Schroedinger

Participants:

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Scene Title Schroedinger
Synopsis The aftermath of a night on the town.
Date November 8, 2008

Outside Siann Hall, Bronx


The nightclub of choice may not have been an ungodly distance away— but by the time the two make it back to the apartment complex, Gillian is exhausted. Even though she removed the heels and carried them a majority of the way, she's still tired of all the movement. And her bare feet are cut and bruised, turned into red and black, with likely some blue added in later. Once they reach the building itself, the apartment they need to go to on the fourth floor, the goth who looks more like a normal clubber stops and says out, "Hold on— wait— Stop for a— " Her voice isn't yelling too loud, heavy with breath, but she is talking at a conversation volume, with a hoarse tone more like yelling. "What the hell happened back there, Gabriel? You didn't need to do that. I thought you didn't want to get caught. What were you going to do if they showed up before we got more than a few blocks away?"

For most of the trip back, Sylar has been tense. If he had hackles, they'd be raised for the entirety of the journey home and when Gillian calls out to him, he's reluctant to stop, walking in long strides that makes the injury at his side twinge with pain, but it's a rhythm. But it's the use of his true name, yet again, that forces him to stop, a flash of teeth as his lips pull back in something like a snarl, but he lets it go. Like he let a few things go tonight. He rounds on her, trying to keep the anger down and the pretence up. "I would have taken care of it," he snaps. And he could have gotten that power. Force people to their knees and quivering with barely a thought. "What happened back there— you felt it as much as I did."

It's the anger, and the snapping, that seem to get Gillian to straighten up from the bent over position she'd taken due to her exhaustion from running and moving quickly. The pain continue on her feet, her legs, her sides— the final two from strain more than trauma. And her arms. The irritation of a burn continues— like a fresh tattoo, only without the ink. "Of course I felt it. Everyone did. It was terrifying. And if that's why you attacked her, then that's fine, but we weren't in danger anymore— it's stopped. You didn't have to hurt her. She's the one who made a scene— we could have left and no one would have remembered us."

"I didn't hurt her," Sylar says, voice toning down from fiery anger to something colder as he comes to stand in front of her, for all his height. "What I did to her was no where near what I could have done." Grain of truth, yet again, but he twists it into, "You felt it," he repeats, and points - the mild burns are still visible on her pale arms, likely the thinner layers of skin in small white, peeling curls. "I could have blown that place sky high because of what she was doing."

Blown the place sky high… Gillian softens her stance somewhat, looking down at the burns on her arm. He hadn't meant to do that, she knows. The frustration starts to drain away. "Okay— you didn't really hurt her. But you still drew attention to us. That guy with the…" she spreads her hands out to make the gesture he was making. "He looked like Lurch. Anyway, he's going to remember us. And if he's anywhere near dangerous, that could be bad, right? Not as bad as blowing up the city, but that was probably part my fault, too."

In the background, a soft sound starts to call out, so faint only one of them could hear it. Meow.

As her frustration drains, so does his tension, shoulders finally relaxing beneath his slate grey suit jacket, gaze dropping from hers and around them, as if paranoid of being followed. "He's not a concern," Sylar states, firmly. "Just another a guy. If he gives us trouble, whoever he was, we can take care of ourselves." Finally, he lets out a breath, and looks at her. Fine. "It was a mistake." He doesn't put his name next to that sentence, exactly, but there's implication enough. Bad location, bad move. At least she's not, yet, asking him what he was trying to do. And as he swings his auditory scope of hearing out in an attempt to pick up on anyone who might have followed them, the meowing can't go ignored - well it can, and it does, but it's almost a nagging sort of sound, and Sylar casts an irritated glance over his shoulder in its direction.

"Okay, Lurch is just another guy and not a suit— but he could have been— there were a lot of people in there— who says that— that Company doesn't hang out in clubs like that." Gillian doesn't want to dismiss the possibility that Assface and his partner in crime, or the shadowy guy who attacked her— or the other people that are bound to be doing their thing under the Company coattails wouldn't be in every single place. "Next time— coffee shop. We'll sit in one til someone comes in— or maybe when I meet up with PARIAH, we can just borrow one of their people— that Sidney guy. Follow him around why he grabs people's hands or something." Gross creepy old man. Creepy. However, he's glancing off in a direction, looking at something. Her eyes follow, curious. Meow. There's a head peaking out of a dying piece of landscaping, a bush that's lost all traces of leaves, mostly visible because of one thing. Orange fur.

