(log) we've got nowhere to go, we've got nothing to prove

[autophoenix]

[ This was a stupid idea. It was a stupid idea, and Claire didn't need anyone to tell her so. Maybe that was why she'd kept it close to the vest and not talked to Spike or Peter about it.

Or maybe it was just because she felt guilty. After all, if she was going to criticize Peter for altogether using Adam, then he had every right to criticize

Comments

[intuitivelyapt]

Come in.

[Sylar called to the door, not bothering to get up and get it. He was drunk and feeling down. Just like the Papa Roach song. Except he can't actually get drunk, so he was only feeling down. Both he and the apartment are in pretty rough shape. That's how Sylar likes to express his depression. By wallowing in self-pity and not doing jack shit with his life, because actually trying is for people who aren't dumb as shit like him.

The apartment is a hot mess, now decorated with empty take out boxes and the occasional empty bottle of booze. Sylar is sprawled out on the couch and sporting a hobo beard like Nathan Petrelli's, only slightly more sexy. Slightly.]

[autophoenix]

[ She creaks the door open with the kind of apprehension one might expect out of Daphne in a haunted house. Okay, not Daphne, someone smarter. Like Velma. She creaks the door open with the kind of apprehension one might expect out of a hot Velma in a haunted house, peeking her head through it at first and then slowly slipping inside without opening it fully.

Immediately, she's distracted by the difference in the house from when she was last there. So distracted, in fact, that it's all she can do to push the door shut with her fingertips on the door knob instead of actually ... pushing it shut like a real man. She takes a few steps inside, then notices Sylar on the couch. And his hobo beard, which is like its own separate character. ]

... Sylar?

[intuitivelyapt]

[Oh. It's Claire. Other people exist in the world besides him and his personified depression. And his hobo beard.]

Hello, Claire.

[autophoenix]

[ She's not bothering to hide how judgmental she's looking as she drops her bag down on the floor beside the couch. ]

Who died? Mr. Clean?