The extra time is so Matthew can stop and pick up Thai food. Because he's looking to at least pretend that this is a social meeting, something he's walking into because he's choosing to hang out with Gabriel, instead of this weird morbid fascination thing that's actually under the surface here. He's on the bench, the bag at his feet, chopsticks deep into a container of Pad Thai when Gabriel arrives.
Sylar used that time to steal the supplies - a canvas, easel, brushes, palette and paints - and carries the entire bundle to the designated spot. Unlike the first meeting, this one is different. He's different. His brow is furrowed and the eyes beneath dark and focused, his entire form tense.
If this power returned, what else would come back? Would he hurt people who didn't deserve it? Innocents who had nothing he wanted. If he couldn't control this...
Spotting Matthew, his eyes are unabashedly hopeful for several seconds and there's an almost smile at his lips.
"Thank you for meeting me. I needed someone else here. To see what I see. And..." He hesitates, but whatever he's about to say next is lost. His head tilts and he observes the Thai food with interest. "...You brought dinner?"
"Enough to share, yeah. I wasn't sure what you liked, so there's curry or there's chicken fried rice and some satay."
He notices the tension in Gabriel, but doesn't ask the prying questions right away. No, for the moment he's relishing the fact that he can surprise the other man, throw him off just a little with an act of kindness.
"And then after we eat, you can show me. How's that sound?"
He wants to protest, but before he can, his stomach growls loudly, upstaging anything he might've been about to say. Agitation mixed with embarrassment crosses his features. He busies himself with setting the supplies down next to the tree before joining Matt by the food.
"That sounds wonderful actually. If I'd known this was going to be a date, I would've brought dessert." He says softly, and this time there is a smile. He hovers over the choices before selecting the chicken fried rice and settles into the seat. "There's enough here for us to split everything. What made you decide on Thai?" A pause. "Um. Thanks, by the way." It wasn't something he was used to saying.
"I work at a Thai restaurant, so I get a good discount--on nights I'm working, the cook usually feeds me for free. She's this badass grandma who took a shine to me when I mentioned I'm not in touch with my family."
A pause, and a sidelong glance. "This doesn't make this a date, though. I'm pretty sure I'm not your type."
"Don't be so sure." He replies, fishing out a plastic spork from utensils. There's a beat, as he allows that to hang in the air before he looks over at Matt. "Relax. I was kidding. Friends share food too, so I've been told."
He enjoys several bites, savoring the flavors and holy shit. It was everything he didn't know he needed today. "My compliments to Ms. Badass Grandma. I should send her some money."
Stolen, of course, but that's neither here nor there. As he eats, he spares a glance towards what he brought and within seconds, the art supplies begin setting themselves up. The easel unfolds, and the canvas settles atop it.
Matthew watches the telekinetic dance of the art supplies instead of looking at Sylar, his cheeks turning a warm shade of red. He's still not used to how casually these powers are brought to bear; for him, everything about being a wolf is difficult and he hates it. But for Sylar, it seems as effortless as breathing.
"So you've been told? You say that like you don't have much experience with friends, Gabriel."
A muscle in his jaw twitches and one of the paint bottles falter in its exit from the satchel. It could've just been a bump of the bag, certainly nothing that Matt had said. The colors begin to dole out tiny dollops upon the palette.
"The life of a watchmaker doesn't exactly lend itself to social opportunities, Matthew." Slightly tense, but not regretful. After a couple more bites he offers, "Friends are nice. But not for me."
"Ah. Of course." A pause, then an uncertain little laugh. "Does that mean we're not sharing a meal together as friends, then? You're certainly sending mixed messages."
He looks sidelong for a moment, watching Sylar's reaction closely.
The next spoonful pauses in his mouth. Oh. He had trapped himself there, hadn't he? Sylar stirs at the rice for several seconds.
Finally, "You said before you weren't interested in a relationship." He puts the lid back on the rice, goes next for a satay. He bites off the top portion from the stick, watching Matt inquisitively.
