Sylar laughs a little. "Do I look upset? Because I'm not. Emotions don't play into this at all." Not this time. "If I killed you, it would be for my own survival."
He crosses his arms. "You are also avoiding my questions, Matthew. What's the matter? Can't bear witness to your own reflection?"
"You're not my reflection. I'm not anything like you. I work very hard, keeping my wolf from killing anyone." It works...except when it's failed. Only two, maybe three times. That's enough for him to hate and fear himself, though.
(What the wolf wants is a pack, is space to run and prey to hunt. Every time Matthew fails, he cages it more tightly, isolates it, denies it. At this point, it's very much a self-fulfilling prophecy, a cycle he's perpetuating.)
"And I'm sure he is content fetching sticks every time you're forced to shift. Actually..." His eyes gleam in the moonlight illuminating them and his lips quirk upwards. "What brings the wolf out, I wonder? If your life were threatened, would he come out to play?"
"And here I thought you didn't want to get bitten." It's black humor, trying to cling to something as he tries to hold himself back. Because Sylar's right, this situation is whipping the wolf into a frenzy.
"Oh, you could try..." Sylar holds his hand out, palm up, and with his other makes that slicing gesture he knows so well. The gash forms from pinky to thumb and he hisses, sighs, the sensation not entirely unpleasant. His blood pools in his palm, joining the paint stains before dripping onto the grass beneath his hand. A few seconds later, the wound closes up and heals. "...But I don't think it'll stick."
A multitude of things come to mind. He wanted to smear his blood on Matthew's forehead and call him Simba. He wanted to see this gentle soul become a bloodthirsty beast and revel in his own nature. He wanted to kiss him and bite him and be bitten by him, until they each tasted each other's blood.
But most of all, he wanted the future he painted. Bodies of discarded lesser creatures reaching for them while they enjoyed their romantic outing. Two predators among men, gods in their own way, having a relaxing night.
Sylar licks his lips, hesitates, then releases Matthew from his hold.
"A friend. Failing that, I want to see just how bad you can get."
"It'll have to be the first one, I suppose. I'm never going to let you see me lose control." Though he doesn't know how much of a friend he can really be to someone who's admitted to being a serial killer. It's going to get weird.
Tick, tick, tock... Just one slice into his forehead would bring the beast to the surface. Sylar could see it so perfectly in his mind's eye. Action, reaction, cause, and effect. His fingers twitch by his side with anticipation.
"Well, if you insist..." He says instead, cheerfully ignoring the murderous impulse. "I'm happy to remain in your phone, and have you in mine."
"Suppose so." Matthew turns to walk away. "I'll remember you really like the satay, next time. Or maybe like the sharp sticks left afterward. Or maybe dinner's on you next time. Whatever, we'll figure it out."
Should he tell the wolf how dangerous he could be with paintbrushes? Mmm... Perhaps next time. And now, that next time is a certainty. He's oddly elated by that.
"We'll alternate. It's only fair. Did you want the leftovers?" He offers before Matt could get too far away.
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He crosses his arms. "You are also avoiding my questions, Matthew. What's the matter? Can't bear witness to your own reflection?"
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(What the wolf wants is a pack, is space to run and prey to hunt. Every time Matthew fails, he cages it more tightly, isolates it, denies it. At this point, it's very much a self-fulfilling prophecy, a cycle he's perpetuating.)
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"What do you want from me?"
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But most of all, he wanted the future he painted. Bodies of discarded lesser creatures reaching for them while they enjoyed their romantic outing. Two predators among men, gods in their own way, having a relaxing night.
Sylar licks his lips, hesitates, then releases Matthew from his hold.
"A friend. Failing that, I want to see just how bad you can get."
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...as if it's not weird already.
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"Well, if you insist..." He says instead, cheerfully ignoring the murderous impulse. "I'm happy to remain in your phone, and have you in mine."
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"We'll alternate. It's only fair. Did you want the leftovers?" He offers before Matt could get too far away.
and fin.