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makes_you_tick[ ooc: So this post is set private to Peter and Claire- HOWEVER, it's not terribly well-encoded, so reasonably decent hackers should be able to get into it if they'd like. Feel free to have your character break in, take note, or even respond...he probably won't be replying back much, though, if at all. The signs behind Sylar and Faith will place them in an alley near Building 12, for those paying close enough attention- however, I'd appreciate if in-person rescue help (other than those I've already talked to) doesn't arrive until after all of this goes down.
Oh, also? This is what happened before the recording turned on, for those curious. Both that post and this post are very heavy on the violence, just to warn.]
It's late, and the video reflects that. There's a sillhouette in the dark of the alley, a couple of lighted signs visible in the streets beyond it. Those familiar with him will see that it's Sylar right away. He steps forward to look closely at the wall, and it becomes apparent that there's someone smashed up against it. "You really do a professional's job of making things hard on yourself, don't you?" he says, staring at the person on the wall. "But I can see the effort you're putting into it- the three of them at once? You should've saved someone to hit me with later." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Then again, you never did plan terribly well. Now--"
Electricity runs over his hands, small bolts of it separating to zap at the person's face and shoulders. Now it's possible to see that the person is Faith, who looks a little worse for wear. "They say confession is good for the soul. For you? It might just keep you alive long enough to do something about your current situation. So go on, give it a try- I'll even get it started for you. 'I left Sylar because....'"
Faith groans, biting back the louder yell fighting its way from behind her teeth. "Real nice of you, babe." She coughs, sagging against his hold when that burns through her chest. "Let me down, I'll give you a kiss for it."
The break helps, lets her focus in on the rough brick irritating her back, the steady painful throb in both her hands. They're close enough to kiss, now, and Faith's tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. "Said let me down first. Come on, it's like you're not hearing me." She can't help the instinctive flinch at his words; the first rule of having a death wish is you don't talk about having a death wish.
"Got no idea what you mean." This time the lie tastes like ashes.
His trick with the electricity finally gets a yell; it's hoarse and angry, and not a scream. Not yet.
"Wicked kinky, Gabe." She raises her face again, tossing the hair out of her eyes as much as she's able. (He pushed it out of the way in their dream, gentle and regretful, and he said something but she can't make the words come back.) "But fine, here, 'I left Sylar because he's a whiny little bitch. Happy now?"
Nothing about his expression changes. He's still smiling, but there's just something about it that gets more dangerous- like a storm cloud darkening at the edge of the horizon. Maybe it's in how long he pauses before doing anything else.
"Oh, fine," he says, heaving a sigh. "I doubt you're going much of anywhere at this point, even if you should. But you lied, again, so let me think...mm. Fifth metatarsal?" With a wave of his hand, he snaps the bone on the outside right of her foot in half. He also completely lets go of the telekinetic grip, with the hope she'll fall right on it. "Want to give that answer another try, Faith?"
Faith smiles back, right up until the point something in her foot snaps; Sylar gets his scream then, and another one that trails off into a whimper when she lands on the foot coming down, her eyes wide and a little glassy.
She has to lean back against the alley wall for support, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle, hunched in a little at the pain even as it makes her rib ache. "Could have just said freaking foot." The griping rings hollow, her voice more exhausted than anything hotter.
"You tell me what you want to hear, and I'll think about it."
And she had lied twice before, but the game doesn't include calling herself out.
Of course, she doesn't need to. Sylar was waiting until she put most of her weight on her other foot, but now that she is, he snaps the same bone there, without so much as the fanfare of a finger twitch.
"Oh, how about some variation on how you failed me, how you failed yourself. Something about betrayal and cowardice and how I wasted my time because you're not worth it, and you know it." He's unamused now, his voice shaking with the effort he's taking to keep from directly yelling at her. "I'm sure you can fill in the details from there."
She crumples against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut, slamming a fist into the brick hard enough to break pieces off. "Shit." The word is low and vicious, soaked in tears and thicker, warmer things. Redder things, blacker things. "Changing the rules on me again?"
Her laughter after his little speech is distinctly unamused, bitter and full of sharp edges. "You want Wes' rabid dog speech? I got that one in my back pocket. Seems about right for this whole scene. Real crowd pleaser." He's losing that amused calm, letting the teeth show. Good enough, because that means it ends sooner rather than later. "Could throw something in about how I'm worthless whore, too, if that's what gets you off now. Like I said, your show."
Oh, also? This is what happened before the recording turned on, for those curious. Both that post and this post are very heavy on the violence, just to warn.]
