this curse, the affliction we need (closed)

[askedtobe]

WHO: Peter Petrelli & Sylar
WHERE: City streets...
WHEN: Early evening
WHAT: When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. YUP.
WARNINGS: none! but will update if necessary.


It had become something of a routine for Peter. Finish up his shift, grab a cup of coffee, and then proceed to down it while he walked. Walking seemed to clear his head better than anything and he could use the simple excuse of wanting to learn his way around. Memorize street signs as well as he knew them back home in case he needed to know how to get somewhere and where it might actually be. It was even reasonable, really, and besides- it reminded him of home. He didn't have to miss New York quite so badly if he pretended the blocks were all the same, and he didn't have to think about what it would be like if he were back home, navigating his own life.

It should've just been that simple. Nothing needed to complicate it, but apparently something did. Peter couldn't ever catch a break anymore and maybe there was some cosmic justice in that. He had nearly killed the entire population after all, maybe he didn't deserve a break. Maybe he deserved the terrorist moniker - he didn't really know. But he did know that he didn't really want the company he was always given.

Tossing his cup into a trashcan as he walked by, Peter kept going, watching his feet for a few more moments before looking up and freezing on the spot. Why he hadn't searched for Sylar sooner, he didn't quite know. He had a myriad of excuses and he knew they were all bullshit - he just didn't want to face his own past. But a serial killer was on the loose.

And there he was.

Peter swore quietly and yet remained exactly where he was, huffing out an irritated breath like a furious bull ready for charge its way to victory. He didn't know quite what to do but he'd figure it out before the next few moments were up. And it would likely involve punching Sylar in the face as soon as humanely possible.

Comments

[gabriel_gray]

It was simple really: do his work - barbering was really beneath him, but it was easy work that kept him occupied as he laid his plans, found his feet. Surrounded by heroes, all of them vigilant, and the government watching too--it changed the game, and Sylar had to be careful. If it was true that people came back, then he needed to prepare for that too, prepare to be strong enough to defend himself and pick his victims with absolute care, much as he'd been doing under Danko.

And all of that meant avoiding Peter; Peter who knew him, Peter who would point to him the moment there was a body on the ground.

Peter who all but walked into him just as Sylar rounded the corner on the street where his barber shop was situated. Of course it would be Peter. Peter standing there looking right at him, like a tom cat noticing another in the street. Fight or flight, right? Well flight was out of the question. He tensed. He'd have to fight with his fists.

Or his words.

"Surprise?"

[askedtobe]

Peter's face darkened indescribably, leaning towards the sort of aggression he reserved for those he truly despised for one reason or another. Or for those he just found morally offensive; Sylar easily fit into both categories and a few more on top of that. Just because he hadn't seen the other man in awhile didn't mean much of anything, not when their lives were far too entangled to escape from for long. Or course Sylar would be here when Peter was, of course they'd fallen down the same well, down into the same universe.

"City's too small for it to be a surprise." That was how it always went back home - think New York city was the biggest place on earth and you'd end up running into the same person over and over and over again. Just the way things worked really. Even if Sylar had been doing a good job keeping his nose out of trouble.

At least as far as Peter knew.

"So, how many people have you killed so far?"

Peter took a meandering two steps forward. He was readying himself to stomp Sylar into the sidewalk, pushing his shoulders back, his fists tightening. Sylar was going to eat concrete before the sun went down, as far as Peter was concerned, and if not for killing anyone than for being a useless asset back home.

[gabriel_gray]

Peter took two steps forward, and Gabriel held his ground, but raised his right hand, kept it up like he was indicating Peter to stop--or perhaps as though he had telekinetic abilities, it wouldn't harm Peter to think he could.

"Oh, still not as many as you, Peter, but it's hard to compete with billions, isn't it?"

Peter might risk it anyway. What was his power now? Had he exchanged it for something else? Gabriel wondered, and kept his hands to himself, because god only knew that a standoff was safe, and the other option was Peter discovering that he was powerless.

He squared his feet, looked past Peter, then to his right, toward the open street.

"Are you going to do this here?"

[askedtobe]

Peter's gaze travelled from Sylar's hand back to the other man's face, holding his own ground for the moment instead of testing the proverbial waters. He supposed he could've slammed into whatever it was that Sylar was throwing in his direction, but there was no reason to dive directly into this face first. He could think his way through it, rationalize each action.

Or he could do what he'd always done, and thrown down his acts faster than he could think them through.

Knowing that he hadn't truly killed anyone was enough to keep his feet planted squarely on the ground, though he tensed at the acusation. He could've killed billions of people. Could have and his own guilt was something not to be touched on by Sylar. The other man couldn't even begin to understand his grief, the loss of his sense of self, the way the ground shook under him at the mere mention of the devastation he'd nearly caused. Sylar would have reveled in it, which was what split the world between them.

"Where else would we do it?"

Peter took another wary step forward, waiting for the moment when he'd feel himself press up against something solid or begin to be repelled backwards. It didn't come and so he took another step, urging himself to stay calm, to not rip out the only ability he knew he possessed.

[gabriel_gray]

Could have, yes. But what was the fun in that? Peter could have killed most of the world's population, but he hadn't; even so the guilt still went with him, and the guilt was the thing that Sylar was counting on, the thing that would needle him right under the surface.

But he was trying his best to avoid the actual conflict part of this conflict, and Peter wasn't bridling under his insults. In fact if anything...

He was stepping forward. Once, carefully, still considering whether or not he could actually take him, and then a second step, trying to press up against telekinesis that wasn't there.

Which meant that he knew. He absolutely knew, and the second it made sense in Peter's head he was going to lunge forward with his right fist and go right for it. And who could blame him?

"Sure, but street fighting? That's beneath us, isn't it?"

[askedtobe]

"You really think i've never gone after someone in the street?"

Sure, it had been Nathan who he'd punched, but he'd also decked him in front of his security guards. At the end of the day, Peter didn't care about the onlookers, about those who might be standing there to judge. He didn't care about the concrete under his feet and the buildings surround - it was all superfluous. It didn't matter when or where, only why.

And Peter had all the reason in the world.

"We're from New York, Sylar. All the good stuff happens in the street. We duked it out in Kirby Plaza, after all. Right out in the open. What makes this any different."

Peter hadn't mastered the art of neon yet, and he didn't exactly want to go yielding anything that might singe the next block. But he was half inclined to use it just to impress upon the fact that he wasn't impotent. That he could manage being dropped into a new universe without fumbling for his feet. But it, somehow, would be infinitely more satisfying to knock Sylar's teeth back into his skull. Peter had decided yet, not really, but his unspoken momentum decided for him. It only took a second before his muscles chose before his mind, plowing forward through the few steps that divided them and reeling back to knock Sylar square in the jaw.