Participants:
| Scene Title | God, That's Vile! |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Odessa admits her blunder first to Ethan, then to Sylar, and begs the men to vouch for her. |
| Date | November 12, 2008 |
Dorchester Towers: Ethan's Apartment
Dorchester Towers is home to many upper class, or more wealthier inhabitants. This apartment seems to be no exception. First impressions of this place, give a homey, and well furnished feel. Lamps are put in the right place, decorations here and there. The living room consists of a large green sofa facing the wall of windows, which has a large flatscreen TV in front of it. Speakers are installed all around for the Surround Sound feel. Next to the TV is a cabinet full of DVDs. Most of these movies include a gun of some sort in each of them. A small coffee table sits in front of the couch, a few magazines spread out on it.
The kitchen is well stocked, with a microwave, coffemaker, and of course a toaster. There is an overhead pan rack hanging over the stove which has many pots, pans, and other utensils hanging from it for easy access. Three doors lead away from the kitchen and living room. Two are large, comfortable bedrooms, complete with posters on the walls, and one is a room that is furnished with a stand up punching bag, dumb bells, a treadmill, and other types of work out equipment.
For the -extremely- well trained eye, or for someone who knows what they're looking for it would be apparent that there are little things off about this apartment. Reinstalled panels, etc, that would suggest whoever lives here has done some renovation work. (Note:Ethan has 'toys' hidden throughout his apartment, in case of 'emergencies'.) Overall though, this spacious living area has been well taken care of, and kept very tidy.
It may be his apartment but it is not always his apartment. Ethan is well set up in New York despite being here for not even half the time of Amato. Regardless, Vanguard takes advantage of the Wolf's den. And despite being a ruthless killer, Ethan can be quite the gentleman. So he allows the women to sleep on the beds. Munin, Odessa, and when Sierra is in always get to sleep in the bedrooms. Sometimes the Wolf gets to lay his head on his favorite pillow, though more often than not it is the couch.. Or the floor if Munin is laying there. Today his bedroom has been occupied by the mysterious Doctor. And so Ethan has not gone into change clothes. Dressed in the same getup as the day before, the man is lounged on the couch.
A half-full beer bottle is on the ground by his feet. A clipboard is in his lap with a few sheets of paper, he makes a note here and there as he surveys it. His eyes wander to the bedroom.. How long could she possibly stay in there. He would like to take a shower. With a sigh Ethan picks up the clipboard and tosses it to the side. Then his hand dives in between the cushions to retrieve the remote control, and with that the telly is flicked on. News, political talk shows, he flicks through the channels, pausing on shows that seem to be discussing the Howell Family Massacre and the Evolved Crime Rate going up, up, and up.. He watches without emotion on his features.
The door from the hall opens without the aid of a key - it would seem someone left it unlocked. Just as quickly as it's opened, it's slammed shut by the weight of the doctor that should have been in the bedroom. She leans against the panel and pants heavily, face flushed from exertion and likely the chill in the air outside. She's apparently been a busy woman, as she seems to have acquired a new outfit. It's likely her blood stained sweater dress is still laying on the floor of Ethan's room where she shed it in the first place. Instead, the girl wears a white dress shirt under a black vest, tucked into smart black slacks and with a tie to complete the monochrome effect of the attire, which is ruined only by the same red heels she wore when she was brought here.
After taking a moment to catch her breath, it suddenly occurs to Odessa that she may not be alone in the room. The sound of the television may have been her first clue. Either way, her eyes fix on the man on the couch, wide and horrified. "If anybody asks," she gasps out between gulps for air, "I was here."
As soon as the door starts to open, Ethan's hand is on the firearm tucked into his pants. Though once she enters, his hand eases off of it. That door has been unlocked more and more as of late. A light frown stains his features as she moves in. His brows arch once she fixes her gaze on him and seems to look horrified that he is present in his own home. Another deep frown before the man turns his attention back to the flatscreen. "Make sure to lock it, would you." The Brit says, relaxing in his position. "Whot were you doin' if you were 'ere the 'ole time?"
"Sleeping. Obviously. And you checked up on me often." Odessa turns the deadbolt with an audible click! of assurance that the door is, in fact, secure this time. "And it really was lovely of you to buy me this outfit. It's amazing how you were able to find just the right size." Despite the well-woven lie, the edge of Odessa's tone is still a pleading one.
