Participants:
| Scene Title | Exciting? Interesting. |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Sylar returns home from Vegas. Gillian is curious as to his whereabouts. The cat is named. |
| Date | November 15, 2008 |
Siann Hall: Gabriel and Gillian's Apartment
During the day and a half that a young woman's been left alone in the apartment— there's been some small issues. For instance, there are dirty dishes in the sink. Things are missplaced in the front of the apartment. Just small missplacements, nothing strun about like a tornado hit, at least. A couple pairs of clothes are left laying on the floor, as if someone had been trying to pick out what to wear and couldn't decide, and happened to be changing right in the middle of the room. One of the articles of clothing looks mysteriously new— and like a uniform, complete with colors and a nametag. The name on the nametag, though, if examined, isn't belonging to the girl who lives here with him, instead, it reads: Leanne. The cat's currently decided the pants she'd worn make a comfortable pillow.
As the day winds down into evening, there's the sound of someone showering in the bathroom, water running, the humdity rising— it's just started to wind down, the young woman stepping out of the shower puts hair up into a towel, while she begins to get dressed— in the bathroom with the door closed, luckily. It won't take long before she emerges, damp, but clothed.
Gillian will come out to see the apartment brought back to a semblance of what it was, Sylar having returned sometime after she'd started running water. The clothing on the floor has been gathered up, piled onto a chair to be sorted out by the woman later, presumably - which displeased the cat greatly, but such is life. Currently, he's in the kitchen area, stacking dishes into the dishwasher with patience. When Munin had said that his apartment was nice due to his "lady friend", he hadn't bothered to clarify a) it wasn't like that and b) it wasn't his lady friend that cleaned it, for the most part. Shutting the appliance, Sylar grabs a damp cloth to wipe down the kitchen benches, just as Gillian steps out of the bathroom.
It's cooler now that evening's fallen, and Sylar has left the window open partially, space heater switched off, and the air has a crisp feeling to it in contrast to the damper bathroom. The tall man is still dressed from the day in a rather rumpled black dress shirt, the collar of which opened enough to show the white undershirt beneath it. "Evening," Sylar says, pausing what he's doing to look up at her, before his resumes his job. "Who's Leanne?" Maybe not the smartest conclusion to come to, but half his belongings are largely stolen, so…
There's a surprised look on the young woman's face when she exits the bathroom, wearing mostly black clothes that covers everything, but manages to somehow hint at everything too. The straps give a good view of tattoo that he already knows about, plus one more— on her upper arm. The skin around it still has a reddish look— more than the shower could indicate. By all appearances, it looks very much like she got a watch tattooed on her arm— minus the hands. It doesn't actually show a time. Yet. Tattoos are added on to, though. "Hey, you're back," she says, genuinely relieved. "Leanne's me. I had to get a job, right? I had a fake id from a couple years ago when I wasn't old enough to get into all the places I wanted— used that name. Still had it, so I figured it might as well go to some use to get us some cash." Luckily she could give many a sobstory about how her home was destroyed by the bomb, and she's been struggling ever since. It was helped along by the fact her fake ID had placed her somewhere in the blast zone.
"Oh," Sylar says, tossing the wash rag towards the sink once he's done, moving back into the smaller room to continue fixing up the apartment - largely just putting things back where he thinks they should be. You leave for a day and a half and your world adjusts slightly to suit your departure. "That's smart." He casts a glance back towards the uniform. "That bowling alley a couple of blocks away, right? Do you like it?" A glance to her. "The job."
"You, it's the one not too far from here," Gillian clarifies, walking across the room and picking up the cat as she gets closer, looking up at him while he cleans and fixes up the small messes she left behind. She'd not been a total slob in her own apartment, but he definitely has the clean-bug in this household. "There's a couple nasty looking guys who scratch themselves in public renting shoes and making lewd comments about how their shoesize says something about them… but it's cash. I don't want to live off of your 'generousity' without giving a little back. And I need spending money for me, too."
It doesn't take much - the place isn't at all messy, really, and so it takes just a few minutes to straighten up back to a state that Sylar is happier with. Turning back to her, he nods. "No, I think it's a good idea. Claim a piece of your life back. I know it's not the library, but it's something." He then turns partially, extending a hand towards where he'd hung up his coat, and there's a jingly little sound - out of a pocket, a small item zips out and lands in his palm. A blue cat collar, with a bell and little round name tag to boot, and he offers this out to Gillian. Details will show that the tag has one word inscribed in cursive: Chandra. "I picked this up today. I guess he's staying," he says, a smile starting to dawn - before vanishing in distraction. "What's that on your arm?"
