2007-03-11: The Beginning Of The End


Sylar_icon.gif Kellie_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 11, 2007

Summary: Serendipity.

Chapter Three: Destiny - The Beginning of the End

New York City

Night is falling on the city of New York, and as a consequence, several street lamps, office lights, and business displays begin to light up the city in combination with the setting sun. With the aftermath of Sylar's attempt at taking Claire still ongoing at the Petrelli mansion, the killer is question is currently dragging himself through a nearby alleyway, coming to rest against a dumpster. He leans his head back onto it with a dull thump, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. A nearby rat scurries up to the man, glancing at him curiously, and Sylar opens his eyes and kicks the rodent away with his good leg, before attempting to stand— and then falls right back down, clutching his ankle and gritting his teeth.

Sylar is not alone. From the sidewalk at the end of the alley comes the hollow echo of footsteps, slow and deliberate. The figure that creeps down the alley is dark, its features indistinguishable save for the little burst of light from a small flame that flickers to life every few seconds. Playing with a lighter, or at least that's how it seems. The flashes of light are enough to distinguish the person as female, at least. Her feet scrape to a halt, her head slanting to one side curiously, when a sound reaches her ears from further down the alley. She says nothing. She simply stands and listens, her head turned just slightly to the side.

The serial killer's head snaps up immediately when he hears the footsteps, and he falls silent the moment he deduces it's a person. His hands stay gripped to his ankle, his knuckles white, and he cautiously, slowly, sticks his head around the corner of the dumpster. Someone with a lighter. Some sort of homeless addict? Who knows. The only thing Sylar is sure of is that they're going to happen upon him, so he needs to make the first move, and try and gain the upperhand, unlikely as that is. ".. Who's there?" he calls out, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

The footsteps resume before the woman in the alley speaks, drawing her nearer and nearer to Sylar. She can't possibly understand just how dangerous this man is. "Hello?" She, too, is soft-spoken, her voice tentative, though her feet don't slow. Another flame bursts into being in her left hand, the source hidden behind her right hand as if the wind might blow it out. She's near enough now that the small pool of light provided by the fire is enough to make out details, and she stops in her tracks once she ascertains some of the man's state. "A-are you okay?"

Oh, good. It's a woman. That will much easier to deal with than a man. Even thought it's a woman, Sylar still reaches around the back of the dumpster, looking for something to use as a weapon. Time for a bit of acting. "Help me," he calls out, taking his eyes away from the woman long enough to look in his search for a weapon. He spies a long, jagged piece of glass, and picks up the base of it, holding it in his fingers like a knife. Then Kellie is right there, in front of him, and he uses his free hand to shield his eyes from the light while making sure the weapon is still hidden from view.

There is no outward indication that Kellie notices him searching for the glass, as her expression remains one of utmost concern. Something flashes through her eyes when she draws nearer, the light from the flame enough to make out his face, finally. It's fleeting, however, and difficult to read. "Oh my goodness, what happened to you?" the girl says breathlessly, woundrously, her blue eyes going wide. "Y-you need medical attention. I should call someone."

Deep down, she knows this is exactly what he doesn't want: for anyone to know where he is. If he were to look closely, he might see the very hint of a smirk on her face, buried beneath her obvious worry.

With the pain in his ankle and the threat of her calling someone, Sylar misses the smirk. It's taking too much to keep his act up. "No— no, you don't need to call anyone," he says, pulling himself up slowly with one hand, using his good leg to support his weight as he leans against the dumpster. "I was mugged. I fought back and managed to hurt one of them, but they got away. They dropped that." Sylar nods his head in the direction of the Kensei sword, a few feet to Kellie's right. Too far for him to have grabbed for a weapon. "I just… I just need somewhere to stay so I can get my bearings."

"A-are you sure?" She doesn't sound as if she believes him in the least, watching him through the flickering fire in her hand, but Kellie makes no phone call. Her gaze is transfixed on the man before her, on his face, until he gestures to the sword. "Oh," she exhales, the flame suddenly extinguished, one hand reaching out to him to help him to his feet. "I don't know if I can do that." Her innocent little voice is childish, in a way, as she frowns apologetically to Sylar. "I-I don't even know you!" Oh, but she does. She most certainly does know him. With the light from her hands extinguished, relying only on what little environmental light falls into the alley, she smirks again.