"I do what I can. Whot can I say it was a very lucky guess. I'm just 'appy I don't 'ave to go back and exchange anything. Customer service can be a nightmare these days." The though of the Wolf standing in line to exchange a woman's outfit would make some flinch, and some laugh, but the man says it steadily without a smile. "I'm glad you like it." The man says, his eyes focused on the television for now. "You were out like a light though, you shouldn't sleep in so much, you'll be tired for the rest of the day." He points out.
Numbly, Odessa nods and takes a seat on the couch next to Ethan. She's shaking like a leaf. Especially in the fingers, which twitch sporadically. "Has Sylar been here?" He said he would find Sylar. He promised he would bring him here.
Eying the woman, another frown creases his features. Once she sits, he stands, making his way to the kitchen. Without a word he opens the refrigerator, produces a bottle, shuts it, and makes his way back to the couch. Taking his seat next to her once again he offers the cool beer to her. "Not yet, love. 'E'll be 'ere." Ethan tries to say reassuringly.
Odessa takes the beer with murmured thanks, wasting no time in opening it and tipping it back for a long taste. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand once she comes up for air and makes a face. "God, that's vile." And yet she's got the bottle to her lips once more.
"Disgusting, aint it?" Ethan asks with a grin as he leans forward to pick up his own bottle and mirror her actions. "I'm sorry you 'ad to see that." The man says after he tips the bottle into his mouth. "None of you ladies shoulda 'ad to seen that." Except for Dina, he's not exactly sure she's a lady.
"You didn't actually hurt him," Odessa points out. "I've seen what happens when people get their faces nearly melted off. I'm not squeamish in the least, I assure you." Can't afford to be in her profession, obviously. She smiles faintly, taking another pull from the bottle. "I deal with violent Evolved. Sylar was my patient. I can handle just about anything." She spreads her knees slightly so she can rest her elbows there and hold the bottle by the neck, suspended precariously between her fingertips. "All the same, though, thank you for telling him to back off. I don't want the zealot to touch me."
"We 'ave a bit of a 'istory. 'Im and me. 'E thinks he's the proper genius of the pair. And I'm just the muscle. But the fucker doesn't know 'ow to 'andle people." Ethan says in confirmation of her words. He gives her a sideglance. "Zealot? That's what you call 'im. Inneresting. There'll be 'ell to pay with Munin, though." The man says shaking his head as he downs the rest of his beverage.
"You like her." It's an assessment, rather than a question. "So does he." Odessa takes a thoughtful swig of beer. "Is that part of the problem? You both like the same girl?"
Tilting his head, the man smirks at her. "Like 'er? No, Doctor. I think our definition of like is different." Ethan leans slightly to the left to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a silver wedding band, which is then placed easily on his ring finger. "I love the girl, but.. I think my daughter would just be a bit younger than 'er." The Wolf says, his emotions visibly softening and saddening. "No." He says more firmly as he straightens. ""E's a creepy fucker. I love 'er, and I'll protect 'er. But I'm not lookin' to take 'er upstairs." Ethan states clearly, with a look that suggests such a proposition is insane.
"That's what I said. You both like her. People don't always share the people they like easily with others. At least, that's been my experience. Two friends always run into issues when one meets someone new and brings them in to the fold - or worse, doesn't bring them in and instead goes out beyond the initial circle. It's like toys, no one likes to share them." The words are spoken like someone who's observed or read much on the subject. It's almost a clinical explanation, rather than sounding like one that comes from personal experience. Odessa blinks several times at Ethan, however, as though parsing his last statement. "Upstairs?" She glances about the apartment. "I thought there was only one floor in your dwelling."
A long gaze is given to Odessa before the man nods slowly. "Roight.." He says in a bit of an alienated fashion. The silver ring is slipped back off his hand and tucked back into his pocket. The remote is grasped as the television's volume is turned down, so the two can speak peaceably. The last bit gives him a bit of a pause. He looks at her with disbelief.. Then slowly.. "It's a saying.. It means I'm not intendin' to fuck 'er." His brows narrow a bit. She might not even understand that. "Sexual Intercourse." He defines clearly, annunciating distinctly.
Odessa's face flushes faintly and she actually scoots away from the man an inch or so. "I got it the first time. I…" She looks away, eyes fixed on the television - or rather, through the television. She's embarrassed and it isn't hard to see. "I know what fucking means," she adds defensively.
This brings a bit of a chuckle to the man. "Sorry, love. I don't know much bout your 'istory." Which bothers him. Ethan makes it a point to know everything about those who work for.. or with.. him. "So, tell me about yourself, Doctor. Whot's your family like?"
