Sorry, mate. Can't make vegemite without wringing the tears out of a fucking onion.
[but that isn't something sarissa would actually say. not under these circumstances. and nor is it something that kavinsky says, more of the banal eggs and cake type, out loud, but it gets lost in the translation of static in the canals of his ears, of particle light moving like a wave hitting the rods and cones in sylar's eyes at the wrong angles and spinning off into the polluted, fractured mess of his brain.]
Hey, Sylar. Hey.
[it's a fragmented echo. minutes have passed. more than that? time is an unevenly burning candle, melting lumpy and malformed over the unwitting fingers of the dizzy young man struggling to read by its light. no more pressure dragging the collar at gabriel's throat; less dark, curly hair netting the slender shoulders hunkered down under gabriel's nose. and the familiar sweetness of sarissa's deodorant replaced by the acrid undertone of axe body spray.
the fragrance favored by all true villains.
one-note and tinny, a shrill whine fills the concrete room. he's heard it before: a small blade rotating at high velocity. when kavinsky looks up, he's kavinsky again. neon green, but kavinsky nonetheless.
but it's sarissa's voice who says,] Maybe you need to try harder.
a little more impressionistic, lmk if not ok!
[but that isn't something sarissa would actually say. not under these circumstances. and nor is it something that kavinsky says, more of the banal eggs and cake type, out loud, but it gets lost in the translation of static in the canals of his ears, of particle light moving like a wave hitting the rods and cones in sylar's eyes at the wrong angles and spinning off into the polluted, fractured mess of his brain.]
Hey, Sylar. Hey.
[it's a fragmented echo. minutes have passed. more than that? time is an unevenly burning candle, melting lumpy and malformed over the unwitting fingers of the dizzy young man struggling to read by its light. no more pressure dragging the collar at gabriel's throat; less dark, curly hair netting the slender shoulders hunkered down under gabriel's nose. and the familiar sweetness of sarissa's deodorant replaced by the acrid undertone of axe body spray.
the fragrance favored by all true villains.
one-note and tinny, a shrill whine fills the concrete room. he's heard it before: a small blade rotating at high velocity. when kavinsky looks up, he's kavinsky again. neon green, but kavinsky nonetheless.
but it's sarissa's voice who says,] Maybe you need to try harder.