2007-08-30: DF: Worth the Wait


DFMolly_icon.gif DFSylar_icon.gif


Sylar and Molly have a little talk. Molly, for once, knows something Sylar doesn't know.

August 30th, 2009:

Worth the Wait

S*Y*N - Molly's Room

It's not always work or play for Molly. Sometimes, she finds that she just has nothing to do to fill her day. Bored and unwilling to branch out and explore the cracked an destroyed streets of Manhattan, the fourteen year old lays sprawled out on a couch, the radio turned on softly, mostly as background noise. It's scratchy and wobbling, left to search between channels without a care. Really, Molly doesn't even hear it, but it gives the darkened room she lounges in an eerie soundtrack. She's actually fallen half asleep, the waterlogged, paperback book she was reading slowly, slowly slipping out of her hands. Any moment it's going to drop out of her grasp and smack against the floor.

Sure enough, the book slips out of Molly's grasp… but it doesn't smack against the floor. It now seems to be floating in mid-air mysteriously, almost as if it was attached to a string that didn't allow it to hit the floor. The source of this is soon revealed, as a hand grasping the book materializes out of nothing, and following soon behind it, the rest of the body that's attached to the hand. It's none other than Sylar, come to see his past partner in crime. He needs a favor. "Are you always so lazy?" he says, glancing down at the book's title, dismissing it without a second though, and tossing it behind him onto the floor, hoping the loud thud it creates will wake the girl if his voice doesn't.

Down the book…floats. Half dozing as she is, Molly is semi-aware of Sylar entering the room, even if she couldn't see him. She makes it a note to always know where he is. However, his sudden presence doesn't mean she's startled into wakefulness. Instead, she merely shifts positions, throwing her arms up over her head to drape over the couch's arm. "Maybe if you stopped screwing around with your 'wife' you'd give me more to do." Lazily, she flips over to her side. "It's always a game with you. You used to be fun. We used to do things together. Now you're too busy playing dress up."

"She's dead now," Sylar says matter of factly, crossing his arms and looking down at Molly. She's come a long way from the scared little girl he used to terrorize. Before Jacob. Before the war. Before the city was destroyed. Before his evolutionary imperative was interrupted. But now… now that Mara is dead, he's free to begin again. "It's time to start looking again."

"Really?" Molly shoots Sylar an intrigued look. "Was it bloody? Did you learn something?" She has, indeed, come a very long way from the little girl she was. No longer terrorized, she actually seems interested, excited at the prospect of blood and death that Sylar dishes out. Swinging her legs off of the couch, she plants them firmly on the floor before perching her chin in her hands. Her shorter blonde hair halos out from being slept on and she looks almost like an angel, what with the backlight and the happy smile on her face. "Always the same old thing. Looking again, abilities to collect. Who'd have thought you'd get boring? You're not asking the questions you should be asking." She gives him a lopsided grin and then sing-songs in a typically teenager know-it-all voice, "I know something you don't know."

"Yes," Sylar responds, waving a hand absentmindedly. Almost as if he was dismissing it, as he walks to a nearby window, looking out. "It was easy. It was the last thing she expected.. the look on her face, the fear in her eyes… I waited a long time, but it was worth the wait. With her gone, and Peter Petrelli long dead… all that's left is to kill— what?" Sylar cuts himself off, his attention snapping back to Molly, his eyes narrowing as he tilts his chin down slightly, watching the girl carefully. "What do you know?"

Sitting on the edge of her couch, Molly listens to the rendition as if she's listening to something like a bedtime story. This is something she's imagining vividly in her head. She knows exactly what happened to Mara, she saw it many years ago to her parents. This is a completely different reaction to it than she had then, though. The twinkle doesn't leave her eye as she just smiles sweetly at Sylar. "Ooooh. He finally gets it." There's a playful tone. "He thinks he knows it all and look, little Molly knows more than him."