"Haven't got one," she confesses easily. If this is a point of sadness for her, she doesn't make it overt. "Never did. For all I know, I'm a test tube baby. I was born in a town called Odessa, and that's how I got my name. Knutson was just the maiden name of the nurse who fed me. I guess they just needed a last name for paperwork…"
"Aven't got one? Well I guess we're the same in that sense." Most of the members of the Vanguard have that in common. No family to return to. "Odessa Knutson." The man tries it on for size. "You prefer Doctor? Or Odessa? Or per'aps, somethin' like.." He pauses for a moment, thinking of a proper nickname. "Odie?"
"Odessa suits me just fine." When he comes up with a nickname, though, she fixes Ethan with a flat look. "You mean like the dog in the Garfield strips? That thing is dumb as a box of rocks. You trying to insult the one who'll dig the next bullet out of your hide?"
"Garfield." Ethan says with a hint of unfamiliarity. "Don't know what you're talkin' bout." He gives a shrug of apology. "'Opefully there won't be a bullet to.. dig out." Ethan says with a perk of his brow. "So, why so drawn to Sylar? What 'as 'e done for you to earn such loyalty?"
After a moment of careful consideration and another drink of beer, Odessa responds. Hesitantly. "He teaches me things." Rather than trail off between words, she simply takes her time and pronounces each syllable clearly. "Things about the world. He's honest with me. He doesn't sugarcoat. And he expects nothing from me in return." That last part is probably a lie, though it isn't one Odessa realizes she's telling. "That's not to say that I don't give freely in return for the favor. I've no issues showing my gratitude." She smiles faintly, looking down at the bottle in her hands. "We understand what it's like to know we're destined for so much more. We have similar obstacles in our way." Falling silent, Doctor Knutson taps her nails against the glass bottle absently. "Maybe I just enjoy helping him. I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me a sense of purpose."
A sharp raise of the eyebrow. That's exactly why he personally thinks Sylar works with -them-. If Ethan were to look past his confidence of the success of their ultimate goal, he might see this brickwork of loose loyalties might lead to an inevitable implosion of distrust and destruction.
He doesn't.
"Very well. As long as you don't go turncoat, you're welcome to stay 'ere. And if you need my 'elp, just ask for it." Whether it will be granted or not goes unsaid. He looks back at the TV, settling in on the couch.
"I, ah… I meant it when I said you can't tell anyone that I left. Not anyone. Not one single soul." Odessa sets her beer down on the floor carefully and leans over to rest one hand delicately against Ethan's knee to convey her sense of urgency, "I swear, I will make it up to you a million times over, but you can't tell anybody."
Looking down at his knee, the man returns his attention to Odessa from the television. "Whot did you do?" He asks, looking a little more serious than he was before on this subject.
"Nothin'. I swear. I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything wrong, but it… might look like I did to someone." The blonde bites her lip apprehensively, fingers tightening around Ethan's knee unconsciously with her worry. "Pretty please?"
"Easy, love." Ethan chides, his hand coming to clasp on her own over his knee. Gently he pries it off. "Unless I find out you did somethin' you shouldn't 'ave, you're safe with me." Releasing her hand, "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"This is probably a case of the less you know, the better." Odessa rests her hands in her lap and looks away from both Ethan and the television.
"Who's goin' to be askin if you were 'ere all day? 'Oo are you askin me to lie to?" Ethan asks with curiosity, turning halfway on his perch to face and eye her more capably.
"I…" Odessa closes her eyes tightly. "I just wanted to go for a walk. I, uh… I borrowed some money so I could get buy something that didn't have blood stains on it. Did you know they look at you funny when you walk into a store and have blood on your clothes? It's like they've never seen a surgeon before." She catches herself and shakes her head. "Anyway. So, I bought my outfit and I went to the park because someone said there's a castle there, right?" The doctor tips her head back and stares at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."
"Borrowed money. From me?" A little frown. He would've given her money had she asked for it.. Maybe not. "We don't 'ave an iron fist over your life, Odessa." The man says, tilting his head. "If you fuck us over, there are consequences, but you don't 'ave to stay 'ere all day." Ethan explains. "What 'appened?"
"Your boss was kind of there and I maybe kind of stopped for a minute - just a minute! - to listen." Odessa winces. "It was in German. I didn't understand what he was saying. It's not really eavesdropping if you can't understand what they're saying."
"In the Park?" So that's where Sierra was off to. Ethan looks a little alarmed at this. "Did 'e see you?" The man asks intently, Kazimir isn't one for playing games.
