1st session - Gabriel Sylarmakes_you_tickMarch 23 2010, 16:46:20 UTC
Sylar spent most of the time while walking to Emma Pillsbury's office hoping that she wouldn't call it off. He spent the rest of the time trying to tell himself that he'd just have to let it go if she did. It felt to him like fate- this woman wearing the face of the first person he saved instead of killed, she was the one who was going to help him. However, he knew where depending on 'fate' could take him.
In short, Sylar was nervous. Perhaps part of it was the release of the Master, the man he couldn't talk about. Well, Sylar wouldn't be able to talk about what the Master recently did to him, thanks to a telepathic command. This was really too bad, considering being eaten alive is probably pretty good fodder for a counselor. However, that was hardly the problem at the moment. He was worried about being vulnerable, again.
Not that he'd show it. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he walked up to the office, but upon reaching it he relaxed them and sauntered in with the usual vague smile on his face. "Ms. Pillsbury?"
1st session - Gabriel SylarpeopletalktomeMarch 24 2010, 01:30:11 UTC
The previous day's curse left the redhead in a state of general panic the midnight of its cutoff. She spent hours awake that she ought to have spent sleeping and then she woke up too early in order to clean her apartment--which was already clean--to the point of scouring, only to then whisper over to her office where she did much the same. When she finishes, it is only eight o'clock and she, not knowing what to do with herself, spends the better part of three hours finding new ways to sub-organize her books and other things she has acquired to give her the semblance of being somewhere she is familiar with. Contradictory for all that she encourages students--or did--daily to step outside of their comfort zones, but she too had planned on a great change before being brought here
( ... )
Sylar almost uses telekinesis to keep the cup from breaking, but he decides at the last second that it'll only make her more nervous. This was not beginning well. He immediately drops into one of his ready-made personalities, biting his lip and moving forward to bend down and help pick up any ceramic pieces she may have missed.
"Don't worry about it. I used to do that with my cup all the time, except it usually had coffee in it," he says with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry I startled you. I'm trying to be more obvious in my movements, but I still have a ways to go...obviously."
He takes the few tiny pieces, picks up the microscopic ones with his telekinesis and discretely places them in his hand, then looks for a dustbin. "You have a very clean office," he notes, and it's obvious it's a compliment from him. He's extremely tidy himself, so he recognizes it in others.
Emma notes the worrying of a lip and the inclination to help like a well trained accountant notes numbers--methodical, technical, indelible--and these things, despite what she has been told of this man so far, stand in his corner. They humanize him, ground him in a way she can appreciate and it is to these things that the displaced guidance counselor so clings, the shake of her hands barely noticeable as she drops shards into a neatly kept waste basket
( ... )
we'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect.worksmartAugust 20 2010, 17:37:33 UTC
The night has been a blissfully blank one, a fact Chase's shoulders notify him of as he wakes and stretches to find a lack of resistance, of tensed, bunched muscle dragging against him. It's the first time for a while and that initial realisation is enough to trace a smile across his lips while he tugs the nearest pillow into a loose embrace and presses his face against it to blot out the encroaching morning light.
Realisation two is that this kind of proximity to bedlinen quite obviously laundered more frequently and in more feminine products than his own feels something like sleeping in a particularly squishy flowerbed. It's not unpleasant, only mildly overwhelming for so early in the morning. However, and this is the best waking realisation of all, it's the first tell-tale sign that he's not sleeping where he's used to
( ... )
we'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect.peopletalktomeAugust 21 2010, 03:19:20 UTC
Two rooms away, Emma has been awake for at least an hour--two hours, five minutes, and approximately forty seconds to be specific--and she has not been idle with it. It is both one of her good qualities and greater flaws depending on what it entails and who happens to be exposed to it. This morning busy fingers, eyes, nose, and mouth have been productive however, as evidenced by a perfectly placed breakfast on the twice-covered table. The plates are apple green, a pleasant tone against the butter yellow of the tablecloth--which overlies a white one--and amidst the sparkling clean glasses. To say everything is pristine would be redundant where the redhead is concerned, but add to that that everything has been measured into perfectly even inches from each other to scale is worth noting too. Breakfast itself is fresh fruit, which she stepped out of the apartment to acquire for the first time in too long, and omelets not yet made for obvious reasons. In addition there is toast--wheat or white--and an assortment of drinks to choose from
( ... )
we'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect.worksmartAugust 31 2010, 10:22:02 UTC
It's the music that draws him up, finally, though it's as tempting to stay where he is, eyes closed, caught in a personal serenade. He passes through the bathroom, refreshing his breath with toothpaste and mouthwash and a splash of cool water freshening his appearance from well rested to awake. Chase is just sliding through the last few buttons on his untucked but neatly pressed shirt as he rounds the corner to catch the last few lines.
Watching her almost feels like an intrusion on a moment of privacy. He hopes this kind of freedom will become the normal state around him, of course, but it hasn't yet and there's always the risk of pushing too far and startling her into retreat. The table is laid out like a welcome (for about twelve people) and still.
