2007-03-17: Posturing

Starring:

Sylar_icon.gif Kellie_icon.gif

Summary: Kellie stops by the apartment, as she's been doing for the last few days, to stock the fridge and check in on Sylar. Sylar is characteristically impatient with everything, ever. TYPICAL.

Date It Happened: March 17, 2007

Chapter Three: Destiny - Posturing


Midtown

Several days after first encountering one Gabriel Gray in an alleyway across town, Kellie returns again to the apartment he stole from an unsuspecting couple, one arm wrapped around a large paper bag of groceries that's balanced against her hip. If he is particularly attentive, he just might hear her footsteps approaching in the hallway; if not, then the first sound he will hear is the key in the lock, sliding the bolt out of place. Slipping through the door, Kellie simply calls out in a flat, disinterested tone, "It's me. Don't shoot." With the deadbolt flipped back to locked, she carries the bag of groceries over to the kitchen, dropping it onto the counter. She doesn't even bother looking for Sylar or taking an interest in what he might be doing.

With Kellie around the apartment, things have been somewhat easier for Sylar. He hasn't had to go out to buy groceries, his bandages are changed regularly, and he's overall doing much better than what he would have on his own. But this doesn't mean he's enjoying things, oh no. The process of healing takes some time, and the killer's patience is slowly, but surely, wearing thin.

He's currently sitting in a chair, staring murderously at a toaster on the counter for no apparent reason. Perhaps he just hates toast. Perhaps there's something more sinister behind it. Either way, it doesn't matter when his psychopathic partner inserts the key into the lock. Sylar's head snaps to the left, focusing on the door out of the corner of his eye, his hand pulling the Kensei sword nearer from underneath the table. After Kellie enters and he realizes who it is, he immediately stands, ignoring the groceries she's just dropped on the counter. "How much longer are we going to wait?"

Drawing things out of the bag and setting them on the counter, Kellie doesn't spare a glance to Sylar as he speaks, rolling her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "How long is it going to take you to learn how to walk without dragging that dead weight behind you?" she retorts, glancing over her shoulder as she pulls a tub of ice cream out of the bag. The rest of the groceries are standard staples, none of which are terribly interesting: things that can be thrown together to stave off hunger, things that are not meant to be fancy. Turning back to face him, she arches an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter with an idle smirk on her face. "Step, scraaape, step, scraaape is not exactly the stealthiest of walks, Gabe. You'd be a liability if we went right now."

"Oh, is that the case?" Sylar says, eyeing the ice cream, but saying nothing about it for the time being. Kellie's attitude must be dealt with. "So what you're saying," he begins as he stands from the table, walking towards her with the sword in his hand (with very little scraping, thank you), "is that you need /me/ to kidnap a tiny, innocent little girl? Can't do it yourself? Funny. You would think…" The killer unsheathes the sword slightly in front of Kellie, the soft scrap of metal breaking the otherwise silent apartment. Light reflects off of the blade, casting an unnatural reflection of light onto Sylar's eyes. ".. With that power of yours, you wouldn't have any trouble, but sometimes I can be wrong."

The game doesn't intimidate Kellie. She flattens her hands down and pushes herself up, sitting on the counter beside the groceries, her feet swinging in front of the cupboards below. "Regardless of whether or not I can handle getting the girl," she replies, raising a hand to brush her hair back over her shoulder dismissively, "I think you would have a hard time tracking down your cheerleader, in your state, even with the girl telling you where she is." A challenging glance is cast sidelong to Sylar then, and a wicked smirk appears again. She grabs the tub of ice cream, pulling open a drawer behind her leg to get out a spoon. "Really, Gabriel," she chirps, pulling the top off the ice cream and digging the spoon in, "you have got to learn patience."

Sylar watches Kellie with increasing rage, slowly drawing the sword further and further out of the hilt, until he finally snaps. With one swift, quick movement, he withdraws the sword completely, and stabs it straight into the bottom of the ice cream tub, the blade slicing through ice cream easily, and coming within millimeters of the hand holding the spoon. "I've been patient enough," he says murderously, pulling the sword out of the ice cream and swiping it violently towards the floor, sending bits of ice cream splattering onto the kitchen linoleum. "You have no idea how long I've waited for that cheerleader," he says, lifting the sword and turning it through the air, admiring it from every angle. It cuts ice cream real, real good. He looks back to Kellie, his eyes narrowed, and he is clearly angry. "You have /no/ idea how important she is. Don't tell me about patience. And do /not/ call me Gabriel. You just might find this sword can pierce other things besides ice cream."

Taken aback by the sudden strike of the sword - though not nearly as much as a more stable person might be - Kellie scowls, sticking the spoon into her mouth. "I'll call you whatever the hell I please," she snaps, speaking around the utensil, as she sets the ice cream aside. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be lying in that alleyway with rats crawling all over you." Sliding off the countertop, her boots making a hollow clack against the floor as she lands, Kellie circles around Sylar with a predatory look in her eyes. "I could melt that sword into a pool of liquid at your feet," she purrs, passing a finger over his neck as a spark of flame leaps between them. It's too small and short-lived to catch, but it's most certainly warm. "Which is more than I can say for your old enemy the toaster. You'd do well to remember that."

Sylar stands still as Kellie circles him, tucking his chin in towards his chest and closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose, and the moment after the spark ends, he whips around, extends a hand, and closes it directly around her throat, squeezing hard. Not enough to choke her completely, but enough to make breathing difficult. He moves his hand around with the sword, extending the blade towards her, and he puts the point of the blade right up against her stomach. "That may be true," he says, staring murderously at her, rage written all over his face, "but remember.. you've already helped me enough. I don't need you for the rest of this. You're just the means to an end. You help me, I help you. However, if I must, I could end your life right here, right now. /You/ would do well to remember /that/." He lets go of her, and pulls the sword away, taking a step back. "Two days. That's when we go after Molly."

