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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Hello Peter.]
Ahoy, landlubber.
[But a face none the less. Sylar's face, cool and unexpressive, calculating.]
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He's awfully glad everyone finds this so amusing. ]
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After about ten minutes, he picks up the NV - his watch - and turns it to face the table. It jogs a little, for two more minutes, before he turns it back to face him.]
That's better, isn't it?
[His voice is liquid, every hint of pirate dubbing gone.]
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So he'll just grab the nearest notepad and start scribbling away on it until it's proven that he can speak on the network without pirate-interference.
Have a notepad shoved in the direction of the feed: 'Glad you found it so amusing, did you fix it??' ]
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[Dark eyes, focused through the camera on Peter's once the notepad is withdrawn.]
And so can you. You know how. You can see it.
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Don't tell me what I can and can't do, i'm not you.
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You just proved that you're much more like me than you think, Peter.
What else needs fixing? That clock behind you. It's seven seconds off the hour.
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Oh. This isn't a good thing, not at all, not even remotely, and Peter's attention has been snapped back to the NV. ]
Is that- is that what you can do?
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And now you know, it's digging at the back of your head with every tick and every tock.
It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong.
Fix it.
You can feel it, can't you?
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So I can fix clocks now, great. Know when they're running fast.
Real convenient, i'll never be late for work again. [ He already nows he can only fake being dense for so long.]
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He might even get a copycat.
So smiling, he leans back, corrects his posture.
I think today might be my favourite day here so far.
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And it's bothering him all the more, the nagging in the back of his head because their tv is broken. It's been broken, but now he can feel it, and somehow... somehow, it's terrifying. ]
Why? Sylar, what is this?
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I call it intuitive aptitude. You look at something and you know, instinctively, how it works. Like that clock. The NV. Like me.
And sometimes you just have to take a closer look.
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It doesn't give you an excuse.
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[His lips quirk. It's repulsive, almost a genuine smile at how naive he is.]
It's the hunger.
Now you've let it in, it'll consume you.
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