Night 51: Staff-Only Kitchen

[darwinism]

[ From here. ]

Even the kitchen here looked spruced up and colorful, though Sylar didn't give much of a damn about that as he started rummaging through the drawers and cabinets for any kill-friendly utensils. So far, though, he was having surprisingly little luck: mixing bowls and stirring spoons weren't exactly going to help him in his efforts against Peter Petrelli unless his nefarious plan involved sitting him down and serving him waffles or something. Maybe if they were poisoned? That'd be kind of funny.

"How about something sharp," he muttered as he yanked open another compartment. Rolling pin. Yeah, if he was going to choose a blunt instrument to flail around, that wasn't the one. Finally, he tugged on one of the smaller drawers and found it jammed somehow, which, unfortunately, was probably a good sign. Peering down at it, he jostled the contents and pulled it out the whole way, revealing a mess of utensils, and...

"There you are." Sylar smirked as he drew out a long, thin carving knife and held it to the light of his flashlight. Polished and gleaming. He wouldn't mind having this while going up against some freak-of-nature monster.

He placed it on the counter and retraced his kitchen-raiding steps with a little more leisure and open-mindedness. A couple of cake testers might make for better lock-picking tools, for instance.

But he wasn't about to load himself down with too much unnecessary equipment. Snatching up his knife again, he started making his way out of the kitchen, a smile on his face.

[ Awaiting Elle encounter. ]

Comments

[darwinism]

A "little scrape"? Well, sure, Elle was right if that's what she called her blood splattered across the wall like some kind of modern art installation. She must've been really out of it in her final moments if she thought Sylar had given one inch in that fight, let alone gotten knocked out. Sure, Peter had tried to save her, but the idiot's constant depression pretty much settled how much he'd succeeded. Once again, Sylar wondered if Elle had run into him already. He goddamn hoped not.

But even if she had, it didn't explain why she kept looking so... in control. Sylar hadn't been trying to inspire this kind of anger – dangerous anger, and the fact that he was missing a vital piece to the situation's puzzle was starting to genuinely unsettle him.

And then came the kicker.

Sylar froze against the wall, his eyes focusing on his prey with renewed intensity. A series of explanations ran through his head – selective memory loss, damage from his own exploration, some kind of brainwashing common to these parts – before he realized the obvious.

Timelines. They'd been mentioned a million times on the boards before the nurses had tightened their leash on the info and he suspected he'd come across examples of it before. Elle didn't remember Eddie, which meant she didn't remember being here. Elle did remember Sylar, but since she didn't remember being here, she must've known him from home. Since Sylar didn't remember her from home...

Wait. That wasn't right. He did remember her. In fact, he realized with a chill down his spine, she was the very last thing he remembered before waking up here, just before her electricity had slammed him into that wall of glass.

Just before she'd knocked him out.

Comprehension flooded him in a wave of relief. He was getting the reins on this problem again, although a nagging incongruity kept him from feeling completely at ease: why was she so damn angry? According to her words and hesitation, something had prevented her from offing him back at Suresh's lab, something that she resented. There was something personal in this for her, and given that Sylar had never met her in his old life, he had no idea what it could be.

Then again, he'd killed a hell of a lot of people. Probably revenge.

But Sylar had no idea who Elle was getting revenge for, and he had to handle this delicately now that he knew he was missing a few cards from his hand. He'd already screwed his chances for control by letting on that he was at a loss for information, but of course, the best way to fix a mistake was to harness it. Elle didn't know who Eddie was. But she once had. And she'd once known Sylar, which meant that Sylar knew her.

"'Who's Eddie?'" Sylar echoed in disbelief, narrowing his eyes as if he were scrutinizing her – and he was. "Your little boytoy...? My... partner in crime...?"

His eyes widened, then he raised his head as if in slow realization. He smiled coldly. "Oh. I see."

He took one step toward her, strategically. He leaned forward just so. "Guess that's what happens to failures."

[highvoltagegirl.livejournal.com]

Guess that's what happens to failures? What kind of line was that? What was he trying to imply? Everything he said made no sense. It didn't add up. She wanted to be offended, wanted to hurt him, but how could she when she didn't even know what he was talking about? That Sylar hurt yet another person wasn't surprising, but apparently this Eddie guy was supposed to be a big deal to her.

"I don't care what you did to your boyfriend. Big deal. You know what you did to me? You killed my father. You KILLED him!"

She couldn't deny that it felt good to finally get the anger out. Fuck being strong. It wasn't worth it. Elle's emotions started manifesting physically, blue sparks trailing across her skin and lighting her up like a christmas tree in the darkness of the kitchen.

It took everything in her not to scream. This wasn't supposed to be happening. All this electricity was supposed to be directed at Sylar. He was supposed to be the one writhing in pain.