Participants:
| Scene Title | Just The Beginning |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In their first training lesson together, Sylar and Gillian combine energies for a destructive cause. And one of them unknowingly assists in a murder of circumstance. |
| Date | November 3, 2008 |
The Bronx is the northernmost borough of Greater New York, and even before the explosion, this area was diverse. Though known infamously throughout the world to be a low-income area, it was not without its finer points, as well as home to the Yankee Stadium. It was dense with life, for better or for worse.
For now, it is the the south-west areas of the Bronx that are unrecognisable. Clean up has not gone steadily, and buildings still lie in ruination. It is now hard to tell what this place is even for. During the day, construction teams work to clear more and more roads of South Bronx, although people seem to take liberties by driving over the burnt out rubble if they have the means. There are make-shift trailer camps and soup kitchens for those that don't have a place to go. One feature of South Bronx is the Yankee Stadium, so far untouched. There is irreparable damage done to the building itself, and no game has played there since the tragedy. Graffiti tags the areas available, and people often congregate illegally upon the wrecked grounds. The field itself is overgrown with weeds between fallen debris.
Heading away from Manhattan, the Bronx takes on more function and hope. This borough, once a place of Jewish immigrants, then Latin-Americans and African Americans, is now a diverse mix of all races, any and all New Yorkers taking up residence on the other side of the wreckage. There is even a semblance of a transport system, the electricity back on and functioning, but crime rates are higher than ever.
It could be romantic. There's an artful crescent moon out that dips on occasion behind clouds passing by, and two people walk down the street, holding hands. The fact that they walk at a brisk, business-like pace, and their shapes are glassy and ghost-like defeats this idyllic notion, however - it's a handhold of convenience, Sylar's transparent-like camouflage appearance extending to Gillian through touch, changing the colour of skin, hair, clothing. It's different to invisibility - they're tangible, solid, and their movements make them easier to track should anyone be watching, but without colour, both of them shades of shadow like their surroundings, it's almost impossible to identify who they are.
It's a decently long walk as they move through the most desolate, most abandoned areas of the Bronx, moving past bright yellow warning tape and ignoring the signs that warn them of danger, both from the effects of radiation and the possibility of still uncleared buildings falling in on them. The concept of streets wanes more and more, the ground little more than rubble and black, and they approach a building - an old apartment complex, one scheduled to be knocked down within the week, if the notice pinned to the front door is to be of any indication.
Taptap. It's a good thing she decided to wear comfortable shoes, rather than her platforms. The camoflauged goth might be shorter without them, but at least her already sore ankles aren't too much worse after this long walk. "This is so trippy," Gillian whispers, though it isn't the first time. She'd been quiet most of the trip, but now she doesn't need to be. There's no one about, and with a hand held up in front of her face, she's idly watching it change colors and shades to match with the background as they move. "I know I'm there, but I can't even see my own hand— you realize there's a bunch of people who would pay money for this shit, right?" From the sound of it, she might be included in that group.
The building gains her attention away from her hand, though, and she nods towards it. "This the place?"
Sylar glances over his shoulder, but his hearing already tells them what he needs to know - they're very much alone. At least, in all the ways that count. The gentle sound of a heart beat makes a third addition to the sounds of his and Gillian's, but considering it's direction, he doesn't think it will concern them. Nor is it something Gillian has to know. He releases her hand and instantly, colour pools back over Gillian's body, and not a moment later, Sylar's follows suit. "It is," he confirms, looking back up at the building. It's not a skyscraper by any means, a squat low-income apartment building that took a good deal of explosion two years ago, but four storeys high, it's still a presence in the destroyed street. "Are you ready?"
As the color reappears, Gillian looks back at her hand, watching everything slide back into place. With them both standing in the street again, visible to themselves and the world, she smiles a bit, the hint of dimples appearing on her cheeks. The bandage around her head has been removed, finally, leaving only a cut visible under the fringe of her bangs. Healed most of the way by now. None of her other cuts are visible, though there's signs of bruising on her neck that comes back into sight. "Yeah. I consentrated on how it felt the whole way here, even if you weren't needing much from me to do that." The consentrating helped, though, it'd been a long walk, and she felt it the whole way there. "What're you planning to do?" She looks back at the building with curiousity. "Freeze it?"
