Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darwinism) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2010-09-01 11:25 pm
darwinism) wrote in damned_institute2010-09-01 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
Night 51: Staff-Only Food Counter
[ From here. ]
As expected, everything at the counter was cleaned up and put away, but that just meant Sylar had to make one more move into the kitchen. Trailing a hand along the smooth metal of the counter, he walked toward the kitchen doors and shined his flashlight through one of the porthole windows to check out the interior. The coast seemed clear, and he took a cautionary glance over his shoulder to make sure nothing nasty had followed him up here.
So far, so good, though that didn't mean much these days. He tugged at the door and scowled when it just clanked in its place. Come to think of it, it was weird that nothing else so far had been locked.
He kicked at it, but there wasn't much give. His eyes rested on the lock itself. Tentatively, he reached forward and ran his thumb down the keyhole. He closed his eyes.
Dragonflies.
Sylar slipped his hand into his coat pocket to carefully pick out a needle and a pen. He crouched down, taking the pen in two hands and cracking it in half to pull out the thin piece of plastic at the center. He took off the pen cap and pressed the sharp end of the needle into its base, then took it and pressed it gently into the keyhole.
He pressed his ear to the door and listened. A little to the left. To the right. There.
Gently, he let go of the cap and left the needle in the hole. Then, getting a little higher on his knees, he took the exposed ink tube and pressed the pen tip into the keyhole, angling it downward. He put his other hand to the door handle and pulled.
Nothing. He frowned, putting his ear to the door again and jiggling the needle.
Click.
Music to his ears. Sylar's mouth widened into a full-blown grin as he pulled the door open and stepped to the other side.
[ To here. ]
As expected, everything at the counter was cleaned up and put away, but that just meant Sylar had to make one more move into the kitchen. Trailing a hand along the smooth metal of the counter, he walked toward the kitchen doors and shined his flashlight through one of the porthole windows to check out the interior. The coast seemed clear, and he took a cautionary glance over his shoulder to make sure nothing nasty had followed him up here.
So far, so good, though that didn't mean much these days. He tugged at the door and scowled when it just clanked in its place. Come to think of it, it was weird that nothing else so far had been locked.
He kicked at it, but there wasn't much give. His eyes rested on the lock itself. Tentatively, he reached forward and ran his thumb down the keyhole. He closed his eyes.
Dragonflies.
Sylar slipped his hand into his coat pocket to carefully pick out a needle and a pen. He crouched down, taking the pen in two hands and cracking it in half to pull out the thin piece of plastic at the center. He took off the pen cap and pressed the sharp end of the needle into its base, then took it and pressed it gently into the keyhole.
He pressed his ear to the door and listened. A little to the left. To the right. There.
Gently, he let go of the cap and left the needle in the hole. Then, getting a little higher on his knees, he took the exposed ink tube and pressed the pen tip into the keyhole, angling it downward. He put his other hand to the door handle and pulled.
Nothing. He frowned, putting his ear to the door again and jiggling the needle.
Click.
Music to his ears. Sylar's mouth widened into a full-blown grin as he pulled the door open and stepped to the other side.
[ To here. ]
no subject
This was obviously the food counter, empty and cleaned to spotlessness. Elle couldn't say that surprised her. As she glanced around the room, she started to reconsider the plan she'd made approximately ten seconds ago. It wasn't like she was even hungry. And what would they even have, anyway? It'd be all… flour and cans of tomatoes and crap.
She started to turn, but she noticed the door to the kitchen was slightly ajar. Was something in there? Or someone…
Running away would be useless, in that case. They'd hear her and follow. That was her logic on the matter, anyway, and why she found herself using the end of the baseball bat to prod the door open further. Hey, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
Maybe there'd be waffles.
[to here. (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/972389.html?thread=72487269#t72487269)]