The second the hand closes around her throat, Kellie lets out a hiss the way a cornered cat might, one hand flying to grab at his wrist as the other pulls the spoon out of her mouth. With enough latent rage in her own glower to match his nearly toe to toe, she grits her teeth and holds her tongue, even when her breathing becomes laborious. The spoon, however, is not so lucky; the longer Sylar holds Kellie by the throat, the warmer the metal becomes, a thread of flame twisting around the handle until it glows orange and red. When at last she is released, she stumbles backward, her free hand rubbing at her neck, the other flicking to throw the spoon straight at his chest. "Fine."

When the spoon hits his chest, Sylar winces from the heat, as his shirt wasn't enough to protect him from it. In response he just smiles, turning his head to the side a bit and looking at Kellie. "Now, now, there's no need to get fired up over it," the killer says, smirking at her. "You had to be taught a lesson. Your throat will be fine." Sylar turns towards the counter, where the ice cream is, and grabs a spoon out of the same drawer Kellie did. He dips it into the ice cream, lifting the spoon to his mouth as he speaks. "Vanilla. My favorite."

"Gee, I'm so glad you like it," Kellie quips, not quite prepared to give up her glare as she watches him dig into the ice cream. She broods in silence for a few seconds, her arms folded over her chest, shooting daggers with her eyes like a petulant child. The tension in the room - murderous tension, let's not get consued - is heavy. When some of her anger subsides, Kellie sucks in a breath, her attention slipping down to the counter again. Something catches her eye, her head canting to one side out of curiosity. "So. What the hell were you trying to do with the toaster?"

Sylar conveniently ignores Kellie as she shoots daggers at him, choosing to focus on the delicious ice cream in front of him. How can you not like ice cream? He takes another scoop, licking the spoon once he's finished with the bite, and looks back over to Kellie. "The toaster?" He considers her for a moment, and then decides there's no harm in telling her. "One of my abilities is that I can melt things. That's what I was trying to do. Obviously, it didn't work. I didn't think it would, but there's not much to do around here, as I'm sure you can see."

"Mmhm," Kellie croons as she turns her back to him and steps out of the kitchen, glancing back over her shoulder with an amused smirk. "I'd sympathize, but, you know. I'm a busy girl, what with leading Hiro on and choking down waffle after waffle." She rolls her eyes dramatically, making a mock gagging motion. "I hate waffles." As she prowls the living room, one finger trails lightly along the wall, below the pictures hung for decoration. "That's his sword that you have," she continues, indifferent, pausing before one picture to appraise it with a vaguely curious expression. "But then, I imagine you knew that." She flicks a glance to the kitchen, tipping an ear to listen. "What did you do to the owners?"

"I'm sure you are," Sylar responds, tossing his spoon in the sink. He puts the lid on the tub of ice cream and opens the freezer, depositing the tub in the back. He doesn't seem worried about the hole in the bottom of the tub. "If you hate them so much, why eat them? I'm sure you could explain to Nakamura, as I've learned he's called, that you don't like them. … But he is a bit of a pest. I've had enough of him already." He glances to the sword, resting upon the kitchen table, and nods his head slightly. "I took it from him after I killed him. Somehow, he's come back. I have my suspicions on how that happened." As for the owners, the killer looks back to the door leading to the pantry (which has since been emptied of its contents— bodies and all), and smirks slightly as he turns his eyes back on Kellie. "I killed them, what else?"

"Wow, really?" Adopting a tone of feigned shock, Kellie looks back to Sylar, her blue eyes wide, jaw hanging open and hidden behind one hand. She gasps, clearly mocking. "I never would have guessed that!" Again, she rolls her eyes in a childish way, slipping back into the kitchen. After she's retrieved a new spoon from the drawer - the one she threw at him before is just too sullied now to use, she has decided - she pulls the ice cream out of the freezer for another bite, then sets about putting away the groceries. "I was asking how you did it, genius."

Sylar looks slightly annoyed in response to Kellie's feigned shock, but he shrugs it off and turns away from her to take a seat at the kitchen table. He pulls the sword to him, looking at it idly before turning his attention back to Kellie. He closes his eyes, shaking his head in amusement, and lifts the sword up. He wiggles it slightly in the air, a passive expression on his face. "The sword, of course. My abilities don't work. A gun would have been too loud. A blade through their throat while they sleep keeps them quiet."

"I bet it does." The ice cream is replaced to the freezer, and once the groceries are all put away, Kellie drops her spoon into the sink unceremoniously. "Well." Turning away from the counter, she casts a bored glance to the serial killer she has been helping back to health, slowly but surely. "This has been riveting, but I have things to do." She sets a plastic bottle of pain killers down on the counter. "Take those, if you can swallow your pride long enough. And keep the brace on. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, she heads out of the kitchen and pulls her coat back on, wrapping a scarf around her neck. Her only goodbye is the mischievous grin she throws to Sylar before drawing the door closed behind her and locking it.

Sylar tilts his head to the side distractedly, still looking at the sword. He seems to almost have an unhealthy obsession with it. He glances over to the pain killers when she sets them down, and then looks up to her as she leaves the kitchen. When the door closes behind her, he turns back to the sword, his hands reaching out to take it. He pulls it out of the sheath, the scraping noise of metal filling the kitchen, and he swings it through the air, his eyes never leaving it. "What /is/ your secret…" he murmurs to himself, before setting the sword down. He hobbles over to the painkillers, eyeing them again, and eventually picks them up. He may not want to take them, or follow orders from /her/, but he does need to heal. He needs the cheerleader. Soon.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License