Sylar extends out a hand, and with a flap, the demolition notice comes loose and flies its way towards them, as if caught in the wind despite the lack of it in the air. Catching the piece of paper, he hands it to her. "We're going to help," he says, before turning again to the building. "I want to see how much I can do. We should probably practice without touch," he says, with a glance to her. "We might not have the luxury in the future." His hands lift from his sides, now, not stretching out, however - arms held out only a few inches from his body, palms turned outwards, as he tries to get a sense of what he can take a hold of. He can already feel it, the solid structure of the building despite its instability. It'd be too much for him to effect, normally. This should be an interesting night.
"It seems to be strongest with touch, but— " Gillian trails off, not retaking his hand, and instead looking from the building to the notice that he plucked off of it. "So we're going to tear down a building?" She sounds impressed, though the idea doesn't strike her as too off the wall. "I could feel it when you grabbed the paper— I'll just keep trying to push more into what I feel maybe? And then try cutting it off. I'm not sure how we'll practice only— sending energy to one person, though." They'd need another Evolved like them for that, wouldn't they? But learning how to push it further and cut it off will be a good start… "I have to stay close to you, though. There is a range to this." Which she's figured out mostly on her own.
"Tear it down, knock it down, whatever it takes," Sylar says, not looking at her, now, trying to see if he can't sense something from her in return. "We'll try something among others, later, provided we can maintain a low profile." Or, you know, leave no witnesses, but that goes unsaid. His hands go out, now, as if grabbing at the air - tugging at the building. Of course, nothing visible happens, although there's a distant creak of wood and metal protesting against the strain. "Feel me, focus on me," he instructs. "It's like a switch inside of you, a muscle you never knew was there. Find it, use it."
The building, the distant creak of wood, catches her attention for a moment, but his words draw her eyes back. Gillian nods carefully, staying within a few feet of him, personal space area, and focuses her eyes on him. Her eyes, and something else. That feeling, the sensation. The connection is much stronger when they have touch. "It's not as clear," she says outloud, giving him verbal cues as she consentrates. Her heartbeat remains mostly steady, her breathing slow, but tension begins to form along her forehead, her hands clench into fists. "But I feel it— maybe I can…" After a moment, she ends up closing her eyes. Even without seeing him, she can feel it. Maybe she'll be less distracted as energy pours from her into him.
Though he intended to keep his eyes fixed on the building, Sylar has to shut them when he feels, rather suddenly, his own power. Like renewed strength, or a breath of fresh air. Again, no visible changes to the building, not yet, but the sound grows louder — things begin to break on the inside as he pulls. Brick work, finally begins to crack as the whole thing seems to lurch forward, collapsing in on itself, a shudder of dust and dirt coming from it. That faint heart beat inside, that he can just hear at the edge of his consciousness, quickens with fear, but there's no movement. They don't run. "More," he demands, voice tight as he opens his eyes again, hands clenching. "Focus."
Unaware of the quickened heartbeat inside, Gillian's gains some speed of it's own. Not out of fear, but out of a hint of adrenaline. The breath also quickens, as if she's getting strained, but she nods, "I'm trying." And try she does. The connection is intact, though pushed over a distance. More energy, more of her— It's a strange sensation, pouring strength from one place to another. Idly, she lifts a hand up, fingers inching closer to him. Not to touch, just to get closer. The surge increases. "This is… drawing so much more… than what you… usually do." But that'd been the point, even if she's already starting to breathe heavy, light gasped sounds between words.
"That's because I'm using everything," Sylar says, words coming out in a rush of breath. Gillian's strength moves from him, then pushed even further into the energy it takes to achieve what he's achieving, and he shudders under the strain. Seeing her hand in closer, he does the impulsive thing - he grabs it in one of his, breaking open the gateway even further. Letting the dam fall apart. With a roar that will be heard, the building, it's structure already damaged from bombs previous and Sylar's own efforts, suddenly tips forward in pieces, bricks flying from the walls and hurtling through the air at a violent speed, as if some sort of concussive force from behind just tore its way through the entire complex. There's a roar as metal rips apart, as wood snaps, and Sylar manages not to make a sound, hand clenching almost painfully around Gillian's hand.
As soon as their hands touch, the glow springs up between them. Not that either of them are looking, nor that there's anyone watching to see it. The tightened grip is returned, and Gillian actually joins her other hand into it, grasping the other side, increasing the tactile connection between them. She's not sure if that makes a difference, but as the building explodes, ripped apart by invisible kinetic forces, she lets out a soft gasp, unable to be heard under the explosion, except perhaps by him. The gasp is followed by a shaking of her knees, a weakening, and she ends up falling to her knees, holding onto him. The energy, all of it that's getting used, is taking a lot out of her. Like a muscle, it may grow stronger with time. There's more. Remaining energy to take. She's just physically winded by the exertion.