"Yes, I'm positive," is Sylar's immediate and quick response, so quick that it /almost/ sounds like he's snapping at her, but he quickly recovers, and tries to play off being your average NYC citizen. "If you can just take me to my apartment… it's over in Midtown. They took my wallet, I have no money. Just.. just a sword and the clothes on my back," he says, looking at Kellie with imploring eyes— but it's all part of the ruse, of course. Please help the psychopathic killer. Please! "Can you.. can you help me? Please? My name is Gabriel. I'm just an ordinary guy who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

Stooping to grab the sword from the ground, Kellie slides the strap for the sheath over her head, setting it diagonally so that it can't fall free. At least she doesn't have to try and explain this one to a hotel concierge. There's nothing quite like a big, shiny sword to reassure a manager that you're a model guest. "Sure, it's… it's no problem, I'll help you get there," she chirps, offering him a swift, anxious smile to prove just how sincere she's being. She certainly sounds sincere, at least. "H-here, let me help you up." She circles around, prepared to take his arms to help him to his feet should he need the help.

"Well, golly, you're such a nice person," Sylar says, offering Kellie a smile in return. He leans slightly against her, using her to support his bad ankle. He watches her closely as he takes the sword, resisting the urge to reach out and grab it. He lets it be, for now. He quietly tosses the glass onto a nearby trash bag, hoping the plastic will mask the sound of it. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up when you did. I'm surely in a bad way."

"You sure look like it," Kellie replies in a sympathetic tone, taking one of his arms and looping it over her shoulders to help support his weight. His hand will likely pass within millimeters of the handle of the sword, and the question is: just how badly does he want his revenge? "I just can't believe s-someone would mug you like that. That's just awful." She begins to lead him down the alley, being as slow and careful as he needs her to be given his injuries. "You can call me Kellie. I-It's nice to meet you, Gabriel. Even if it's like this."

"Kellie," Sylar begins, looking at her, "that's a pretty name." He begins walking, using Kellie as support when needed. "Anything can happen to you in this city," he says, limping down the alleyway with her. His fingers do indeed brush against the Kensei sword, but he still resists the urge to grab it. That will come later. "People can be pure evil," he continues on, grunting occasionally because of his ankle, "and will do anything to get something for themselves. It's just lucky it was me and not you—" The killer pauses for a moment, before looking at Kellie. "Why were you down the alleyway, anyway?"

"I was looking for my puppy," Kellie replies, casting a sheepish glance to Sylar. "He… he ran away yesterday. I thought I heard something, so I went to see. I-I guess that wasn't the best idea, huh?" She glances down the street first in one direction, then the other. "Which way are we going?" The longer she spends in his company, the more comfortable she seems to grow, her nerves calming some, because her stammering is beginning to happen less and less. "Do you live near here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sylar says, frowning at Kellie. "I hope you find him. He must be a scared little thing, running around the city all by himself." Sylar looks both ways as well, before deciding on a direction. "I live over on the west side of Midtown," he explains, "I was over here to meet a friend, but he wasn't home. I was leaving, and then I got mugged.. well, you know the rest, don't you?" Sylar chuckles a bit, trying to make light of a bad situation, and smiles at Kellie. "But I do have an apartment in Midtown. Unless you have somewhere else in mind… ?"

"N-no," Kellie replies, shaking her head quickly with a nervous little smile. "I live with a friend who… well, she'd call me crazy if I took you there. I think she'd probably call the police." One hand rests on his to keep his arm in place as she leads him towards Midtown. It would go faster if they hailed a cab, but Kellie never suggests it; two fugitives hopping into a taxi would almost certainly be a bad idea. "Poor little Rainer," she laments, sniffing a few times as if she might start to cry. "He's— he's got to be terrified. There are bad people in this city who wouldn't be very nice to him i-if they found him."