It's late, and the video reflects that. There's a sillhouette in the dark of the alley, a couple of lighted signs visible in the streets beyond it. Those familiar with him will see that it's Sylar right away. He steps forward to look closely at the wall, and it becomes apparent that there's someone smashed up against it. "You really do a professional's job of making things hard on yourself, don't you?" he says, staring at the person on the wall. "But I can see the effort you're putting into it- the three of them at once? You should've saved someone to hit me with later." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Then again, you never did plan terribly well. Now--"
Electricity runs over his hands, small bolts of it separating to zap at the person's face and shoulders. Now it's possible to see that the person is Faith, who looks a little worse for wear. "They say confession is good for the soul. For you? It might just keep you alive long enough to do something about your current situation. So go on, give it a try- I'll even get it started for you. 'I left Sylar because....'"
Faith groans, biting back the louder yell fighting its way from behind her teeth. "Real nice of you, babe." She coughs, sagging against his hold when that burns through her chest. "Let me down, I'll give you a kiss for it."
The break helps, lets her focus in on the rough brick irritating her back, the steady painful throb in both her hands. They're close enough to kiss, now, and Faith's tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. "Said let me down first. Come on, it's like you're not hearing me." She can't help the instinctive flinch at his words; the first rule of having a death wish is you don't talk about having a death wish.
"Got no idea what you mean." This time the lie tastes like ashes.
His trick with the electricity finally gets a yell; it's hoarse and angry, and not a scream. Not yet.
"Wicked kinky, Gabe." She raises her face again, tossing the hair out of her eyes as much as she's able. (He pushed it out of the way in their dream, gentle and regretful, and he said something but she can't make the words come back.) "But fine, here, 'I left Sylar because he's a whiny little bitch. Happy now?"
Nothing about his expression changes. He's still smiling, but there's just something about it that gets more dangerous- like a storm cloud darkening at the edge of the horizon. Maybe it's in how long he pauses before doing anything else.
"Oh, fine," he says, heaving a sigh. "I doubt you're going much of anywhere at this point, even if you should. But you lied, again, so let me think...mm. Fifth metatarsal?" With a wave of his hand, he snaps the bone on the outside right of her foot in half. He also completely lets go of the telekinetic grip, with the hope she'll fall right on it. "Want to give that answer another try, Faith?"
Faith smiles back, right up until the point something in her foot snaps; Sylar gets his scream then, and another one that trails off into a whimper when she lands on the foot coming down, her eyes wide and a little glassy.
She has to lean back against the alley wall for support, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle, hunched in a little at the pain even as it makes her rib ache. "Could have just said freaking foot." The griping rings hollow, her voice more exhausted than anything hotter.
"You tell me what you want to hear, and I'll think about it."
And she had lied twice before, but the game doesn't include calling herself out.
Of course, she doesn't need to. Sylar was waiting until she put most of her weight on her other foot, but now that she is, he snaps the same bone there, without so much as the fanfare of a finger twitch.
"Oh, how about some variation on how you failed me, how you failed yourself. Something about betrayal and cowardice and how I wasted my time because you're not worth it, and you know it." He's unamused now, his voice shaking with the effort he's taking to keep from directly yelling at her. "I'm sure you can fill in the details from there."
She crumples against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut, slamming a fist into the brick hard enough to break pieces off. "Shit." The word is low and vicious, soaked in tears and thicker, warmer things. Redder things, blacker things. "Changing the rules on me again?"
Her laughter after his little speech is distinctly unamused, bitter and full of sharp edges. "You want Wes' rabid dog speech? I got that one in my back pocket. Seems about right for this whole scene. Real crowd pleaser." He's losing that amused calm, letting the teeth show. Good enough, because that means it ends sooner rather than later. "Could throw something in about how I'm worthless whore, too, if that's what gets you off now. Like I said, your show."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
[continuing video feed]
Date: 2010-01-20 02:13 am (UTC)"I was giving you a starting off point. I want to hear you say it. Because I know full well how you dangled hope and redemption in front of me like a carrot, but after everything I did for you, everything we talked about, everything you worried about, you abandoned me." His voice is low, low enough that the recording might not pick up those last three words.
"You made me think I could be better than this." He checks around, notices Faith's knife on the floor and kicks it away. It slides past the device, and he shakes his head as he looks back up to Faith. "And I kept falling for it! What a fool."
[continuing video feed]
Date: 2010-01-20 02:29 am (UTC)"Is there a break in here somewhere? Because I'm getting wicked bored." She coughs again, groaning when it makes everything hurt worse. "If you're gonna get on with this, do it. The talking's old."