"Yeah. In the park." Odessa frowns, "That's public domain or something, right? Anybody could have walked by and overheard. It's not really my fault."
"'E saw you?" Ethan asks with a little of sadness in his voice. It could mean many different things if Kazimir saw her, not necessarily negative, but it is very possible it has negative implications.
"He did. But I got out of there real fast. I'm not sure if he knows it was me or not. I mean, he didn't look right at me. It could have been anybody!" Odessa smiles hopefully, but it's a false hope. "You see, this is why you have to say I was here. He'll just think he saw someone who looked like me. It wasn't my fault."
Lie to Kazimir?? LIE to KAZIMIR?!!? Well it's not the first time he would have lied to Kazimir to save one of the females of Vanguard from his wrath. Ethan and Odessa are seated on the couch, it is late afternoon, nearing the evening. The door is locked. "I'll see whot I can do." He responds simply.
"Oh, thank you!" Odessa's hand goes back to Ethan's knee to show just how very profuse that thanks of hers is. Touch is good for conveying emotion, right? "I will make it up to you a thousand fold." She retracts her hand and instead readjusts her tie, loosening it some and resettling it under her vest she wears over her white button-down. There are pants involved in this ensemble, unlike the last one she wore around the apartment. And they're actually business slacks, making the doctor look respectable! All she needs is the white coat and she's good to go.
The sound of footsteps could come from anywhere - even a different floor if you're not very observant, or something head to a different room. But they, instead, come to a halt in front of Ethan's door, and the lock in the door makes a scraping sound, as if someone were using a faulty key inside it. But two seconds later, it clicks opens with a metallic scrape, and Sylar gently pushes the door open before entering. It's probably not the rudest entering this apartment has ever witnessed, at least. Dressed in darker tones, a dark grey sweater covered by a black weather-resistant jacket, and somewhat damp from the rain outside, he shuts the door behind him before looking at the two occupants of the room, observing them from a distance that doesn't translate to being just across the room. "Is anyone else here?" is his first question, even as he Listens for more hearts beating.
At the clicking of the doorknob, Ethan has more time to react than usual when people barge in. The firearm at his side is drawn and pointed at the door by the time Sylar enters. A little sigh of exasperation upon seeing him. "Fuuck. Nobody fuckin knocks." He observes before taking the gun and replacing it back in his pants in a frustrated manner. "No one else is here, I don't think." Ethan says, "Fuckin' evolved poppin' in and out whenever they please, I 'ardly know 'oo the fuck is 'ere." He says as his attention returns to the TV. "Except for Odessa 'ere." Ethan adds in cheerily, raising one hand he pats her on the leg in return. "Only person 'oo stays around."
Odessa actually stares down at the hand on her leg as though the appendage were entirely alien. Call it a double-standard, but it's different when she touches someone. She lifts her head and fixes an apprehensive look on the man. She plucks up the beer on the floor and squirms away from Ethan's touch, scurrying to the kitchen. "Sylar, come on over. I'll grab you a beer." There's a cheery tone to her voice, but not a trace of it on her face.
The gun drawn at him doesn't really receive much of a glance, especially when it's withdrawn. Sylar reaches back towards the closed door and knocks his knuckles against it three times in neat, polite movements. See look, he knocked. Belatedly. His hands come up to adjust the collar of his jacket in an almost awkward gesture as he again studies the two, before his gaze tracks Odessa's progression across the apartment. He shoots one last quizzical glance towards Ethan, before he's following Odessa as requested - not before wiping his feet at the mat at the door, no one said he wasn't just as tidy as the man who owns this apartment. "Is something wrong?" he asks of the blonde woman when his feet reach kitchen tile.
A quizzical glance is shot to Odessa before she stands. Shrugging he goes to lay down fully on the couch. "Lock it, would you Sylar?" The Brit asks as he stretches out on his couch. Once he's laid down fully, the man whispers through his teeth. "She's been waiting for you. How do you manage to get all these women tied around your finger?"
Odessa takes her beer and downs the last quarter of it in one go, eyes rolling back toward the ceiling as she does. She retrieves two fresh bottles from the fridge and holds one out to Sylar. "I fucked up," she whispers. "I spotted Kazimir in the park with some Russian and I… I kind of stuck around to listen. And I'm pretty sure he saw me. I didn't stick around long enough to find out if he knew it was me or not." She opens up her second beer and takes a long, long drink. So long, in fact, that she actually coughs and sputters because her lungs decided she needed air before she decided she was through drinking. "It's not me I'm worried about," though the rise in the pitch of her voice says differently. And that's without taking her racing heart into account. "I'm worried about you."