"I live alone," Sylar says, pausing for a moment. Why does he live alone? Mainly because he killed the previous tenants. "I just moved in, though, so there's no one there that can help me. I don't really know any of my new neighbors, sadly." He takes a deep breath, grunting slightly in pain as he does so, before looking at Kellie again. "I'm sure he's just fine," he says, trying to reassure the woman. "He could be home right now waiting for you. You never know, do you?"

That's okay. Kellie doesn't actually have a puppy named Rainer. They're both keeping secrets, here, whether they know it or not. "I-I hope so," she says quietly, despairingly, at the thought of her poor little retriever puppy wandering the big, scary streets of New York all on his own. She continues on in silence for a few steps, listening curiously to the sound of their footsteps on the empty sidewalk. "What do you do, Gabriel?"

Sylar glances around to make sure no one around them is acting suspiciously. After all, escaping the Petrelli mansion this intact was a good stroke of luck on hard times. It would be a shame for something to go wrong now. "I'm a watchmaker," he says, deciding not to lie about that. "What about you?"

He needn't worry. Despite her saccharine facade, Kellie is keeping a careful eye on the world around them, just in case any of her own enemies were to round the corner in the next instant. "A watchmaker? Like… new ones o-or older ones?" she asks, feigning interest quite successfully, really. When the question is turned back on herself, it takes a few seconds for her to come up with something; she disguises the pause as some strain from helping to support him. "I'm a nanny. I-I was, I mean. I'm looking for a new family right now."

"Older ones… with gears and springs, all of that," Sylar responds. "My dad was one, and he showed me… I took over the business." Sylar pauses when Kellie does, putting more of his weight on his good leg. "I'm hurting you. Why don't we call a cab, and you can tell me about being a nanny during the cabride? — Oh, but my wallet was taken… I guess we /do/ have to walk."

"I don't mind walking," Kellie replies, shaking her head with a flicker of a smile. It's true enough: she'd rather walk than try to catch a cab with someone like Gabriel Gray, even if he was released from prison. She can't be sure just how far Rainer has gone to try and get her back, either. "That's really neat. About the watches, and your dad. Must be a dying art, huh? I mean, everyone's got those digital things now." She tries to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but it slips through in places, a strange overtone that doesn't seem consistent with the rest of her demeanor.

"Well, as long as you're okay with it," Sylar says, watching the woman closely. "You're awful nice," he begins, keeping a hand near the sword as he talks, "for someone who found a random person in an alley with a sword.. especially in my condition." He coughs a bit, clutching a hand to his chest, but continues to speak to Kellie. "You don't even seem afraid."

"Oh, I-I'm petrified," Kellie says, her voice lulled into a soft, sweet tone as she speaks of her fear. "You oughta hear the way my heart's racing. I don't normally do this, you know, s-so you're kind of a special case right now, Gabriel." She casts him a sidelong glance, offering a kind smile as she explains, "I just thought about my puppy, Rainer, out there all alone, a-and I thought about how much I'd want someone to help him, too, if they found him. I couldn't not help you. Besides, the sword will help us in case we get mugged again, right?" That part is a joke, albeit somewhat awkward, on her part.

"Don't be petrified, I'm one of the good guys," Sylar assures Kellie, his hand still lingering near the sword. Surely she recognizes him, but then… not everyone does all the time. Some people are behind on the news. "I /hope/ we don't get mugged again— and we shouldn't. This is my apartment, right here." Sylar indicates the building directly in front of them. "My apartment is in the third floor, but there's an elevator, thankfully."

Thank goodness for small favours. The elevator makes Kellie's job much easier as she leads Sylar to his apartment, helping him inside. She maintains her charade throughout the task of helping him to a chair, looking over his injuries and ascertaining just how dire his situation is. She leaves him to his own devices for a few minutes as she rummages in the washroom for first aid supplies, gathering a handful of bandages and antiseptic. When she returns to where she left Sylar waiting, however, she keeps walking. Straight to the front door.

There's a hollow click as she locks the door, followed by a sound that ought to be familiar to him: the metallic scrape as she unsheaths the sword.