"So this? It's whatever you want it to be. If what I drew is accurate, and it unfortunately always is, this is just the beginning."
It's a thoughtful sound, and it's followed by a moment of silence as Matthew examines what it is he actually would like. More information, first and foremost.
"I mean, what I've said is actually that I don't think I'm your type, and that I wasn't interested in sex with you during our first meeting. Is your definition of relationship wholly a sexual one, Gabriel?"
Sylar is silent as he finishes the chicken, sucking on the end of the stick as he watches the supplies settle back into the bag.
"No. It isn't. I find that I do not often... desire that at all." He responds but his eyes are on the blank canvas. Well, blank to Matthew, but to him, it's a blurry mess of swirling colors. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. A deep inhale of breath, then exhale, and he stands.
"I'm glad you're here to protect me. This thing is like a trance. Once it starts..." He holds out his hands, drawing both the palette and brushes to his fingers.
“Is there anything I need to know so that I can protect you effectively? How to pull you out, or what might happen?”
That’s sort of a concerning thought to hear, that someone is trusting him to act as their protection. But he finds himself quietly hoping that maybe it might somehow be possible that he could. Even if it means shifting, he’d go wild wolf in order to protect Gabriel.
Someone actually wanting to protect him. The monster. It's a thought that makes him laugh a little. If the man only knew the things he'd done... How many people he'd killed.
"There's no coming out of it until the painting's finished. It's like... being high." He lets another small chuckle. "In fact the man I took this from, that's the only way he could access it. Doing drugs. Fortunately, I am spared that affliction."
“Took it from?” Cautious, not sure if he’s prying, but suddenly sort of sure he needs to know. It feels like there’s a lot here he just doesn’t know, doesn’t grasp.
His head tilts, watching the canvas. Shifting shapes, different scenes. Which glimpse into his future would his mind settle upon?
"Maybe I'll explain that snippet. Maybe... I won't." He likes this, he realizes. His past unknown. To Matt, he was just Gabriel. To the most wanted database somewhere, he was Sylar. The duality of man. Angel, or demon? He continues, rousing himself from his own thoughts.
"For you, if all goes well, this will be just a show. I am no Bob Ross but I am certain it will be... hm, enjoyable." A deep breath and he turns back towards his new lupine friend. "Ready?" Was he?
“As ready as I can be, I think. I mean, given how little I actually understand.” But he nods, nabbing a satay before settling back into the bench to see what comes next.
He’s nervous, though. Even if Gabriel won’t talk about what he’s done or what’s going on, Matthew is aware of some darkness about him, some thread of malice that’s threaded through his demeanor. He just doesn’t know yet how deep it all goes.
Sylar licks his upper lip, realizes he's hesitating. He closes his eyes tightly. His thoughts are a constant rapidfire stream of anxiety, and for a second, he's uncertain if the power will happen again. Maybe it had been a fluke? He can't think about what other powers might come back, if it wasn't. Should he warn Matthew about what happens when his hands glow orange? How bad things could get simply by being around him?
There's a soft intake of breath as a pleasant buzzing swarms his mind just before everything goes blank. His eyes snap open, milky white and cloudy. As a man possessed he steps forward and begins painting, dabbing his brush into the mixture of colors. His movements are quick and certain, if erratic. A line here, a swirl of color there, moving from spot to spot as the power demands.
Matthew watched, mingled confusion and awe warring within him as Gabriel works. The utter blankness in his eyes is frightening, but more because of Matthew’s concern than anything else. He can tell that Gabriel is unsettled, that whatever all of this means is taking a toll on him.
But there’s nothing he can do in this moment to help, besides watching his back, being here to support and bear witness.
Lips parted, his movements nearly serpentine, he paints for the next half hour. He doesn't slow or look away from his task. Brushes fly to his hands when one becomes too dirty because Sylar, in his haste, forgot a container of water.