At the Brit's request, Sylar turns and merely points to the door as he goes, the lock clicking back into place, before returning his attention back to Odessa, taking the beer with more politeness than eagerness, though he opens it, takes a sip as she talks. Only two, his words drift through Ethan's head almost whimsically. Besides, I've heard she's been kept occupied enough right here. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the concern on his face is one of more studiousness, Listening to the way her heart pounds and what the words might mean further than their apparent intention. "I'm not worried about me," he feels moved to add. "Why, what did you hear?"
"They were speaking German," Odessa laments under her breath. "I only know a few words I picked up from one of my patients. Something about… seventy canisters, a lot of money exchanged, and…" The doctor glances toward the living room, taking another drink of beer before she reaches out to grab a handful of Sylar's coat and pull him close. "He said something about a man named Monroe. Could he have been talking about Adam?" If working within the Company has taught Odessa one thing, it's that everything is connected.
There's a stillness that goes over Sylar, one that's telling, and he looks away, briefly. Ethan's breathing has become deeper, slower, but all the same. With his free hand, he guides Odessa further into the kitchen, setting down his barely touched beer to clasp two hands on her arms. "You can't tell Kazimir what you heard, if he asks you," he says, quietly, trying to keep his voice down enough so that even if Ethan was paying attention, he'd only barely hear the tones of whispers. "He can't know you know about Monroe. Do you understand?"
Odessa nods quickly. "I was going to deny being there at all. I've already asked Ethan to vouch for me and say that I was here all day." She looks up and meets Sylar's eyes and finally makes her admission: "I'm scared."
Sylar doesn't seem reassured at the concept of Ethan vouching for her, and it shows in his eyes for a moment - but his grip relaxes, even as his mind races ahead in at least three different directions. The opportunity to get what he wants more than anything is met with so many obstacles… He picks up his beer and takes a long pull of it, leaning against the kitchen bench. "It's scary out here," he agrees with her without really talking about himself.
"How do you deal with it?" she asks in a soft whisper, bringing her beer back to her lips with shaky hands. "I've dealt with violent sons of bitches every day since I was sixteen years old, and it was never as scary as this, right now." Odessa rocks to one side slightly, reaching one hand out to casually catch the counter. She fixes Sylar with a bleary gaze that says the girl really can't hold her liquor very well. Then again, she's had two beers in quick succession. She empties the last of her bottle and sets it aside, stretching her now free hand out in a languid gesture before making a fist and then splaying her fingers again.
"You be scarier than everyone else." Not a credo he's kept to - here, he's just one of them, one of their deadlier weapons, yes, but people don't fear their own weapons. "There's no reason for the world you grew up in to even resemble this one. Don't you remember me, when we first met?" An almost romantic line if not for the subject they're talking about, the slight edge to his tone. "We were lucky if I was even conscious when you came to visit. They keep us under, trapped behind glass, sedated, shells of what we are. All the bad guys under lock and key. You don't even know a thing about anything until you see it in the wild. You didn't deal with violent sons of bitches, you dealt with prisoners. There's a difference." He brings the beer up again to sip, but pauses first, and adds, "It's not too late, you know. They'd probably still take you in."
"I can't go back," Odessa murmurs, watching her fingers bend and flex slowly. "I can never go back. They'd lock me up the same way they did you." She reaches around to scratch the back of her neck absently, then more persistently. "What are you going to do if they find me? Hand me over and tell them it was my own idea and that you had nothing to do with it?" It would be the truth, after all. He only gave her a port in a storm.
"I don't intend to let them find you," Sylar says. "That would be detrimental to everyone, not just me. Not just you. I don't think you realise the risk I took, bringing you here. The Company can't know about Kazimir, about what we're doing." Perhaps he didn't quite realise the risk either, but he's realising it now.
"Don't worry yourself too much." A tone of dry mockery pervades Odessa's words. "If they find me, they'll wipe me. I doubt they'll even think to ask questions. I won't give them any answers anyway." She fixes her serious gaze on Sylar now. "I would never do that to you. Not after all you've done for me."
"They'll ask you first," he says, gravely. "Then steal your memories. And you won't even remember them asking." But that's all - he doesn't dwell on it further. Sylar doesn't intend to lose this particular battle. "What you can do for me is tell me what you think Kazimir was saying about Adam."