Instantly, her demeanor is changed. There is no residual kindness from the woman who helped him home, no hint of naive compassion in her eyes, as she turns back to face Sylar with a wicked smirk on her face. "Can we drop the act now?" she asks, tipping her head to one side. "If I have to suh-suh-stammer one more time about my poor wittle wost puppy, I'm going to have to use this thing." She turns the blade of the sword over, watching the light glint off the edge of the weapon. "I know you're not one of the good guys, Mister Gray."

Sylar falls quiet as he's led to his apartment, pondering the woman beside him. He keeps his hand near the sword, ready to force it from her the moment he decides he needs to. It never seems to come to that for the killer, however, because Sylar allows her to lead him all the way in his apartment and to the chair, where he takes a seat. He looks around the apartment, eyes constantly shifting back to a door that seems to lead to a pantry. When she reappears, his eyes fall on her, and they stay on her the entire time she's in the room.

When she locks the door he smirks, slowly standing from the table as she speaks. He then full out smiles, lifting each of his hands to side a bit, as if to say 'Well, what do you expect?' He turns away from her, limping to the sink and leaning against the counter, grabbing a glass from a nearby cupboard. "Quite the little act," he says as he fills the glass with water, turning the spout off and looking out the sink window. "I suppose it wouldn't be rude of me to assume you're not one the good guys either," he continues, turning around so he's facing her. He leans his waist against the sink, lifting the water to his lips, but pausing. "Which of course begs the question. Who are you?"

"Exactly who I said I am," Kellie replies, leaning her back against the door with an expression of self-satisfaction, the first aid supplies still cradled in one arm. "Except that I'm not a nanny and I've never had a dog." The sword in her hand swings in a lazy arc, but her attention is no longer on the blade. The stare she fixes on Sylar is predatory, watching his every move as if she were waiting for him to miss a step. Waiting for her moment. "I'm not a killer, like you." Her indifferent tone suggests that this particular facet of his personality does not bother her. "There's something I need to do. I want you to help me do it."

"Hmm," Sylar says, taking another long drink of water, lowering the glass as he licks his lips. "You want me to help you," he muses, looking down at his glass of water and swirling the contents inside. "And what could a psychopathic killer like me offer you? You're not a killer, you say. You know what you're doing. You have the sword, and you could have left me for dead in that alley. What could it be? Perhaps…" Sylar smiles again, his eyes falling to the water, tilting his head to the side and back quickly as if considering it. "Perhaps you want me to kill someone?" He drinks, shifting his weight to the right.

His suggestion warrants a smirk from Kellie as she stands by the doorway, the sword still poised in one hand, held very lightly. She sweeps it through the air again, turning with the swing, her head canted to one side. "I don't need your help to kill someone, Mister Gray," she replies, her tone lyrical as she casts him a mischievous look over her shoulder. Slowly, she turns back to face him, lowering the sword to her side. She holds her left hand out, the fingers curled up over her palm, facing the ceiling.

When she opens her hand, a flame leaps from her palm, twisting around itself as it reaches for the ceiling. It never quite makes it. Another follows, reaching a few centimeters higher. "If all I wanted was to kill someone, we wouldn't be here right now," she croons, dropping her hand to her side. "I need you to help me find someone. I can't do it on my own, since he's gone underground." Another wicked smile, and she adds: "If a few people wind up dead along the way, I won't cry about it."

The killer's eyes move to the sword as Kellie sweeps it through the air, following it all the way back to her side. It's with some reluctance he shifts his gaze back to her, meeting her eyes over her shoulder. He takes another drink of his water, closing hsi eyes and savoring the feeling of cooling down after a long night's work. Not that work went his way.

"Well, then," Sylar says, leaning his head to the side as he considers Kellie. Then, his demeanor changes instantly. When she creates fire the first time, Sylar instantly tenses, standing up straighter and tilting his head forward as he stares at the flame. With the second one, the same sort of hunger he has for all of his victims clouds his eyes, the fire reflecting off them them with a tiny orange glow. "… Very interesting," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So you're like me… yes, I believe…" he trails off, not finishing the thought, but continues with the previous subject. "And who, might I ask, is it you're trying to find?"