He is many things but a natural artist is not one of them. Some of the lines are skewed, there's splotches of ink that aren't smoothed over, but eventually, a clear picture begins to form. A giant blue ferris wheel is front and center, sparkling with neon lights. The bright full moon in the upper right corner crests above a dark cloud. Matt and Gabriel with linked hands move towards the carnival ride, seemingly at peace.
It would be romantic were it not for the dripping blood in the foreground, just barely above the canvas's bottom edge. Its a river of blood and torn limbs, as if discarded or reaching for the pair, with the actual body count unseen. Sylar kneels to finish painting in the redness, abandoning the brushes entirely and using his hands.
He falls back into the grass, his hands sprawling beside himself. He closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and when he opens them again, his eyes are his own once more. Sylar blinks several times, like a man faced with too-bright sunlight after being cooped up in darkness and focuses on the painting before him.
"Gabriel?!" Matthew moves off the bench, to be closer to him, to make sure he's okay, a hand reaching out to brush against his cheek before he realizes how weird and invasive that probably seems and pulls back away. The painting can wait--it already doesn't make sense.
Gabriel reaches for that hand before it has a chance to pull completely away, grasping with his own colorful grip. There's a second where he leans into it, seeking whatever comfort it might bring. The gestures are entirely by reflex, so he'll tell himself later, and only a half second later does his mind catch up to his actions.
"Oh, um. Sorry." He says shakily and releases him. Are they at that level of trust yet? Only a short while ago Matt had him turn away when he shifted, and now... Gabriel takes a couple more seconds of silence to settle his mind before he pushes himself up from the ground.
A towel flies to him and he absently wipes at his hands, looking of the drying canvas board.
"I've never seen that Ferris wheel in my life." He finally concludes.
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You showed me your power. Let me show you mine.
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The extra time is so Matthew can stop and pick up Thai food. Because he's looking to at least pretend that this is a social meeting, something he's walking into because he's choosing to hang out with Gabriel, instead of this weird morbid fascination thing that's actually under the surface here. He's on the bench, the bag at his feet, chopsticks deep into a container of Pad Thai when Gabriel arrives.
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If this power returned, what else would come back? Would he hurt people who didn't deserve it? Innocents who had nothing he wanted. If he couldn't control this...
Spotting Matthew, his eyes are unabashedly hopeful for several seconds and there's an almost smile at his lips.
"Thank you for meeting me. I needed someone else here. To see what I see. And..." He hesitates, but whatever he's about to say next is lost. His head tilts and he observes the Thai food with interest. "...You brought dinner?"
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He notices the tension in Gabriel, but doesn't ask the prying questions right away. No, for the moment he's relishing the fact that he can surprise the other man, throw him off just a little with an act of kindness.
"And then after we eat, you can show me. How's that sound?"
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"That sounds wonderful actually. If I'd known this was going to be a date, I would've brought dessert." He says softly, and this time there is a smile. He hovers over the choices before selecting the chicken fried rice and settles into the seat. "There's enough here for us to split everything. What made you decide on Thai?" A pause. "Um. Thanks, by the way." It wasn't something he was used to saying.
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A pause, and a sidelong glance. "This doesn't make this a date, though. I'm pretty sure I'm not your type."
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He enjoys several bites, savoring the flavors and holy shit. It was everything he didn't know he needed today. "My compliments to Ms. Badass Grandma. I should send her some money."
Stolen, of course, but that's neither here nor there. As he eats, he spares a glance towards what he brought and within seconds, the art supplies begin setting themselves up. The easel unfolds, and the canvas settles atop it.
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"So you've been told? You say that like you don't have much experience with friends, Gabriel."
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"The life of a watchmaker doesn't exactly lend itself to social opportunities, Matthew." Slightly tense, but not regretful. After a couple more bites he offers, "Friends are nice. But not for me."
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He looks sidelong for a moment, watching Sylar's reaction closely.
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Finally, "You said before you weren't interested in a relationship." He puts the lid back on the rice, goes next for a satay. He bites off the top portion from the stick, watching Matt inquisitively.