"That was the plan," Gillian says, smiling some. From the sound of her she's fairly relaxed and calm, despite everything— taking some charge, and all. The display of ability takes her by surprise, the smile widening just a bit more— and even the cat seems facinated, trying to bat at the blue belt that will eventually get put around his neck. "Chandra?" she asks, pronouncing it wrong. The first part's said totally off, how she might read it, rather than how it's sad. "Isn't that the name of that guy who wrote that one book everyone and their brother wanted to check out when the whole Evolved thing became public? I never even tried to read it, you know, despite tracking down the damn thing about five thousand times one month…" She mutters a bit. Oh, he'd asked about her arm. She glances down at it and shrugs. "I wanted to get number twelve, and I asked for a clock— sorry, a 'timepiece.'"
"It's an okay read," Sylar says, dismissive. "But you're right, although it's pronounced like 'shh'." He focuses on wrapping the piece of leather about the cat's throat, who squirms in Gillian's arms in some protest as he does up the buckle, but the collar is going on, whether 'Chandra' likes it or not. Then, his hand goes out to touch Gillian's arm, to turn her so he can see the newest tattoo, but he stops himself just in time, withdrawing. Instead, Sylar moves enough to observe it without skin contact. Her self-correction brings about a small, awkward smile - a reaction either dredged up from an untouched part of him, or, as usual, an act in his role of Gabriel Wilkens. "It says the time is a hair past a freckle." Pause. "I know, I kind of hate that joke too."
There's a twinge of something when he avoids touching her, but Gillian doesn't say anything. It's more in her breath, her heartbeat, and the way she stands. She shifts a bit to help him see it better, at least, noting the reason behind it. "Actually there's no hairs— they shaved my arm before they began— keeps anything from getting in the way, right? But I couldn't come up with a time to put on it, so I told him to just leave the hands off for now." She glances down at it too, then back up at him. "It's cute that you could still say the joke, even if you dislike it." Chandra, the kitty with a name, is finally put down, kneeling down to let him sit on the ground. "Glad you're staying, Chandra," she says to it, saying the name right this time. "You're not going to tell me where you were even if I ask, are you?" she asks, not straightening back up yet.
There's an awkward pause, having not quite anticipated that question, before Sylar side-steps the kneeling woman plus cat, moving towards the window to pull it closed. "You know me," he says, with a forced tone of casual cheer. "Free spirit. It didn't bother you before. I brought us back some ammunition for your gun, by the way, I know you haven't used it yet but better safe than sorry." And other platitudes, absently picking up her clothes piled on the chair, studying her uniform before he begins to fold them.
"Doesn't bother me, really," Gillian says with a shrug, though there's a twinge in her heartbeat that might say otherwise. Hard to lie to someone who can hear the blood pumping away, listen to all the little physical cues that people, in general, can't hide no matter how good they happen to be at lying. "I just wonder what you're doing. And if I might— be able to help with it, somehow…" She trails off, straightening as she spots him folding her clothes. That's when she smiles again, a little laugh in her throat. "Guess I'll just have to help with Assface times Two and help with the rent."
Sylar looks back at her, not really understanding the smile but smiling back all the same. "No, it's okay," he says, returning his eyes to his self-appointed task. "It's not— anything I'd want you to— " He pauses, changes tactic. "Maybe some day soon. Right now, I'm just tying up some loose ends, I guess." And now he starts to lie a little easier. "I had to go out of town to pay this guy back for when he bailed me out of a rough spot a bunch of months ago. It's no big deal but I probably should have left a note or something."
"Well, next time just do that— the note thing," Gillian says, glancing back toward the kitchen for a moment. There's some satisfaction in her heartbeat, apparently accepting what she had been told. "As long as you don't run off and go after the two guys without me, we're still square up. I'm trying to get better at this… thing that I do, so I can help you. If all those headaches and exhaustion goes for nothing, I'll be kinda pissed off, you know." Her voice is genuine, but there's not actual anger in it, yet. "I know what you mean paying back a guy, though— there's a couple people I need to try to contact again soon, but with that Company running around, I'm not exactly in a hurry. I even went to a totally new tattoo guy this time."