The bloodied sword is returned to its sheath, and Kellie tips her chin down, her blue eyes peering across the room at Sylar from behind dark bangs. "Like you?" Very interesting, indeed. She twirls a lock of hair around one finger as she takes languorous steps towards the man she found in the alley, tilting her head to the side once more, a playful smile appearing on her face. "I'm trying to find an old friend who doesn't want to be found." A knot of flame dances above her palm again as she holds her hand out before her face. "We have some unfinished business." She sighs in a mockingly woeful way, stretching her hands out to each side, a childish, mischievous expression on her face. "He's very good at hiding, but I know someone who can find him. A little girl. There's just one small, teensy-tiny problem."

Once again, Sylar's eyes fall to the sword as she sheathes it, and he resists the temptation to walk across the room and get it. It'll save him the pain in his ankle in any case. "Are you now," Sylar says, taking another sip of his water and setting it down. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving her a curious gaze as he thinks. "A little girl…" Could it be..? "There's always a problem. So tell me.. what's this teensy-tiny problem of yours?"

"Her nannies." Kellie sets the first aid supplies down on the kitchen table, laying them out so that she can easily take stock of what she's gathered. "Two of them," she clarifies, snatching a rolled bandage from the table and tossing it between her hands while she speaks. "I've never met them, but the kid will save me a lot of time and keep me from stepping in too many bear traps along the way." As she catches the bandage one last time, she folds her arms over her chest, watching him carefully for a reaction. "I need to find this man," she says, her tone suddenly biting and vindictive, her hand closing tightly around the bandage. So tightly, in fact, that the knuckles on her hand turn white. "I will, whether you help me or not."

"… /Oh/, this is going to be good," Sylar says, full-out grinning now. He knows exactly the girl in question. "Just a precious little thing, isn't she? The girl you're looking for, that is," he says to Kellie, picking up his water again. He takes another long drink, before speaking once more. "She goes by the name of Molly. She's the cutest little girl. I /do/ know where she is… but you're going to have to give me something in return."

A flash of unabashed excitement tears across her face, and Kellie grins in her characteristically devious way. "You know her," she states, her grip on the bandage becoming looser. Absently tossing the rolled up bandage onto the table, she hums a quiet tune beneath her breath, her eyes drifting closed as she turns away from the table. "How's that for destiny?" She draws in a deep, contented breath, returning her gaze to Sylar with a smile. "The question is," she chirps, her steady eyes watching for any hint of a reaction, "what does Gabriel Gray want?"

"Destiny. Hm. Something like that." Sylar finishes off his water, and sets the glass in the sink. He limps back over to the table and takes a seat in the chair, deciding he might just be able to trust this woman. Long enough to get his power back, anyway. "The girl. I want to use the girl. One of her.. 'nannies', as you called them, is important. He is the key to getting my abilities. We can use the girl to find Claire Bennet… and the doctor can get her blood for me. He can use it to develop a cure."

"Your abilities?" It's questionable whether Kellie knew, before this moment, that Sylar possessed any abilities to begin with. The names mean very little to her, insofar as she doesn't recognize them in the least, nor does she recognize their importance, but she doesn't concern herself with details. Dragging a chair out from the table, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, the dark-haired woman settles herself down in such a way as to face Sylar. "We won't get very far with you bleeding like a stuck pig. If you have a phobia of strangers touching you or feeling extreme pain, I'd get over it right now." With no further warning than that, she takes hold of his injured leg and pulls it up to rest on her knees, where she can conceivably take care of it.

"Yes, I have a power like you. And like you, I have no fears of using it. But," Sylar hisses a bit when his leg is grabbed, and he grips the sides of the chair, still talking. "But they were taken from me. I was injected with it while this woman was taking care of me. I was in South America…" Sylar trails off, thinking to himself, a rather murderous look on his face. "In any case.. I'm used to strangers touching me."

