(Untitled)

[watchmakers_son]

It's a seat by the Observation Window and a glass of ice water this time. Sylar's not drinking it; he's pressing it to his forehead instead, leaning back in the booth with his eyes half shut

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[mogget_cat]

Yrael hasn't seen Sylar since Midwinter, since the day he made Axel's heart. He didn't speak to him then, and he may not now.

But you never know.

There is a cat-shaped thing in the rafters, watching Sylar try to beat the heat.

Ah well. Cats and curiosity.

"You're filthy," judges he.

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar looks up.

The shape, he doesn't recognize. The voice he most certainly does.

"I've had a bad week," he says, completely devoid of all inflection.

[mogget_cat]

"Looks like it's been longer than that," says the cat, dropping down lightly to the next table over, some seven feet away from Sylar.

He lands on his feet, of course.

"What'd you do to deserve such a bad week?"

[watchmakers_son]

"Nothing." It's clipped as Sylar sets the glass on the table, pressing the back of his hand to his damp forehead.

It may have been less than a week, in fact. Three days of walking, but how long after that?

[killitwith_fire]

...Possibly, he'll spot Axel, slouch so far down on the couch, with the hood over his head...

It looks almost as if he's hiding from something.

But that couldn't be, could it?

[watchmakers_son]

Of course not.

It takes a few minutes before Sylar moves again, shifting the glass and straightening up. It's a few more before he actually notices Axel; he doesn't stand out very much any more, and even less so when he's...emphatically not hiding.

Still, Axel's never struck him as the type to make himself less visible. That's enough to garner a slight smirk, and a longer look.

[killitwith_fire]

Sylar's on the list of people that Axel seldom fails to notice; it comes from being a threat.

But Axel meets his eyes... And doesn't smirk back, or grin, or even pull a face. And there's something in Axel's eyes that might, almost maybe, be... fear.

Or at least well-contained panic.

[watchmakers_son]

Well. That is interesting.

He tilts his head. "Is something wrong?"

[toxic_perfume]

There's a blonde woman in a cream-colored jumpsuit at a nearby table, studying him over the rim of her glass.

Here's someone she hasn't seen before.

[watchmakers_son]

When Sylar shifts the glass again, it passes between the woman and his line of sight. The slight warping as it does -- he blinks, frowns slightly, and sets down the glass.

Whatever it was, it's gone as soon as he does.

He cants his head to one side out of habit, eyebrows slightly raised in silent inquiry.

[toxic_perfume]

She gives him a very direct smile, and raises her glass to him in something between a toast and a wave.

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar doesn't return either of them, though one corner of his mouth does lift in a motion as slight as the eyebrow raise.

"We haven't met, have we," he asks.

It's a more necessary question than before, but it's delivered fairly casually.

[jonogoboom]

And someone bumps into him. Just his shoulder, barely at all.

"Sorry," Jono says automatically. "Should've been looking where I was going."

In spite of the icon his lower face is all wrapped up tight, without a spark visible. At the moment.

[watchmakers_son]

Of course there could be other reasons for it, especially here.

Still: voices in his head are even less welcome now than they were before.

Sylar startles; the glass tilts, water slopping over its sides, and he slams it down as he stares up at the young man. It's halfway toward a challenging, defensive glare.

[jonogoboom]

Jono's been on the receiving end of more than one unfriendly look.

Still...

"Look, I said I'm sorry..."

[watchmakers_son]

Well, that's one paranoia dismissed and the other cemented.

"Some people," he says, very low, as he presses both hands flat on the table, "would consider that violence. Get out of my head."

[always_okay]

It's that fellow he met before, looking hardly better than their first encounter. And now he smells to boot.

494 watches him through half-lowered eyes.

"You're being awfully inefficient with that."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar glances toward him without moving the glass, eyes opening further. For a moment, he watches without speaking.

Then: "It works well enough," he mutters, and rolls the glass across his skin again.

[always_okay]

He shrugs. It's not in his interest to proffer help one way or another.

"Okay."

He leans back.

"You'll cool off faster drinking it."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar has absolutely no intention of explaining that his throat still aches when he swallows. It's like stiff muscles relearning a familiar pattern.

Exactly like that, in fact.

"I drank some water earlier," he says instead. It's not entirely a lie; Derek did give him a half-full bottle of water, though he can't say how long ago it was. "This is working faster for now."

He doesn't look away, nor close his eyes again.