Odessa turns her gaze toward the living room, eyes narrowing as though she's trying to see Ethan through the walls and the back of the couch. "He said-" She pauses and lids her eyes heavily for a moment. Either she's trying really hard to remember, or she's just been hit really hard by the alcohol. She rubs her hands together once before balling them both into fists and then opening them again quickly, leaving her fingers stretched out now. Some people talk with their hands. When Odessa's nervous, she seems to think with hers. "He said Monroe would bring… cash? I think. God, this would be so much easier if I had your memory. I think he said Monroe would bring cash and pick up a shipment on his behalf. And there was something about a person named Klein. But I don't know anything beyond a name."
Moving with a silence that only Sylar would be able to detect, the man appears at the doorframe of the kitchen. "Whot are you kids gettin' on about?" The Brit asks, leaning against the frame, arms folding over his chest.
Said memory files these details away, because it's amazing how useful they can become over time, even if they're seemingly disjointed. But then there are quiet footsteps, and a voice sounding out at the entrance way, Sylar's head jerking up to look across at the man. Smoothly, he says, "We were just discussing Odessa's run in with Kazimir." Because, well, they really were.
Odessa just about jumps out of her skin when Ethan appears in the doorway. Instead, she jumps forward and actually throws her arms around Sylar's waist. She stares at Ethan as though he's sprouted a second head and is very quick to inch her way around Sylar so that he's most definitely between her and the other man. "Where the hell did you come from?" she asks incredulously before peering back at her two empty bottles with a muttered curse.
An eyebrow climbs high on his forehead as he leans against the frame, watching boredly. "The living room." He answers innocently, he doesn't have to feign it because that's where he honestly came from. He wasn't trying to eavesdrop as Odessa did earlier that day. It may be a stretch to say Ethan trusts Sylar, but at least he has a confidence that Sylar wouldn't do anything to fuck up this situation anytime soon. He nods to Sylar's answer. "I thought that was our little secret." Ethan says with a sly grin to Odessa.
Sylar stays perfectly still when Odessa clings to him, then proceeds to hide behind him, keeping his eyes trained on Ethan instead. "Well now we all have a secret," he responds, gesturing a little with the beer bottle in his hand, of which he's had exactly two sips from, in contrast to Odessa's two bottles. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important." A quick glance over his shoulder at the blonde.
Odessa shakes her head quickly, though her eyes are still fixed and bewildered on Ethan's form. "Sorry. I'm a jumpy drunk." Her expression turns sheepish and she detaches herself from the serial killer. "You frightened the life out of me."
The other killer gives a shrug to Odessa. "'Ow much did you drink lovely?" The man asks as he wanders into the kitchen. Letting his arms drop down, he makes his way to the refrigerator. "You two want a cookie?" He asks cheerily of the two.
Sylar steers away as Ethan makes further progression into the kitchen, coming to lean against the opposite bench. At the offer, he doesn't so much answer it, just looks towards Odessa and suggests, blandly, "You should eat something." And perhaps something is nagging at him, because he winds up adding, "Eileen mentioned things didn't go so great yesterday between everyone. I'd hate for us all to not get along." And his tone complete lacks any trace of genuineness, just attempting to say the right things to nudge more details out of the two.
"A lot," she says of her empty bottles. "A whole lot." Well, for Odessa, that is a whole lot. She blinks twice at Ethan. "Beer and cookies?" She makes a face. Doesn't sound appetizing to her. Then again, "…Is that another expression that I don't know?" Thoughts derailed, however, she turns her attention back to Sylar with wide eyes, and definitely ready to gossip right now. She jerks her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Ethan, "He almost put the zealot's face into the fucking stove! It was the most!" That's what the kids are saying these days, right? "To say the least!" This must be why Odessa doesn't drink much.
"I've got left over pizza if you want it." Ethan says to Odessa' remark about cookies. His attention turns to Sylar, but before he can start talking Odessa starts speaking. Ethan sighs a bit, but nods in confirmation with her story. "Amato, came over in all 'is arrogance and was makin the lady 'ere uncomfortable. I 'ad 'im back off, and 'e lost it." Ethan says simply.
One eyebrow twitches up at this news, but he doesn't seem overly disturbed by it, just takes a sip from his drink. "Did Amato have a chance to investigate her yet?" he asks of Ethan, tilting his head towards Odessa. He doesn't really mean to ignore her, but only Ethan knows what he's talking about when it comes to Amato and his special brand of investigating. "He wanted me to get him a hair… probably before I brought her in. But we were running on a deadline. The Company doesn't wait."