"You were walking on this?" Kellie snorts derisively as she rolls his pant leg away from his ankle, her touch surprisingly gentle when she needs to move his foot. "You need a splint. I don't suppose you have one." She doesn't wait for a response before gingerly lifting his foot and placing it on the chair behind her. Both hands grabbing onto a chair, she steps away from the table and, with her back turned to Sylar, swings the chair against the ground several times until she frees some wooden slats from the back. The chair is totaled, to say the least. From the wreckage, she picks two decent slats, returning to pick up where she left off. As she sets about splinting his ankle in a rather methodical manner, she looks back up to him frequently. "Now why would they want to do that?" She smirks, the question clearly needing no answer. "I want the girl. You want the girl. That's convenient, isn't it? How can we guarantee that this doctor will make you a cure? We'll have to do something extreme."

"Well I couldn't exactly run, could I? I was escaping the Petrelli mansion. I was… interrupted. And I was so close," Sylar says, watching Kellie take care of his foot. He falls silent, even throughout her totaling his chair. "Let's just say… they don't like what I use my abilities for." As for her next question, he looks back up at Kellie, tilting his head to the side and pulls his chin back, giving her a look that clearly says 'Please.' "Simple. We kidnap the girl, and threaten to kill her. He'll do whatever we ask."

"He cares that much about the brat?" This is an alien notion to Kellie, as her spiteful tone would suggest, and she rolls her eyes at the suggestion. She knots the bandages to keep the splint in place; while it isn't the prettiest piece of medical art ever crafted, it's functional, and will at least get him started. "That makes it easy. I thought maybe he'd give us a run for our money, make us work for it. Instead, it's just… pitiful." When she's certain the splint will stay in place, she lowers his foot to the floor, dragging her chair closer to him in order to tend to his gunshot wound. "The way I see it," she says, scrunching her nose as she pulls his shirt sleeve out of the way of the wound, "it's your power. They don't like what you do with it? Tough cookies." Her grip on his arm tightens then, instinctively, and she closes her eyes for a moment as she struggles to maintain her composure. "I hate that saying. Who the hell did you piss off and why didn't they aim for your head?" Peroxide, meet gunshot wound. Not even a warning this time.

"Amazingly enough, he does," Sylar responds, looking the splint over. He puts his foot slowly on the ground, gently testing it, but not putting much pressure on it. It will do. "Oh no, not at all. The moment we have her, he's ours. He'll do whatever we tell him to. I'm going to make sure he knows it's me that's doing it, too. Then… why, I guess I'll just kill Molly, won't I? She'll have served her purpose. Then I'll kill the doctor, and his partner."

"A little vindictive, are we, Gabriel?" Dousing a square of gauze in the peroxide, Kellie presses it against the wound in Sylar's arm. "Killing her would be doing her a service," she muses as she wraps his arm tightly with the bandage, several times over again. "With an ability like that, she's sure to be exploited like some kind of whore." There are very few words which can accurately describe the seething, brooding bitterness in Kellie's voice as she speaks. The bandage around Sylar's arm is wound so tightly, pulled in a rough and uncaring manner, that it's sure to cut off circulation if she doesn't ease it off. "Rainer, the doctor, they deserve everything coming to them. The kid, she deserves better." And better, in this instance, means death.

"No," is Sylar's immediate response, turning his cold eyes on Kellie. "These people don't understand the gifts they've been given. /I/ do. I know exactly what my gift is for. To be special. To be different than others. To take every single one of theirs and make it my own." The conviction in his voice is amazing. This is something he truly believes. "If the doctor and any others get in my way… well, it's their funeral. I won't be stopped." He looks down at the bandage, watching her wrap it before he speaks. "You're doing more damage than helping. Loosen it."

They're on different ends of one very imbalanced moral spectrum, but Kellie's ruling sentiment to much of what Sylar says can best be described as indifference. There isn't so much as a hint of apology or sympathy in her expression as she snaps to attention, realizing what her latent aggression had done to the bandage. It's loosened without a word. "Just don't kill them before we can get what we need, tiger," she replies with a lazy shrug, shoving back up to her feet. "You can take care of the rest yourself." She paces across the room, toying with a little burst of flame as she walks. "So. That's all you want?" She tosses the spark, and it dies out before it hits the wall. "We find the little girl. She finds me who I want, you who you want. I get my payback, you get your cure." She turns back to Sylar with a smirk. "Easy."

