O8 👶 you don't seek murder like this often

[pillz]

WHO: Gabriel "Sylar" Gray, Elliot Alderson, Jesse Pinkman & Joseph Kavinsky
WHERE: Maurtia Falls & surrounding areas
WHEN: February 2017
WHAT: revenge screaming
WARNINGS: Up to NC-17 for prose-written violence I guess? Substances/poisoning, torture, etc.



closed to elliot alderson;

[it's two in the morning and kavinsky is at home. one of. his apartment. 'home.' close enough.

as homes go, kavinsky's is a boyish monstrosity. a man cave stretched out into a full three rooms, and on a spectacularly ridiculous budget. his flatscreen tv takes up most of one wall. the wireless subwoofer speakers look like cell towers stationed throughout the lacquered floor, if people tended to balance tumblers of half-finished liquor and Cokes and spent ashtrays on top of cell towers. the pool table folds out of the fucking wall, and it's only half out this evening, a stolen stop sign jammed into the nook. the tv is blaring some stupid show about guns. there is an inexplicable knife sticking out of the black leather sofa.

he's staring at his cellphone, but in reality, he's listening for the door. despite appearances, the first activity is actually closely tied to the other. also related: he has a handgun shoved down the back of his pants and a grenade in his pocket.

just in case.]

closed to gabriel "sylar" gray & eventual jesse pinkman;

[the bake shack is not maurtia falls' finest, but its a cut above the neighboring options. the diner has a fairly standard menu. tuna, blt, blt with avocado, buffalo chicken, chicken fingers, grilled chicken, parmesan chicken, chicken, cheddar and broccoli, that kind of thing. the food tends to be a little fresher than most of its counterparts, thanks to some shady dealings, and they occasionally take inspired liberties with such additions as cilantro and white pepper on the daily specials. the service is above average. slightly higher, if you happen to have television experience and handsome eyebrows.

the waitress has been crushing on him awhile. she probably isn't the one who put the blood in his coffee.

either way, she's already sashayed away by the time the effects start to kick in. an instant's fatigue. and then the room starts to spin in sylar's vision. the waitress' ass swerves into a sickening perpendicular, the second before she disappears around the corner of the counter. in the kitchen, there will be someone there to grab her, cover her mouth, shove some money in the pocket of her short-shorts. they'd paid the cook twice as much.

the sunshine coming through the window feels overbright. gabriel still has strength in his hands, a shade of lucidity to his thoughts, but it's fading on him fast even as neon spots start to crawl into his vision.]

Comments

np hi hi (cw ableism)

[pillz]

[dramatic? anticlimactic? kavinsky sits up when the door opens. he gets that far! but there's not much to do after that besides stare at the nerd move his shit around and then start. to. assemble a computer, or something, without so much as a word. kavinsky doesn't actually know enough about geek culture to make an appropriate insult. league of legends, counterstrike, all the particulars of tournaments are beyond him.

he stares at elliot putting a power plug into the wall, and then he finally stands up.]

You have no fucking manners, you know that? [demands the most reliable source of social etiquette information available in the local universe. kavinsky stalks over to the technopath, looking him up and down, then a brief frown at the backkpack. the hand grenade is making a funny bulge in kavinsky's pocket, but he doesn't do anything with it. instead, kavinsky starts toward the refrigerator next.] Does the Down's Syndrome savant want a fucking drink?

[raw]

[ Elliot glances over at that. His air of faint judgement at every stupid aggressive thing Kavinsky says is much more effective in person than it is over the internet. Though for all that he acts like he's generally disgusted, he's also here, was also stalking K's browsing habits. So. ]

Sure.

[ Not bothering to protest that he isn't impaired/savant (mostly true) or even ask what it is Kavinsky is gonna serve him.

He is absolutely the most disappointingly anticlimactic person. Hands busy, mechanics clicking into place. Shoulders relaxing slightly as time passes without his presence here being pointed out for the weirdness it is. ]

cw thoughts about sexual harassment!

[pillz]

[promptly, kavinsky presents the older man with a gin and tonic that's. basically mildly fizzy gin. it sits on the edge of the pool table without a coaster because kavinsky doesn't care, and then he walks a few semi-circles back and forth behind the technopath. studying him with interest. he'd snap a photo with his phone, but it's become fairly evident that elliot would make short work of such a footprint. diddling him where he stands sounds like it wouldn't work out in his favor, so.

so.

about ten minutes later, kavinsky winds up standing in the blur of technopath's peripheral vision with an analog camera in his hands. classic polaroid. black, boxy in his tattooed fingers, a big ol' flashbulb at the top. he levels the lens on elliot's profile, though the frame is wide enough to capture the equipment all about him, too. one, two, three.

click.

the flash erupts white light through the apartment. it might be enough to get elliot's attention.]

[raw]

[ It does.

Elliot looks up, turning half way around all startled. Bush baby eyes wide. His first paranoid thought is that Kavinsky is documenting him doing something illegal and this is the start of some bullshit blackmail, though he's not sure the angle was right to catch his screen in the shot. There's still— it's still a lot. ]

What the fuck, man,

[ Waspish, flat. He notices his drink, which he hasn't touched up until now, and immediately downs half of it in one go, lids fluttering closed as the burn of it warms through him. Alcohol isn't anywhere near morphine but it's still pretty good.

That done, he puts the glass down and steps forward. ]

I'm gonna need you to give me that film.

[ So he wasn't wrong in thinking a digital file would have just been wiped asap. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky cackles.

well: it's more of a giggle to be fair, but don't tell anybody that. he steps backward, the coke in his veins rendering the motion into a spider-limbed scuttle. the big grin on his face reframes it into childish antics. apart from, you know, the context of criminal conspiracy to kidnap, to torture.]

Leave a guy something to fap too if you're just gonna fucking sit there. [his bare feet squish into the leather of the couch, sinking backward steps into it. he pulls the forming photograph out of the slot, flappety-flapflap-flaps it, pinched between his fingers. dancing out of reach. it is fairly obvious he's trying to get chased. so elliot, maybe don't give him what he wants. no? yes?] God.

How fucking selfish can you be? Here I am, about to do all the fucking heavy lifting.