en without a tipple he ain't much more'n a spec on my map. A whole world'a treasures is out there, jus' waitin' t'be plucked.

audio; and then they were mature and dignified the end

[paterelohim]

A speck may grow t' a black spot, and that's an ill omen if e'er there was one. Take yer treasures and more besides, ye flea-bit cur, for yer soon t' pay th' piper.

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[fixesclocks]

[Sylar fixes his end of the feed about now. He smiles through his words.]

If God created man, then He created me. Isn't that terrifying?