He thinks of clearing his throat to alert her, but opts instead for humming along with this half familiar tune, arms folded as he leans back against the perfect white expanse of wall.
like broken clocks and shattered memories...makes_you_tickSeptember 9 2010, 23:34:39 UTC
He can't work up the nerve to call her, but he has to know how she is. So during one day, instead of getting up from his three hours of sleep and going into the shop, he dresses all in black again and heads over toward her apartment, ready to watch her. He doesn't fear being seen (even if the consequences of being seen would be disastrous)- he knows he's good enough, even without the help of invisibility.
He'll just see how she's doing. If she's moved on from That Day, he won't bother her. It's too hard to tell over the Network.
like broken clocks and shattered memories...peopletalktomeSeptember 10 2010, 00:16:48 UTC
Curses, curses, curses. Emma wonders sometimes how much it would cost her--everything maybe--to get the deities to afford her a curse-free bubble to live in while stuck here, but then, the last one she went through wasn't so terrible. School, which she knew inside and out and felt at home with even, and at least had no phantom-memory of other things she still can't quite put her finger on. Sometimes at night she feels suddenly cold, feels pain in her chest, through her clavicle in a way that doesn't make any sense because when she checks for marks or bruises or anything, nothing is there
( ... )
like broken clocks and shattered memories...makes_you_tickSeptember 10 2010, 01:08:09 UTC
At first, he tries to help her hold things with telekinesis, but- well, he can't resist the opportunity. He starts walking in her direction, timed so he'd practically run into her.
Once he's within fifteen feet, he looks up from his watch and 'notices' her there. He freezes in the spot, looking awkward on purpose. He doesn't leave it too long, though- soon he's taking a single, hesitant step forward. "Hi, Emma. Can I help you carry any of that?"
He's a good actor in part because he doesn't really think about it. He just places himself in that situation.
like broken clocks and shattered memories...peopletalktomeSeptember 10 2010, 03:22:09 UTC
At first she freezes; everything from her toes to her fingertips, and for a second it feels like her heartbeat has gotten lost in the silence too. Then time starts again and she has to shake herself into doing something, saying something, and the only thing that brings her back to the point of being able to do that is to try to remember the last thing she said to him.
It was a curse. Maybe that's not it. But it's what sticks out to her and it radiates the intent of deflecting the blame from him and her alike, so she feels herself nodding before she can do anything else. It's hollow, wooden even, but she still can't move, can't turn away or walk forward, so it's the best she can do.
She should say thank you and she tries, but the way it escapes is lost in a suddenly reacquired---never truly lost in truth---stutter and backward steps in her words and pauses.
Comments 33
In short, Sylar was nervous. Perhaps part of it was the release of the Master, the man he couldn't talk about. Well, Sylar wouldn't be able to talk about what the Master recently did to him, thanks to a telepathic command. This was really too bad, considering being eaten alive is probably pretty good fodder for a counselor. However, that was hardly the problem at the moment. He was worried about being vulnerable, again.
Not that he'd show it. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he walked up to the office, but upon reaching it he relaxed them and sauntered in with the usual vague smile on his face. "Ms. Pillsbury?"
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"Don't worry about it. I used to do that with my cup all the time, except it usually had coffee in it," he says with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry I startled you. I'm trying to be more obvious in my movements, but I still have a ways to go...obviously."
He takes the few tiny pieces, picks up the microscopic ones with his telekinesis and discretely places them in his hand, then looks for a dustbin. "You have a very clean office," he notes, and it's obvious it's a compliment from him. He's extremely tidy himself, so he recognizes it in others.
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Realisation two is that this kind of proximity to bedlinen quite obviously laundered more frequently and in more feminine products than his own feels something like sleeping in a particularly squishy flowerbed. It's not unpleasant, only mildly overwhelming for so early in the morning. However, and this is the best waking realisation of all, it's the first tell-tale sign that he's not sleeping where he's used to ( ... )
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Watching her almost feels like an intrusion on a moment of privacy. He hopes this kind of freedom will become the normal state around him, of course, but it hasn't yet and there's always the risk of pushing too far and startling her into retreat. The table is laid out like a welcome (for about twelve people) and still.
He thinks of clearing his throat to alert her, but opts instead for humming along with this half familiar tune, arms folded as he leans back against the perfect white expanse of wall.
Reply
He'll just see how she's doing. If she's moved on from That Day, he won't bother her. It's too hard to tell over the Network.
Reply
Reply
Once he's within fifteen feet, he looks up from his watch and 'notices' her there. He freezes in the spot, looking awkward on purpose. He doesn't leave it too long, though- soon he's taking a single, hesitant step forward. "Hi, Emma. Can I help you carry any of that?"
He's a good actor in part because he doesn't really think about it. He just places himself in that situation.
Reply
It was a curse. Maybe that's not it. But it's what sticks out to her and it radiates the intent of deflecting the blame from him and her alike, so she feels herself nodding before she can do anything else. It's hollow, wooden even, but she still can't move, can't turn away or walk forward, so it's the best she can do.
She should say thank you and she tries, but the way it escapes is lost in a suddenly reacquired---never truly lost in truth---stutter and backward steps in her words and pauses.
Reply
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