"I am standing right here," Odessa reminds indignantly. She goes to the cupboard to retrieve a coffee mug and taps the side of that with a look of askance. Please? "I'm not letting that man touch me," she insists. "…What do you mean you were going to give him my hair? That is so creepy."
As he rummages in the refrigerator, he whispers under his breath so only Sylar could here. "I didn't let 'im. 'E can do it later." Standing he brings out a square box. Placing it on the counter, he flips it open, a quarter of pepperoni pizza remains. "You can 'eat that up if you'd like, lovely. Or I can do it for you." Ethan says, kicking the refrigerator door close. Taking a step back, he goes to the cabinets to take out a single plate for Odessa. "You wouldn't like a piece, would you?" He asks, directing it to Sylar.
"No, thank you," Sylar says, almost primly, looking towards Odessa. "I told you he was creepy." And then, in Ethan's head only, Perhaps it would be an easier ordeal if I took the hair to Amato alone. Because he said he would collect such a thing from the woman, and apparently he did, despite simply bringing her straight to their fearless leader without even glancing back. "How's your throat?"
Odessa takes a seat at the table, flopping down heavily. She undoes the top two buttons of her shirt an loosens her tie so Sylar can see the damage for himself. "Healing as well as can be expected. The scar will be obvious, I'm afraid."
"Take one." Ethan whispers under his breath. Without Odessa's response, Ethan decides she should eat something regardless. Popping open the microwave the man puts two slices on the plate and then paces it in the microwave. Closing the little door he puts it on for one minute. Turning the man places his back to the microwave as he faces Odessa and Sylar.
Sylar sets down his beer and takes long strides towards Odessa, bending down enough so that he can observe her injury, whether invited to or not. His fingertips touch the sides of her jaw, urging her head up enough so he can see how his work is progressing. Perhaps Odessa will recognise this - checking up on your own work to an injury without actually thinking beyond to the comfort of the patient, to what it means for them for it to heal correctly. "That's what scarves are for," he adds, absently, gaze studious as he takes in the appearance of the ruined flesh.
Odessa tips her head back obediently so that Sylar can observe his handiwork. "It did the trick," she concedes. "Not how I would have done it, but I didn't have much choice in the matter, so I can't complain. You did a good job, considering you have no training." She diverts her eyes as a stormier expression takes over. "It doesn't look that bad, does it?"
Ding! Goes the microwave. Ethan pops it back open and pulls out the plate. "No, love." The Wolf says charmingly as he slides the plate of pizza on the table in front of her. "Gives you personality." He says with a hint of a smile to her. "Can I get you anything else?"
There's a sharp, hard look up from his observation towards Ethan, a pause, and then Sylar backs up from Odessa - she has pizza to eat, after all, and his hands return to his pockets. "It looks fine for a slit throat fixed by lasers," he says, a little harshly. He moves past Ethan to pick up his beer once more, he drains it of its contents, moving to find a place to dispose it. "Does he test all his new recruits with near death?" He still remembers the way his hand had all but shriveled under Kazimir's touch.
Personality. "I think I had personality in abundance before," she murmurs. Not quite bitterly or contemptuously, but there's a note of discontent none the less, seemingly directed toward herself. She holds her mug out toward Ethan. "Could I get some coffee? I'd really like some coffee." She forces a smile, but it doesn't linger long before she stares down at the plate set in front of her and starts picking the slices of pepperoni off the pizza. Not to set them aside, but to eat them separately.
"Not me." Ethan says in response to Sylar's question. "Of course.. I 'ad just killed someone when they found me. So I suppose death was involved." His father, to be precise. Sylar and he have more similarities than they know. "'E likes to.. make a point. That's for certain." The man explains as he goes to sit at the table near Odessa, he gives Sylar a brief nigh non-existent nod. Then Odessa proffers her mug, with a sigh Ethan stands straight back up to go prepare coffee. The Wolf has become the Butler.
"Was that when you were thirteen?" Sylar asks, he who forgets nothing, heading into the kitchen as well. When he doesn't immediately see anywhere to put the trash - and granted, he doesn't look awful hard, he sets the glass bottle into the sink, hovers a hand over it, and watches blankly as it melts into something he can wash down the sink, which he does, turning the faucet on to get rid of the viscous liquid glass substance. That can't be good for the environment.
Odessa rises up from her chair quickly and brings one of her empties over to set in the sink. She looks at Sylar with that insatiable hunger in her eyes, chasing away the previous gloom. Entreating him, "Do that again."