"You can trust me. I won't be quick to kill. I'm going to take my sweet, sweet time with every single one of them. They're all going to suffer, and you're going to help me make it happen." Sylar watches as Kellie produces the flame, and if she looks close enough, she can see the envy and hunger in his eyes. Both for her ability, and the desire to have his own back. When she turns to him, his eyes snap up to her meet hers, returning the smirk. "Yes. Easy. Now.. wouldn't you like to know where the girl is?"

"Mm, no. I don't suspect I can trust you in the least, Mister Gray," Kellie purrs, reaching up with one hand to brush her hair back over her shoulder. "But as long as we have a common goal, I don't expect you to push me in front of any freight trains." There's a challenging slant to the way she looks at him then, her expression strangely amused. "That'll come later." Pulling the sword over her head, she sets it down for the first time, leaving it propped against the wall by the doorway. "I would love to know where the little girl is."

Sylar smirks at Kellie, shaking his head slightly. "Please. I think you'll find freight trains aren't my style." He stands from the table, limping over to the sink, where he refills his glass of water. "215 Reed Street, #7. There's a laboratory there. It's the doctor's. Follow him… and you'll find the little girl."

"Perfect." She doesn't write the address down. A vendetta is a curious thing; Kellie will likely never forget the address, now that she's committed it to memory. "You won't live very long on water," she remarks, tipping her chin down as she looks to the glass of water. "I don't suppose you have very much by way of food here. If this business arrangement is going to work, you're going to need to get back on top of your game, Gabriel." Stuffing her hand into the pocket of her coat, she procures a considerable wad of bills, flipping through them briefly to determine just how well-off she might be. Or might not be. "I'll come back in the morning with some groceries. I can't take you with me to steal the little girl if you're going to hobble around like some kind of crippled pirate."

"My profession, to use the term loosely, doesn't exactly pull in the highest figures," Sylar says, narrowing his eyes at Kellie. He's done well enough on his own. But no matter. She appears to have at least some money. "Good. Get the basics. You never know when we'll have to change addresses. It won't be long before people ask where the renters of this apartment are. …Of course, if they /do/, I guess that won't be a problem with that shiny ability of yours, will it?"

Kellie's only response to Sylar is a wicked smile and a spark leaping from her hand. No, that really wouldn't be a problem at all. "I should go," she states without remorse or conflict, instantly buttoning her coat back up. She briefly considers taking the sword with her - what's he going to do, chase her for it? - but ultimately decides that it belongs here. Even if it means she runs the risk of being met with the business end the next time she walks through the door. "If I stay out too long, the little Japanese man might start to think I have something to hide." Picking up the sword, she looks if over for a second, flipping it in her hands. "I saw a painting of him with one of these. Didn't suit him." The sword is set back down, propped against the wall. She shakes her head as if to rid herself of some kind of tension, rolling her shoulders. When she speaks again, it's with the childish, innocent voice with which she met him earlier. "B-be careful, Gabriel," she whispers melodramatically, with mock concern. "W-w-wouldn't want to come back tomorrow and find you dead."

"Yes, we wouldn't want people to think you were up to no good, would we?" Sylar says, smiling slightly at Kellie. It seems this business arrangement will work out /splendidly/. As for the little Japanese man… oh, this is excellent news. It seems the psychopathic woman across from Sylar knows Nakamura. This night just keeps getting better and better. As Kellie departs, Sylar leans forward towards hers, his voice low. "You don't seem completely up to date, so I'll tell you this once, and only once. I am no longer Gabriel Gray." He tucks his chin in, staring at Kellie from behind his eyebrows, his gaze murderous. "My name is Sylar."

Turning back to face him when he speaks, Kellie seems neither intimidated nor frightened of Sylar. "I know exactly who you are," she replies, her voice steady, as a devilish grin breaks across her face. "Don't assume that I haven't figured out every player in this little game." She lifts a hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against her fingers and blowing him a kiss. "See you tomorrow, Sylar." The door closes behind her with a hollow click, and as she walks down the hallway, her footsteps echoing off the walls, she hums a little melody beneath her breath - simple and sweet, like a lullaby.

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