"No, I need you for when we go stop Peter times two," Sylar confirms, folding the last item and placing this on top. "I wouldn't dream of going alone when I know I have you there to help me." Turning back to her, he leans against the arm of the armchair, hands clasped. "And cutting your ties is probably a good idea. You should probably stick to 'Leanne', too. I wouldn't put it past the Company to be able to track us down by names alone. So far, no one's been watching this building that I can see." He then smiles wryly across at her, still with that hint of awkwardness so attributed to this persona. "World's changed so much in two years, huh? Can't say it's not exciting."
The folded clothes are glanced at, that smile sticking around, though that probably has more to do with words spoken than actions made. Gillian moves closer again, stepping over Chandra, whose decided the middle of the floor is his area to spread out like a kitten rug. "Exciting? Well— used to be pretty boring, so I guess you could say it's more exciting. Sometimes too exciting. Kinda wish I didn't have to look behind my back all the time— or that I got saddled with this lame ability that doesn't do anything for me." There's a pause, "Well, anything besides helping you. And… making some people a little more interesting— depending on your definition."
That gains a low, warm chuckle. "Yes I guess it would," Sylar agrees, staying where he is but letting her approach. "Then again, it doesn't do anything for you, you're right, but you're still plenty interesting." More than she even knows to the killer, but that's far beside the point he's attempting to make to her. As if to divert from that compliment, he glances down at the carpet and adds, quickly, "But that's a good point, actually, if you ever needed to find out if someone were Evolved - you could make them overload."
"Make them overload— that might not have a good outcome for anyone, though. I mean, sure— a dude who can normally only teleport small distances suddenly ending up on the other side of town if I punch him in the face might be useful…" It sounds as if Gillian's been pondering this. "But like what happened with Assface? The guy almost blew up in the middle of a hotel, and I wasn't even touching him yet— I don't want to know what would happen if I— wait— I guess he did touch me when he sent me into the past… I didn't hear about any nuclear explosion. Maybe I got lucky that time, but I still don't totally see a use for it— if the power's destructive. It'll destroy me too." Me too being almost the more important words.
"But not all powers are destructive," Sylar adds, raising an eyebrow. "The most I did that one time was make this place into a butterfly house, remember? Besides, even if it is destructive, you can— pull the plug out of it, I guess is a good analogy. Maybe not their power, but what you give, yes." He shrugs his broad shoulders, tone mellow. "Something to think about, because you never know when it could come in useful. Just practice every aspect, understand what you can do, and it all falls into place."
"I guess it'd be useful if I wait til I see what they can do before I try to fuck them over with their own powers— I know your hearing thing tends to mess you up around me," Gillian says, thinking back on that, obviously giving it thought. "I wonder what I would've done to that guy who attacked me? The one who made it so I couldn't hear a thing for a moment— and— hurt me. The Agent. The ones those assclowns over at PARIAH saved me from." From the sound of her voice, her heart, and other indicators— she doesn't like them, though she turns around and kneels down to pet lil' Chandra instead of throwing keys at the wall again. "Have you heard some of the things they've been up to lately? Attacking that 'two years later memorial' thing? What the hell— they're just going to make the general population want to lock people like us up even more."
This diversion of conversation gets only attentive listening from Sylar - both to her words and the telling pace of her heart, her breathing. "I know," he agrees, as gently as possible, not totally wishing to fuel this fire but wanting, simultaneously, to remain on her side. Gently does it, he attempts to persuade. "But can you blame them? It's a kneejerk reaction to all those anti-Evolved killings, the government's regime. They're a symptom, I think, not a cause."
"I don't see them as being any better than the Company, then," Gillian says, frowning faintly as she continues to pet Chandra. The kitten rolls over on his back and attacks her hand, so she plays with the fur on his tummy, ruffling his body a bit. He doesn't seem to mind, despite trying to stick his claws into her arm and bite on her wrist. Nom, nom. "Just coming from a different angle. All I want is my freedom— to live my life how I choose. And this bullshit that they're pulling makes me suspect that even if they got Jenny out of the Company— they'd make me or her help them in return. And if that's the kind of shit they're pulling…?" She doesn't finish, but she doesn't have to. He can hear it already.
If this screws up, Ethan can only blame himself with poor decisions. This, Sylar decides, watching as Gillian plays with Chandra. After a moment, he goes to join her, kneeling down beside her to pet the cat, who whips his head around in an attempted playful bite. "No, that's a good point," he says, quieter. "And it doesn't make it any easier. But then again, how willing are you to let your sister be kept by the Company? I'm sure we can shake PARIAH loose once it's over."