Ethan smirks at Sylar's new trick, then shakes his head a bit as Odessa indulges him. Taking the pot out of the coffee maker, he does a slow pour of the black liquid into the mug. "Sugar?" He asks, turning slightly to face the woman.
Old trick, really, but Sylar almost smiles a little at Odessa's entreatment. Obligingly, he takes one of Odessa's emptied beers and puts that in place, repeating the process as the glass disintegrates into a puddle at the bottom of the sink. "If you liked that one, you should see everything else I can do," he says, his apparently surly nature disappearing when it comes to this topic, almost as child-like as Odessa. For now, he lets go the question as to Ethan's past. He'll find out more in his own time.
Odessa glances over her shoulder when Ethan asks her about her coffee. "Black as pitch, thanks." She reaches out then to trace a finger absently over Sylar's forearm with a bright smile that lights her whole face up. "Will you show me? Everything?" The very prospect has her positively giddy. This, Ethan, is why she's drawn to Sylar.
Now is when Ethan decides to answer Sylar's inquiries. "No." He answers simply before elaborating. "That was my first kill, there were many in between those two deaths." Ethan eyes Odessa for a moment. "Kazimir found me after my wife and two children 'ad been killed by Evolved. Rather.. After I 'ad killed the Evolved who did said act. Then I went to visit my dad." Trailing off, he nods to Odessa sliding the mug over the counter to her.
Sylar's smile widens, even if it characteristically doesn't meet his eyes, indicating that in turn, this is why he's drawn to Odessa. She finds the thing he's been consumed by completely fascinating, and she's seen a lot in her time as a tool of the Company. He opens his mouth to confirm or deny, but Ethan feeds him a little bit of story, gaze breaking from Odessa's to regard the older man, turning partially towards him. "Then you were like me," Sylar says. "You didn't have anything but your own selfishness to guide you until Kazimir gave you direction." It doesn't sound particularly judgmental.
"Selfishness," Odessa repeats under her breath. Speaking up, she offers her opinion, "I never saw it that way. If enlightenment is selfish, so be it." She draws her finger away, but not before brushing it over the back of his knuckles. She's subdued quickly now that something else has grabbed Sylar's interest, and so she returns to the table with her coffee so she can actually eat the pizza Ethan so graciously offers. "Nobody's told me exactly what the work is yet, you know. What do I have to do? Sacrifice a small child before I get that sort of knowledge?"
"I just killed until 'e found me. 'E taught me to kill with purpose." Ethan says, looking off for a moment. He then glance back at Sylar. "I don't know 'ow much like you I am. I don't 'ave any that brain voodoo." He twinkles his fingers in front of him as if to drive home the point of voodoo. He then looks back at Odessa. "Something like that."
Sylar snickers very lightly at Odessa's question, and Ethan's response. "That's not for me to explain," he says. "But I think you'll enjoy it." He smirks lightly at Ethan, then, and nods once. "You're right. You're not really like me. But in intention, we're similar." He sounds like he wants to be right about that, and he moves with Odessa as she heads for the table. I'll show you everything, he promises, now, voice projecting through her head. "We all are," he continues. "We're not above hurting people for a cause."
The (verbally) unspoken promise causes a slow smile to spread across Odessa's face behind her mug of coffee, evident only in the mirthful crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "I hope so," she murmurs in audibly against the rim before taking a sip, eyes locked on his. The smile is diminished to something pleasant and companionable as she regards Ethan and Sylar equally. Lord knows she's hurt people for the Company's cause - to further her own goals. "Where do I fit in?" The question is cautious, but one she's been wanting to ask. With the Company, she always knew where she fit in the hierarchy and the Grand Scheme of Things. This is a brave and terrifying new world, where she doesn't know her place.
Tilting his head, Ethan brings up one heavy hand to rest against the counter. "Per'aps." He says in response to Sylar. Would he be like Sylar if he had the same ability? Killing others to make himself more powerful? The thought has never occurred to him before. He lowers his eyes in contemplation for a moment. Perhaps…
His eyes flick over to Odessa. "Where do you fit in?" Ethan repeats as if he was the original asker of said question. He takes a few paces away from the counter as he opens the refridgerator to retrieve another beer. Opening it, he stands on one side of Odessa with Sylar on the other. "Right.. 'ere." He says cryptically.
 November 12th: Nine Lives |
 November 12th: How to Sneak into Carnegie Hall |