"Fine," Sylar dismisses, turning his head to fire the word at her, clearly still on edge. Fact is, he's lying by omission about things he didn't think he'd have to with this particular woman. He'd come so close. In front of all those people. He's taken risks before but he's always been more than happy to ride the wave of hunger, relish it - but rarely has it been something to war against, that almost compromised his position. His tone softens, becoming more like the man Gillian knows, and he adds, "We'll do it your way next time." His tone is a careful balance of apology and a little dejection. Some of it isn't entirely faked, even.

The dry sound of a moving body, even as small as a cat's, shifting against dead branches occurs, then the almost too quiet sound of paws against pavement, and the orange cat, now visible, is spared another glance. Rather dryly, Sylar says, "We're being followed."

Because the person she's with is far more perceptive than she is, Gillian doesn't catch everything quite well enough. And his voice draws her eyes back to him where she smiles, looking relieved. There. That's the protector that she knows. Her heartbeat starts to relax— at least until she hears his comment. "What? Followed?" She glances the way they came first, making sure that there's no sirens coming for them. She's still got her shoes, but they're hardly a weapon right now. It takes a moment before she thinks to follow where his gaze went originally.

Meow?

There's a hitch in her breath, a surprised sound. "A cat. Do— do you think it belongs to anyone?"

"My mother used to have a cat," Sylar muses. "It ran away one day, or maybe it was killed, we never found out. Either way, I don't think cats are very good at being kept." With the attention of the two humans, the cat is eager to run all the more quickly towards them, likely hungry, and meowing incessantly. And because animals have good instincts, the ginger feline winds its way around Gillian's legs, stepping over bare feet.

Oh no, cat. Gillian can't help but kneel down as it pads over her barefeet, meowing. Her hand immediately reaches out for it's head, stroking down its fur, all the way to the tail. "Cats are more like some people than any other animal, I think— at least the type of people I would like to know. Independant… free… You're right— they don't like to be owned." She puts her shoes down so she can touch the cat more. "But I think it's hungry— it doesn't have a collar or anything, so it's probably not being taken care of right now…" She hesitates for a moment before she looks up, hands still on the yellow creature. "You don't think that… you handled the lease, so— do they allow pets?" There's a quietly hopeful tone to her voice.

"They only said 'no dogs'," Sylar says, watching Gillian pet the animal. Even if it is a runaway, likely it'd stick around for a meal or three. A warm lap to curl up in. Even the most independent of creatures have needs. He raises an eyebrow at Gillian's unspoken question, and glances up behind them at the apartment building. "We can take it in and see if it runs away," he suggests. Cat or no cat, it doesn't particularly effect him. A beat, then he says, "We have some canned salmon it'd be interested in."

Almost immediately there's a smile— once again, Gillian's showing her dimples. Even after everything that happened— the burns standing out on her arms, hurting like a new tattoo (which is probably the only way she manages to ignore it), and the pain in her feet, and him tossing a guy across a room and attacking a woman— this is good news. "I wanted to get a cat one day," she admits, reaching to pick up the creature and hold it close against her chest, before she grabs her shoes with the other hand and uses her arms to support it instead. "Do you want to name it after it sticks around for a few days?"

It takes him a moment, but Sylar does reach out a hand towards the cat, whose head jerks up to nose at his hand suspiciously before allowing a little bit of ear skritching. "I think I can come up with a name," he agrees, hand withdrawing once more. This was a happy mistake - he'd rather she focus on a kitten than the fact he'd almost killed an unconscious woman. Placing a hand in the middle of Gillian's back in a companionable touch, he urges them both to finish the journey home.

With the orange bundle in arms, and her shoes in hand, Gillian starts to move toward the building again, limping a little as she walks, but that will stop with time. "You really do look good in a suit— I wasn't lying about that," she adds, almost offhandedly as they approach the door.

Sylar obligingly takes her shoes from her, considering her arms are full of cat, and glances at her now in the light of Siann Hall's foyer - both of them dressed a little too nicely for the lower-income apartment building, perhaps. "I like your dress," he offers, leading her towards the elevator. "You were right about the tattoos. I'm seeing more as I get to know you."


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November 8th: Primal
Previously in this storyline…
A Captive Audience

Next in this storyline…
Give it Another Go

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November 9th: Jump
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