The metallic scrape of her knife is loud between them, and next time she sees Wes she won't be giving him shit about how she's got all she needs without a stake. "Whatever gets you through the night. We gonna fight now, or do you just want to talk about our feelings until I pass out?"
[continuing video feed]
Date: 2010-01-20 03:01 am (UTC)This time a rib somewhere in her lower left torso cracks, again with no gesture, movement, or warning. "You just can't be straightforward about anything, can you? Well, it's your loss. It always is. Can you even admit you cared about me at all?" His mouth twists up in a mirthless smile. "Bet you can't."
[continuing video feed]
Date: 2010-01-20 03:35 am (UTC)The second rib makes her grunt, collapse to the ground in an ungainly sprawl. She's not even reaching for her knife, now, just trying to breathe. The pain strips away her armor, and she looks up and Sylar and tries for a smirk that comes out more like a grimace. "I left when you were gone because if I didn't do it then, I would've stayed. That what you wanted to hear?"
[continuing video feed]
Date: 2010-01-20 04:03 am (UTC)"It's a start," he replies, staring down at her with a careful glance.
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Date: 2010-01-20 04:36 am (UTC)there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 04:26 am (UTC)She's furious, and she's terrified, and she wishes that either of them would say a word, but the blood on Claire's hands is exponential enough, and as much as she dislikes Faith and thinks she's an idiot for letting something like this escalate, Sylar doesn't deserve one more notch in his belt, and he doesn't deserve the satisfaction of getting away with it again, either. Even if Claire has no real knack for fighting, even if the only thing that she has is a decent batter's swing and a good running jump, her body can take it, and she intends to prove it. Claire is good at playing protector, at jumping in front of the gun and making sure that the people around her escape as unscathed as possible. She looks up at Peter again - the cut of his jaw, the dark look in his eyes - and winds her fingers into themselves so that she can keep that urge in check.
Claire rounds a corner with her hands nearly in her pockets and pulls them out only when she's able to take in a full view of the scene, and while it's bad, it's never going to amount to what Sylar did to her and how he did it. Something in her throbs deep down, low in her stomach and high in her throat, and Claire can't tell if it's bile or hatred or pity or fear, some combination of all three being the most likely candidate as soon as she swallows around it and unconsciously presses her bare arm to Peter's as she feels her eyes narrow. She's outdone here, the weakest of all and the strongest at the same time, and Claire has the sudden regret that she didn't wear some kind of motorcycle helmet.
[ooc: So this might be a little cluttered at first, but the order that makes the most sense here is Claire, Faith, Sylar, Peter, and then Lorne to remove Faith from the scene, at which time it will just go to Claire, Sylar, and Peter. I am cool with just going with the flow, so everybody wang chung tonight!]
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 04:45 am (UTC)"Somebody else," she says, hoarsely. It's more like a rasp, broken bottles in her voice now. "Looks like the pre-show's just about up, Gabe."
It'll be nice when it stops hurting. Stops ripping and tearing and burning, cutting into all the pieces she's been trying to keep together.
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 04:58 am (UTC)"Nice night out, don't you think?" he says to Claire, to Peter, his eyes shining with defiance and a determination that always shows up for these moments. He always thinks he has it figured out, and maybe this time he does. He looks up, as if he can see the stars between the buildings, and then glances back down to smile at them. "Seemed like a good night for revenge."
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 05:28 am (UTC)He always does.
But this isn't a night for revenge despite what words escape the shadow's mouth, and Peter swears if for no other reason than his own pride, than doing something he suspects Sylar thinks he can't, he will not try to kill him again. Not here, not now. His peripheral vision has Claire and no one else but he thinks she understands. They have entered the realm of acting with subtlety in the face of vagueness because words don't always have a place or a time, even if they ought to. With winter's January edge framing in the silence like ice, he thinks everything is sharper, brighter in the darkness that night automates, even in this bridge of a world. His breath hangs in front of him like a reminder of tiny, ordinary things like weather in the middle of something that never seems short of ridiculous no matter how many times he winds up in such situations, no matter how many times dramatics and real consequences get together to crash and burn on the city streets.
In a way, he should have seen this kind of blow-out coming, but he never does and he wonders, not for the first time, if that will ever change. The thought flees as fast as it arrives and his glare is for Sylar only. Faith isn't in any capacity to be lectured and even if she was he knows she probably would not want to listen. That does not mean he writes off the idea of trying, but that is for later. For now there is that black and white mission that has no position in a world of gray: get Faith out and then get out themselves. Simple. Painfully simple. He hates it but it's the right thing to do and revenge can't be more important than saving a life, but the truth is that Peter fears having changed enough to say otherwise and that that fear may be a higher stake than the generality of life or death--the bigger problem--that hangs like a cross on the wall.
