dear_mun | (no subject)

Seeing something you don't like?

Unfortunately, looks don't really do much around here.

Usually it's all about these people who think they pull the strings.

—but you're an odd one, aren't you?

I wouldn't be so sure.

Why, they working in your favor?

[ Her smile's sweet around the edges, but that's as far as it goes. ]

They always do.

Which means what, in this case? Health benefits?

[ He's not being (entirely) sarcastic; rather, he is curious to know exactly how far anyone's been able to haggle this particular mess to their advantage. ]

The way I see it is this.

—they can't be in my head without me being in theirs.

Odd seems an unnecessarily rude way of putting it. I'm special.

[ Well— ]

I'll admit, I've never seen anyone who can do all of that.

[ Pleased, he allows a fascinated smile. ]

That's a coincidence. The last person I saw who could manage your specialty wasn't half as beautiful.

[ Sorry to you wherever you are, Parkman, it's the honest truth. ]

[ I know. The thought projects itself into his head with a minor blip, a through-and-through that passes from one end to the other (no harm, no foul).

Verbally, she purses her lips, making a chiding series of tsk's. ]

You know that's not all I can do.

[ Eyeing her warily with the echo of that reply in his head, he takes the risk. ]

I'm not going to wind up with a mental microwave hanging around my head if I ask you to show me, am I? I'd very much like to see your talent.

[ Emma, for all that she is — beautiful, for one, and resilient, for another — smiles.

It starts with her fingertips and works its way up her arm, crystalizing as it goes, turning into living diamond. ]

Do you like it?

[ His attention fixates on the ability immediately, eyes widening as he openly stares. From between parted lips, he murmurs over the unbidden swell of hunger that suffuses his being, the root of his own power; it's like another heartbeat alongside his own, only stronger and closely aligned and in his head. ]

I think you look like perfection, Ms —?

[ Her skin turns back with a sound that's felt rather than heard. (People are like pianos, instruments — find the right key and you can make anyone sing.) ]

Frost. Emma.

Apt. My name is Sylar.

[ Gabriel Gray is buried, pointedly not given. He cocks his head. ]

How did you find out you could do that?

[ How do all the other stories go? Time of great strife, yadda yadda? ]

You don't discover that your greatness, Sylar. You're born with that knowledge.

[ Wow, he'd really rather not kill her. Let's see how empathic learning goes since she's already zeroing his focus. ]

I always knew it too, even when they told me otherwise. They tried to take it away, once.

Bad for them, [ she allows— then adds, maybe a little lazily: ]

But good for you.