"I think this entire thing is going to end in disaster," Nathaniel informed Isobel with utter seriousness. "And the moment it does, I am teleporting back to Savannah
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Mike was wandering around the hotel. Because he was nosy, basically, he didn't really have a reason. Also, Sylar seemed to be holed up in his own hotel, which left Mike without anyone to randomly stalk. People just have no manners.
And then: "Gah!" Evil scary clown psycho man!!! "...by which I mean, hello."
Do not blow up Disney. Do not blow up Disney. Do not blow up Disney....
"I was kinda hoping she'd kill you," Mike said cheerfully, taking his glass. "Did she at least explode you a bit while breaking up? Punch things? Throw stuff? Anything?"
"Email?! Bitch!" Mike tossed his own back, pulled a face. "Ugh. Which in no way should be taken as me sympathising with you in any way, because I loathe you, and I'm happy Rachel has dumped you. But seriously, by email? Bitch!"
"That is everyone insists upon saying," Nathaniel said moodily. "Even you, and you despise me."
They were going to finish this bottle of--whatever it was. The stuff could be set on fire. Except that Nathaniel was able to sober up with barely a thought, and he did not think Mike had that ability.
Then again, maybe he did. Nathaniel was really not sure who Mike even was.
"Women tend to drive me to drink once a century," he said, sounding much more like the man Nathaniel Essex had been before he was Sinister. "I suppose I am right on track, then."
"Pfft. You should go gay. Shag Stark or something. Put a dress on, he'll go for you."
Mike poured them both shots again, although his aim was getting worse.
"But, hey, goth funk, way better that mutant slaughtering. Don't cheer up, emo kid. Look at it this way, right, your girlfriend dumped you, the people you work for are inevitably gonna use your research to shit on you, and even if anyone did end up caring for you, for whatever bizarro reason, you're just going to outlive them. Blink and they're gone. Just you and cockroaches. Really, what's the point of it all?"
He waved his glass in what was no doubt intended to be a pointed fashion but ended up more 'dying seagull'.
"Dude, she dumped you by freaking email. You might as well just off yourself now and be done with it. You'd feel much better afterwards."
Nathaniel stared at him. Then he started laughing. Very hard. Until he was actually doubled over, pounding on the table in mirth.
"If that actually worked," he gasped, trying to get his breath, "Just think of how profoundly disappointed Apocalypse be that it was that easy to get rid of me?"
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. He felt almost morbidly cheerful. It was probably the liquor. "I wonder if SHIELD would have given Apocalypse a pass to attend this vacation? I am trying to imagine him drinking in a bar. Or riding a themed ride." Nathaniel snorted. He peered at Mike. "Lad, perhaps you should stop drinking. I outweigh you by quite a bit, and I have a healing factor that will heal me--painfully, but it shall work--from suffering the ill effects of this particular beverage." He poured another shot, but Nathaniel did remember that Mike would very much like to see him dead.
Bloody get in line, Nathaniel thought, taking another drink.
"Oh, I've been pyrokinetically burning most of the alcohol out of every shot," Mike said, waving his glass in a way that suggests 'most' probably wasn't the same as 'enough'. "Also, I'm very hard to kill. Smashed open a whole lot of Coldsnap once, didn't die. I mean, Nate did. Din't. Thing. Anyway."
He frowned at his glass, then emptied it.
"And they would have done. Brought Apocalypse! They hired you. They have the Thuderbolts! Seriously, how stupid do you have to be to give Karla Sofen a job? Maybe Sylar ate Stark's brain and no-one has noticed yet."
"Sylar? Isobel told me about him. Brain-eating sounds like a ghastly power."
He poured them both another shot. What the hell. Nathaniel studied Mike with a serious sort of expression. "Maybe some chap cloned him. Stark. Wasn' me," Nathaniel protested, holding his hands up. He shook the bottle. "Almos' out of this, we are."
"Fuck. Order another. SHIELD are paying. SHIELD!" He raised his glass in toast, sucked it back. "Nnng. Man that's foul. Foul like a... chicken. Hee! You should engineer chickens, man. Way better than more-odders 'n killing maggott man. Chickens! Give them extra legs. Everyone loves drumsticks. Clones? Pfft, clones are over. Ohhhh-verrr. Everyone's done clones, dude. You. Me. Spidey. Lucas. George fucking Lucas, man."
And then: "Gah!" Evil scary clown psycho man!!! "...by which I mean, hello."
Do not blow up Disney. Do not blow up Disney. Do not blow up Disney....
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He tossed his shot back again.
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He poured them both shots.
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They were going to finish this bottle of--whatever it was. The stuff could be set on fire. Except that Nathaniel was able to sober up with barely a thought, and he did not think Mike had that ability.
Then again, maybe he did. Nathaniel was really not sure who Mike even was.
"Women tend to drive me to drink once a century," he said, sounding much more like the man Nathaniel Essex had been before he was Sinister. "I suppose I am right on track, then."
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Mike poured them both shots again, although his aim was getting worse.
"But, hey, goth funk, way better that mutant slaughtering. Don't cheer up, emo kid. Look at it this way, right, your girlfriend dumped you, the people you work for are inevitably gonna use your research to shit on you, and even if anyone did end up caring for you, for whatever bizarro reason, you're just going to outlive them. Blink and they're gone. Just you and cockroaches. Really, what's the point of it all?"
He waved his glass in what was no doubt intended to be a pointed fashion but ended up more 'dying seagull'.
"Dude, she dumped you by freaking email. You might as well just off yourself now and be done with it. You'd feel much better afterwards."
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"If that actually worked," he gasped, trying to get his breath, "Just think of how profoundly disappointed Apocalypse be that it was that easy to get rid of me?"
Nathaniel kept laughing. He couldn't help it.
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Bloody get in line, Nathaniel thought, taking another drink.
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He frowned at his glass, then emptied it.
"And they would have done. Brought Apocalypse! They hired you. They have the Thuderbolts! Seriously, how stupid do you have to be to give Karla Sofen a job? Maybe Sylar ate Stark's brain and no-one has noticed yet."
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He poured them both another shot. What the hell. Nathaniel studied Mike with a serious sort of expression. "Maybe some chap cloned him. Stark. Wasn' me," Nathaniel protested, holding his hands up. He shook the bottle. "Almos' out of this, we are."
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