"So this? It's whatever you want it to be. If what I drew is accurate, and it unfortunately always is, this is just the beginning."
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It's a thoughtful sound, and it's followed by a moment of silence as Matthew examines what it is he actually would like. More information, first and foremost.
"I mean, what I've said is actually that I don't think I'm your type, and that I wasn't interested in sex with you during our first meeting. Is your definition of relationship wholly a sexual one, Gabriel?"
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"No. It isn't. I find that I do not often... desire that at all." He responds but his eyes are on the blank canvas. Well, blank to Matthew, but to him, it's a blurry mess of swirling colors. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. A deep inhale of breath, then exhale, and he stands.
"I'm glad you're here to protect me. This thing is like a trance. Once it starts..." He holds out his hands, drawing both the palette and brushes to his fingers.
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That’s sort of a concerning thought to hear, that someone is trusting him to act as their protection. But he finds himself quietly hoping that maybe it might somehow be possible that he could. Even if it means shifting, he’d go wild wolf in order to protect Gabriel.
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"There's no coming out of it until the painting's finished. It's like... being high." He lets another small chuckle. "In fact the man I took this from, that's the only way he could access it. Doing drugs. Fortunately, I am spared that affliction."
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“Took it from?” Cautious, not sure if he’s prying, but suddenly sort of sure he needs to know. It feels like there’s a lot here he just doesn’t know, doesn’t grasp.
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"Maybe I'll explain that snippet. Maybe... I won't." He likes this, he realizes. His past unknown. To Matt, he was just Gabriel. To the most wanted database somewhere, he was Sylar. The duality of man. Angel, or demon? He continues, rousing himself from his own thoughts.
"For you, if all goes well, this will be just a show. I am no Bob Ross but I am certain it will be... hm, enjoyable." A deep breath and he turns back towards his new lupine friend. "Ready?" Was he?
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He’s nervous, though. Even if Gabriel won’t talk about what he’s done or what’s going on, Matthew is aware of some darkness about him, some thread of malice that’s threaded through his demeanor. He just doesn’t know yet how deep it all goes.
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There's a soft intake of breath as a pleasant buzzing swarms his mind just before everything goes blank. His eyes snap open, milky white and cloudy. As a man possessed he steps forward and begins painting, dabbing his brush into the mixture of colors. His movements are quick and certain, if erratic. A line here, a swirl of color there, moving from spot to spot as the power demands.
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But there’s nothing he can do in this moment to help, besides watching his back, being here to support and bear witness.
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Lips parted, his movements nearly serpentine, he paints for the next half hour. He doesn't slow or look away from his task. Brushes fly to his hands when one becomes too dirty because Sylar, in his haste, forgot a container of water.
He is many things but a natural artist is not one of them. Some of the lines are skewed, there's splotches of ink that aren't smoothed over, but eventually, a clear picture begins to form. A giant blue ferris wheel is front and center, sparkling with neon lights. The bright full moon in the upper right corner crests above a dark cloud. Matt and Gabriel with linked hands move towards the carnival ride, seemingly at peace.
It would be romantic were it not for the dripping blood in the foreground, just barely above the canvas's bottom edge. Its a river of blood and torn limbs, as if discarded or reaching for the pair, with the actual body count unseen. Sylar kneels to finish painting in the redness, abandoning the brushes entirely and using his hands.
He falls back into the grass, his hands sprawling beside himself. He closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and when he opens them again, his eyes are his own once more. Sylar blinks several times, like a man faced with too-bright sunlight after being cooped up in darkness and focuses on the painting before him.
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"Oh, um. Sorry." He says shakily and releases him. Are they at that level of trust yet? Only a short while ago Matt had him turn away when he shifted, and now... Gabriel takes a couple more seconds of silence to settle his mind before he pushes himself up from the ground.
A towel flies to him and he absently wipes at his hands, looking of the drying canvas board.
"I've never seen that Ferris wheel in my life." He finally concludes.
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and fin.