Sylar's own heart beat is racing, Gillian's going at the rate it has to to keep her conscious. A third one blinks out like so many lights in a city. But no one has to know. Sylar's arm goes down along with Gillian, but he doesn't collapse, not yet, needing to finish this. Finally, with one last heave, the building collapses completely, the ground giving a tremor underfoot, in a spray of brick, wood, metal that smashes through nearby windows, sets off an alarm of a car that only just works, but also endangers the two standing in the deserted street.
The telekinesis ends, and it's like a marionette's strings are cut, the way Sylar suddenly buckles down next to Gillian. A trickle of blood courses thinly from one nostril, smearing along his upper lip, but all the same, a shield of bright light suddenly arcs over them in a solid dome of protection, the forcefield protecting them from the pieces of building that rocket their way. It's nothing like the organic membrane of a forcefield Sylar is used to - far stronger, resilient, still intangible enough to see their surroundings beyond it, but solid enough that the brick and metal and glass ricochets off without effort.
There's a shudder. Where she clings to him, her hands are shaking, only held still by his grip and her own. The forcefield's stronger, but the glowing at their hands dims, flickering out. Not much left. But enough. Gillian opens her eyes, half expecting to half pieces of rock plowing into her from the sound around them, but she sees the shield that's up, stares at it. The glow has skipped out of her eyes, vanished before she ever opened them, leaving heavilily dialated eyes that make seeing difficult. Even if she notes the shield in the dust, she can't make out the details of it, or what's beyond it. Heart racing, breathing haggard, she turns those eyes toward him, blinking a few times. "You're… you're bleeding," she says in a weak voice. The blood doesn't flow from her nose, but she is having other side effects of strain, in the way her eyes look, in the way she's shaking. Maintaining consciousness may become an issue, eventually. Giving everything takes a toll.
He only waits for the danger to cease, before the forcefield flickers out of existence without drama. The dust of the destruction courses it's way in, coating them, but no flying pieces of debris to brain them. Carefully, as if worried something bad would happen if he went quickly, Sylar extracts his hands from Gillian's. He can actually feel the disconnect, this time, and at her comment, he brings a hand up to the smear of blood, observing the red on his fingers. "You don't look so good yourself," he comments, hands going out to steady her, despite the fact they're still kneeling. His palms find purchase on her shoulders. "That was amazing. Did you feel that? I ripped it apart."
At the comment about herself, Gillian looks back up, steadied by hands on her shoulders and reaches up to touch her face, checking for blood. No blood comes off on her fingers, but her eyes don't settle down, and she's still looking as if she just finished running up a dozen flights of stairs. "I'm not… the one… bleeding," she notes, trying to smile faintly, before she looks toward the collapsed building, the pile of rubble. She can just barely make it out through fogged vision and settling dust. "You really did— rip it apart." The tone of her voice agrees, even labored as it is. It is amazing. "Just tired. Didn't know… I could give that much. Before it was always… people just taking it. Never pushed it myself."
"Learning curve," Sylar says, taking his hands off her when she doesn't seem about to collapse completely. He sniffs a little, bringing a sleeve up to wipe away more of the dark blood, but the flow seems to be stopping, and he glances around them. They're still alone, but sirens will soon start wailing, and he gets to his feet, staggering just a little, before reaching out to help Gillian up. "We should get out of here. We can try again later." He looks her over once, then adds, "Or tomorrow." No use if she overloads herself into a coma. "I think there's so much more we can do, Gillian. This is just the beginning, not the limit."
"Just the beginning," Gillian says softly, pushing herself back up to her feet, especially with his help. She's covered in dust and light debris, but it could be much worse. Where the forcefield had been, there's some mighty chunks of rubble that could have hit them, and didn't. Braining had been a strong possibility. "Next time, I should try to shut it off…" she says, trying to steady her breathing, and not quite succeeding. It's a long walk, and she's already exhausted. And sore. All over again.
And… cue the sirens wailing, although far enough that only Sylar can hear them. It's with that in mind that he puts an arm tight around her shoulders, and guides them at a hurried pace down the street, away from the rubble, moving around the chunks of brick and concrete that now add to the broke-down Bronx road. "I suppose that's the next step," Sylar says, but without much agreement in his voice. There's more important things to focus on. The colours of the street and buildings suddenly flood across them both in one last spark of power.
 November 3rd: Of Intimacy and Such |
 November 3rd: To Put it Bluntly |