"Seemed like," he disagrees with a mocking echo while stepping forward and thoughtlessly putting a hand out in front of Claire in case she needs a reminder of what not to do. There exists something caustic and shifty about his own tone, something like a stranger in his own home who knows all of his secrets, but he doesn't have the peace of mind to be unnerved by himself with his focus on something so much more basic: hating. As it turns out, it's easiest even for the people who advocate love the most. Maybe that's just the other edge of the sword.
"What's with the theatrics?" he asks, arms spread out as he questions and takes a few more steps away from Claire, measured like a formula for retort that is supposed to work out but never does.
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 05:44 am (UTC)Lorne shakes his head, he has to focus on what the hell he's going to do to even remotely help Faith out of this. What could he do? Read Sylar's palm until he's bored to death? Call him pastries and distract him with his stupid flashy suits and then scream at him? He's capable of a lot, sure, but facing up against an overpowered psycho? Not his cup of tea.
He sees the blond in the distance first, then Sylar and another man. Panic runs through him making Lorne actually pick up his pace enough to qualify as running, and then he sees it. The wall is dented in and she's just laying there, not even looking like a rag doll. The word corpse flits through his mind before Lorne pushes it down again and the first thing he does when he reaches her is press his fingers to her neck, and put his other hand beneath her nose.
She's not easy to hoist up over his shoulder - she might be tiny but Faith's pretty packed on with muscle and the dead weight surely doesn't make it any easier either. With a grunt of an apology, Lorne's got her securely propped up on him and he backs away from the scene as quickly as he can without dropping her or tripping. A small part of him, the part that truly is Deathwok, screams at Lorne to put Faith down and hunt the bastard down who did this to her. It's never been so much of a struggle to ignore that part of him and keep walking as it is right now.
"C'mon Princess, let's get you some help," he murmurs more to himself than to her before lugging her away toward the hospital.
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
Date: 2010-01-20 06:15 am (UTC)There's a part of her that can't handle the kind of protective stance that Peter is trying to take with her right now, the way that he pushes her and holds her back the same way that Nathan or Noah would have done. Claire can't shake the image of him in the hospital, tired and worn and lined, a tube in his chest and all that hurt in his eyes. The situation they face parallels the one that put Peter in that position enough that Claire finds herself less spiteful than she expected and more nervous. It's not the same as fear, not the same sort of sentiment that bottled up in her chest as she crouched in the laundry closet. An apprehensive sort of rush, some surge of adrenaline through her system as her boots scrape across the half-frozen ground. This could be it, she realizes, this could be the end of it. She's never been presented with this possibility, has no idea how to handle the prospect that she might finally be able to pay Sylar back for all the things that he's done to her, all the things that he's taken away.
Claire never actually makes it to Faith, cut off by Lorne's appearance on the scene before she can get down and get her fingers under Faith's collar to check for a pulse. Part of her is thankful, but there's no time to say anything. She's looked away from Sylar and Peter long enough for real damage to be done, and when he does manage to turn back, a whirl of bright hair and the white wash of her breath, the nervousness in her stomach replaces itself with a hard rush of relief, which dissipates just as fast once she realizes that she has no idea what power Peter has shuffled out of the deck this time, only that it's not her regeneration and it isn't strength and it's not teleportation. She swallows around this thought, ripening in her throat like an apple, and moves fast again to check for something, anything, she can use to push herself into a position of power, gain control where she hasn't had it for so long, even if it's only to act as a distraction.
With Faith gone, Claire's choices limit themselves to a couple ripped and crumbled cardboard boxes and the sharp glint of a blade she can only assume belonged to Faith at some point, unlikely as it is that Sylar would have brought a weapon only to lose it. The knees of her pants dirty against the damp ground as she nearly skids across the distance to pick it up, fingers slipping around the dull end of the thing even though she has no consideration as far as cutting herself goes. She says it under her breath, just a rush of hot air against her tongue and teeth, but it's loud in Claire's ears when she says, "Stop being so dramatic." Most of what Noah ever told her falls to the wayside, and Claire fully expects to be jerked around as she rushes at Sylar from behind, to meet physical resistance. She's counting on it.
there's a hole in my neighbourhood down which of late i cannot help but fall
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Date: 2010-01-20 07:44 am (UTC)