(Untitled)

[hardlydangerous]

Sylar is grumpy.

And alone.

And grumpy.

And sitting out in a field. There are wildflowers. He has graciously refrained from setting them on fire, which is the extent of his goodwill towards anything at the moment.

Botherable, if you feel like being yelled at and/or mauled.

Comments

[broked_reality]

Sam always feels like being yelled at and/or mauled!

Or something like that.

"You don't look so good." He notes from his spot (he wasn't there a few minutes ago) nearby, crouching.

[hardlydangerous]

"Allow me to suggest that you never pick a fight with a god. I have discovered it doesn't tend to end well."

Grumpy Sylar is grumpy. Grump grump.

[broked_reality]

Sam may laugh, a little bit.

"Why would you pick a fight with a god?"

[hardlydangerous]

"I believe the technical term is hubris."

He didn't expect himself to say that.

Nor did he expect himself to let Sam get away with laughing at him.

He's still going to glare, however. It's a thing.

Ignore the tiny, tiny smirk starting at the corner of his mouth. Trick of the light.