Sylar keeps his attention on Molly, the urge to show her just exactly who's in charge of this operation rising. He forces it down. After all, he can't kill her. … yet, that is. He needs her to find thsoe he needs to seek out. Those he needs to murder to steal their abilities, those he needs to murder to gain more power, and the one man he needs to murder above all. Soon. "What is it?" he says again, unable to keep the slight annoyed tone out of his voice. He's been waiting a long time to get back on track. He does not like delays.

Oh, but Molly knows Sylar's moods, his faces, his tone of voice. She knows just how deeply she is getting under his skin and she really enjoys it. Languidly, she rises to her feet and approaches the taller man, a cat ate the canary smile spreading across her face. "Oh, you want to know? You only come to me when you /need/ things. Think you know so much." Ringing around him, almost doing a ballet step, she keeps up her brand of teasing. "Now how does it feel to be in this position? You can't kill me, because you'd never know what I know. Even if you did get my ability, you wouldn't know who I found. Isn't that interesting? Don't you find that amazing? Sylar Petrelli, plans held up by a little girl." Stopping her circle right behind him, she raises up onto her tip-toes and whispers into his ear, "Say please." Manners, after all.

"Just because I don't know what you know doesn't mean I /won't/ kill you," Sylar says dangerously, his anger getting the better of him. Playing games isn't something the killer is interested in at the moment, but what more can he do? His curiousity is getting the better of him, and when this killer gets curious, he'll murder to know. Only he can't murder the one who DOES know, so he'll have to play along. For now. "Please," he says, although there's really no emotion to the voice, the word coming out dry and flat.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" The heels of Molly's feet drop to the ground with an audible thump. "You always make things so hard. You need to cheer up every once in awhile. See the humor in the situation." She drags out the silence for as long as she can. Suspense is really the key here. Moving back to her couch, she slides into it and rests sideways, she her back is pressed up against the arm of the chair. "Peter Petrelli isn't dead." She allows that sentence to just hang in the air for a moment before a large grin spreads across her face. "See? Isn't that funny? Wasn't it worth the wait?"

The killer waits (still— this girl is pushing her luck!) for Molly to tell him what she knows.. but she still isn't. She's obviously enjoying this, making him wait, making it known that she currently has some sort of power over him. Maybe this is some sort of payback for all those times he terrorized her.. but at least he got to the point! No matter. He can wait. The information can't be /that/ good.

Only… it is. Peter Petrelli? Still alive? It can't be. He killed him. Made /sure/ he killed him. Peter Petrelli hasn't been alive for nearly two years… is it possible? "Are you sure?" Sylar says, his attention focused completely on Molly now, hanging on every one of her words. "How can— where is he?"

Is it possible to enjoy this too much? No, not at all. Molly wriggles comfortably into the cushion she sits on and drapes an arm across the back of the couch. "Oh, I /knew/ you would like that." She barely restrains herself from clapping with glee. "I'm sure. I can't find people who are dead. And I can see him as well as I can see your big eyebrows from here. It's Peter Petrelli, back from the dead. Didn't take /that/ ability from him, did you?" Did she forget to answer where he is? How forgetful of her!

"Tell me where he is!" Sylar yells as the book from earlier, forgotten on the floor, shoots across the floor about ten feet and slams into the wall. "I thought I had taken care of… no matter," he says, calming down slightly. He raises his hand, a burst of flame appearing in the palm, casting an eerie light onto his face, shadows dancing cross his features. "I'll make sure he stays dead this time," he says, more to himself than Molly, "even if I have to turn him into ash."

When the book slams against the wall, Molly doesn't jump and she doesn't flinch. Instead, she giggles. She's seen him do much worse and she's even experienced some of it. "You're /angry/ now. You do such fun things when you're angry." She has to admire the burst of flame and she watches it, fascinated. Always, she admired people who had powers that are visible and tangible. Everyone told her how her power was too dangerous. In the end, that turned out to be true, but it could never help her in a fight like throwing fire could. "He's in the city." From there, he can find him. Or, if he wants specifics, "Let me come. I want to see the fireworks."

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