Dishes (Heroes, Sylar POV, Mylar hints oneshot)
Title: Dishes
Rating: G
Spoilers: Spoilers for Run! And allusions to Six Months Ago.
Pairings: Its crack...but if you want to see it as Mylar, you go right on ahead.
Characters: Sylar, Mohinder
Genre: Humor
Warnings: Crack, and a coherent Sylar.
Summary: Not everything in life is made easier by telekinesis.
Disclaimer: Seriously, if Heroes were in my hands, it might be more terrifying than with just Kring at the helm.
AN: Umm...Its really just a "What if..." moment inspiration.
---
Dishes
Although he refused to admit it aloud, there were some times when a telekinetic finger knife of death was virtually useless. In fact, sometimes, it would really cause him more grief than it would help him.
Case in point: Ceramics. One crack led to many cracks, and then before you knew what was going on, it was so much dust and clay and so little functional coffee mug.
This was why he really preferred paper cups. Which brought him to the question of why he was doing this in the first place.
Oh yes. Because Zane Taylor was a boot-licker. With about three times his patience. He almost digressed into wondering why he had to make Zane quite like this (it wasn't as if Mohinder would have known the difference if he would have redecorated and tried the punker aspect) but that would have taken too long.
Right now he had to come up with a reason why half the dishes were crumbled.
See...it had started out so simple. Then he ran out of soap.
Now...he had collected alot of abilities in his time, and they had amazing domestic uses. However, one of the few he had yet to collect was to create soap by sheer force of will.
Therefore he was faced with a choice: Listen to Mohinder admonish him for wasting the dishsoap whenever the man finally got out of his year long shower, or find another way to clean it using his resourcefulness...and his resources.
After he'd stripped the paint and about two layers of clay from the first plate, he decided to try a more precise tactic.
He'd never been good with things like sewing. Watches were one thing, they were intricate, they were fascinating, he knew how they worked.
Ceramics were just plain evil.
But enough rambling. He had another set of choices--explain how the dishes got to be so spectacularly destroyed....or hide the evidence. Fast.
"Zane?"
He jumped. Which, of course, was all acting. Because he would never be nervous of Mohinder. Or...anyone.
Think fast, Zane Taylor.
He leaned a hand on the sink, and 'accidentally' slipped his grip so that his hand fell into the sink. Goodbye evil ceramics, hello inconspicuous puddle.
God, he was brilliant.
Mohinder stared in a mixture of mortification and amusement at the brownish puddles in the sink. "Zane..."
"Oh...I'm sorry! You...I..." He never stuttered personally, it was distasteful.
Mohinder laughed, and he patted himself on the back for managing to look so sincere in his return smile. Maybe he should have gone into acting instead of watchmaking.
Mohinder shook his head, and patted Zane Taylor's shoulder. He always patted his arms and shoulders for some reason. It was fairly disconcerting.
"Here, Zane...why don't I do the dishes from now on?"
He smiled back at the indian man. So maybe he could concede that Mohinder was less unpleasant than his father.
"In fact...lets just put this off and go catch dinner first." Mohinder said, giving up on the messy sink. "My treat."
Most definitely not so unpleasant.
END
---
AN: This was started...like...during Run!...so. Yeah. Its very cracky, but it was never intended to be serious. Not for a second. Read into it what you will.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Spoilers for Run! And allusions to Six Months Ago.
Pairings: Its crack...but if you want to see it as Mylar, you go right on ahead.
Characters: Sylar, Mohinder
Genre: Humor
Warnings: Crack, and a coherent Sylar.
Summary: Not everything in life is made easier by telekinesis.
Disclaimer: Seriously, if Heroes were in my hands, it might be more terrifying than with just Kring at the helm.
AN: Umm...Its really just a "What if..." moment inspiration.
---
Dishes
Although he refused to admit it aloud, there were some times when a telekinetic finger knife of death was virtually useless. In fact, sometimes, it would really cause him more grief than it would help him.
Case in point: Ceramics. One crack led to many cracks, and then before you knew what was going on, it was so much dust and clay and so little functional coffee mug.
This was why he really preferred paper cups. Which brought him to the question of why he was doing this in the first place.
Oh yes. Because Zane Taylor was a boot-licker. With about three times his patience. He almost digressed into wondering why he had to make Zane quite like this (it wasn't as if Mohinder would have known the difference if he would have redecorated and tried the punker aspect) but that would have taken too long.
Right now he had to come up with a reason why half the dishes were crumbled.
See...it had started out so simple. Then he ran out of soap.
Now...he had collected alot of abilities in his time, and they had amazing domestic uses. However, one of the few he had yet to collect was to create soap by sheer force of will.
Therefore he was faced with a choice: Listen to Mohinder admonish him for wasting the dishsoap whenever the man finally got out of his year long shower, or find another way to clean it using his resourcefulness...and his resources.
After he'd stripped the paint and about two layers of clay from the first plate, he decided to try a more precise tactic.
He'd never been good with things like sewing. Watches were one thing, they were intricate, they were fascinating, he knew how they worked.
Ceramics were just plain evil.
But enough rambling. He had another set of choices--explain how the dishes got to be so spectacularly destroyed....or hide the evidence. Fast.
"Zane?"
He jumped. Which, of course, was all acting. Because he would never be nervous of Mohinder. Or...anyone.
Think fast, Zane Taylor.
He leaned a hand on the sink, and 'accidentally' slipped his grip so that his hand fell into the sink. Goodbye evil ceramics, hello inconspicuous puddle.
God, he was brilliant.
Mohinder stared in a mixture of mortification and amusement at the brownish puddles in the sink. "Zane..."
"Oh...I'm sorry! You...I..." He never stuttered personally, it was distasteful.
Mohinder laughed, and he patted himself on the back for managing to look so sincere in his return smile. Maybe he should have gone into acting instead of watchmaking.
Mohinder shook his head, and patted Zane Taylor's shoulder. He always patted his arms and shoulders for some reason. It was fairly disconcerting.
"Here, Zane...why don't I do the dishes from now on?"
He smiled back at the indian man. So maybe he could concede that Mohinder was less unpleasant than his father.
"In fact...lets just put this off and go catch dinner first." Mohinder said, giving up on the messy sink. "My treat."
Most definitely not so unpleasant.
END
---
AN: This was started...like...during Run!...so. Yeah. Its very cracky, but it was never intended to be serious. Not for a second. Read into it what you will.