And there they are— playing with a cat together. The anger in her heart lightens quite a bit, softening to a calmer sound. Difficult to stay angry when playing with a cat. "Ow," Gillian finally says, pulling her arm back when the cat's claws get a good enough grip that it leaves a reddish swollen line on her wrist— probably more cause she pulled out of it too fast. "Maybe— but— Jenny— We never really got along too well. I mean she's a model— she wants to prance down a runway in Paris one day— or pose in magazines. Not that I want someone to screw around with her brain, but for all I know they did that the first day they got her."
Does he push her further? He probably could. He knows he's good at this, that maybe he could turn her mind - although it's always been the case that she's near done the job of fooling herself all on her own. Still, he could do it. He could convince her to make contact with "PARIAH" once more.
But he really is bored of waiting.
"Then I guess we have to hope they get what they want and let her go," Sylar says, pouring regret into his voice. "I'm so sorry I couldn't help you myself, it would have been the least I could do, seeing as you're gonna risk your life for me and all…"
"Hey— I have no intention of getting killed fighting Assface, either of them, just so we're clear," Gillian says, reaching over to touch his arm, despite the fact that he'd avoided touching her earlier. "But with what he's capable of, it wouldn't matter if I was at your side or somewhere else in the city if something goes wrong. Unless I find a crazy guy's bomb shelter and squat in it." Crazy who isn't so crazy anymore. There's a pause, a sound in her heartbeat that would clue into considering something— but she doesn't say it. Instead… "I got a couple containers of icecream. Strawberry, pistachio, mint chocolate chip… I don't know if you noticed. Though I guess we should be looking into dinner first. Then ice cream.
The touch isn't shied away from - he's pretty sure the sleeve of his shirt is thick enough to withstand any accidental triggering of recently obtained abilities, after all, and the corners of his mouth lift in an uncertain twitch of a smile. The little heartbeat skip causes Sylar to look up at her, almost trying to urge her to say what she was going to say— but when she diverts, he simply nods a little, frustration stewing behind a mask of an expression. Soon he'll be able to see everything, he's pretty sure… but not yet. Soon. "That sounds great," he says, letting it go. "We can order in, whatever you want - celebrate your new job."
"Whatever I want— then you are at my mercy, Mr. Wilkens," Gillian says with a smile, glancing down at Chandra again before reaching over to ruffle his belly one last time. "Not you, though— you get stuck with the same old canned and bagged food." There's still a hint of that sound in her heartbeat, when she stands up. "I'll go look for a number in the phone book. Why don't you put the collar on Chandra while I do that?" And while there's something subversive in her heartbeat, something under the surface, she walks over to the phone book as promised and starts to flip through it. Restraunts… restraunts… wonder if anywhere close by does thai food…
"I think you underestimate how adventurous I can be," Sylar says, and does as suggested, slipping the collar onto the cat and stroking his large hand down the length of the feline's body, before the cat is on its feet and heading after Gillian. Feeding times! Sylar gets up off the ground, moving to the kitchen to take care of cat-feeding, adding, "I had an Indian roommate, once. And he wasn't shy about making food for two. Do your worst."
"Indian roomate?" Gillian says with a laugh, as she flips through the restraunt section, trying to find one that sounds good in her mind. Luckily, delivery is still big in New York after the bomb— if not a little bigger in certain non-bombed areas. "I bet he worked at a 7-11, or something— or drove a taxi. Foreigners always end up driving taxis." That's a stereotype for a reason, after all… "Even that guy who drove us here the first night— remember him? He must have been— Russian or something. Mongolian, I don't know."
The cupboard's hinges squeak as he takes out the box of catfood, shaking it lightly and getting a meow from Chandra in return. "Definitely Russian, his last name was Sidorov," Sylar says, then shrugs at her with a flash of a smirk. "Sorry. Elephant's memory, can't help it. And you're right, he did drive a taxi." And he shakes some cat biscuit into a bowl, a most domestic and almost pleasant sound to punctuate the most domestic and pleasant of conversations.
"You actually remember his name? Man," Gillian says, looking impressed. There's a strong indication that, well— she likes the idea. Not that she knows how true it really is. "And HA. Good job, ex-Gabriel-roomie. Keeping the stereotype alive— one of them anyway." Finally she finds something and stands up with the book in arm, walking over to the phone and dialling a number in.
 November 15th: My Life Sucks |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 15th: Dichotomy |