closed log;

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

[Here it is. The perfect kill. He doesn't even know what ability this person has -- it's a dream, and insignificant -- but he knows that this is the perfect situation. It's like the ~perfect storm~, only … with killing. He's watching this dude from across the dark, dingy bar that looks like it belongs in Sin City a film noir, with his pal Dexter. Who is making a cameo in his dream.

He exchanges a ~knowing glance~ with him. It's a signal. ]

Comments

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

[Whatever Sylar's that gay outside his head anyway so he just accepts Dexter's life.]

Are you ready?

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

[Oh yeah, the gay's not stopping anytime soon, Sylar. Don't worry about that.

Dexter sets his beer down, leveling him with a look.] I was born ready.

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

[He sets his beer down too and dramatically stands up. Dramatically.] Then let's go.

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

[Dexter doesn't notice the drama, sliding a few bills across the counter and slowly standing. He nods to Sylar before heading out, yards behind the target.]

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

[He follows after Dexter, making sure to match pace with him and keep a close eye on the target. Oh look. There was a convenient dark shady alley for Sylar to toss their dude into with telekinesis. ]

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

[Dexter's ~other self~ beats its wings against the lighted exit from his mind. At first, he fights the sensation, but soon he's tumbling towards Bethlehem, the Dark Passenger taking human form.]

Stephen. Do you mind if I call you Steve? [His voice is two, expressing the need - squared. He drops down on one knee, knowing their target can't touch him, and leans close to Stephen Grier's face.] Twelve missing girls... Very impressive. Where did you bury them? Wait - I don't care.

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

He doesn't look like he'd be that careful about it. [Sylar kneels too, taking grabbing Stephen's face by the jaw and turning it in a direction angled toward him.] Not really a burying type, you know? Probably burns them. Or stashes them in the garage.

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

Or puts them in his wall... [He speaks close to the man's face, like a secret.] We have a room all set up for you. You're going to love it.

[And here it is, a room without a view. An abandoned warehouse covered in plastic wrap. He's already strapping Stephen to the table with duct tape before he realizes it's unnecessary, and shrugs at Sylar.] Habit.

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

[Sylar just shrugs, walking the perimeter of the room and feeling the wrap on the walls.] I kinda like it. Wish I'd thought of that. I'm more of a beachside bonfire kind of guy.

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

It does add a certain je ne sais quoi. [Dexter agrees, carefully lighting a candle in front of each photo of Stephen's victims.]

[intuitivelyapt.livejournal.com]

Your way's more clean though. I can respect that. [He comes closer to Stephen, leering over him and tracing over his jawline with his fingers. Sylar is a touchy guy, okay.] What do you think, Steve? I can call you that, right?

[creepyshitking.livejournal.com]

[Dexter doesn't seem bothered, brushing gloved fingers over each of his beloved tools, laid out next to Steve, as he speaks.] It's good we can be so familiar. I really feel like we're making a connection, don't you?