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From Twitter 07-12-2010
Jul. 13th, 2010 04:00 amTweets copied by twittinesis.com
Jul. 13th, 2010
I'm not quite cheating on this one, but I've already written the perfect letter for #13.
I'm Sorry Peter
The Letter Blog
I'm Sorry Peter
The Letter Blog
Are you bored, Sylar? - Sylar and Gabe
Jul. 13th, 2010 10:35 amCharacter: Sylar and Gabe
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 655
Rating: PG
Prompt: Marion: Well, Jones, at least you haven't forgotten how to show a lady a good time. for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
Verse:rp_shadesofgray and a bit of Twitterverse thrown in. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
graylikeme is featured with love as always.
It was a little too warm in the diner, the sun shining directly across our table and glinting off of the silverware and chrome napkin holder. Outside I could see fat lazy bees flying around a bed of marigolds and daisies. It was a perfect lazy summer day in the middle of some little town whose name I hadn’t bothered to remember.
“Are you bored, Sylar?” Gabriel asked from his side of the booth as he wiped his hands clean after eating the last of his French fries. He smiled as Bonny, the waitress, came over with our dessert and cleared the table. “That pie is a work of art.”
He was right. It was beautiful. His was filled with golden slices of fresh peaches, while mine was stuffed with plump cherries fresh from a can of pie filling. The ice cream scoops were already starting to drip down the sides from the warmth of the pie, and I knew the sunlight would turn them into sludge soon.
“Not bored.” No I wasn’t bored. I was nervous. It’d been a long time since anyone had tried to bag and tag us, but I had that itchy feeling along the back of my neck. At home in New York I wasn’t worried about it, but out here in the middle of wherever we were the old instincts were kicking in. It probably didn’t help that all roadside diners looked alike, and this one reminded me of the one where Luke and I had to deal with unwelcome visitors.
“They aren’t after you anymore,” Gabe pointed out with his fork before taking his first bite. His dark eyes closed, and I was waiting to hear him make an orgasmic sound from the look on his face. “We won, remember?”
“I know.” I took a blob of ice cream and pie, and had my own moment of nirvana. “But I feel like we’re being watched.”
“You’re always paranoid,” he pointed out, giving me the smug I know you better than anyone look.
“Better to be paranoid than locked up,” was my answer. “But I will try to relax. OK?”
“OK. There are more shops two towns down the highway on my list. We should be able to hit them both before sundown the way you drive.” Then he let out a snort. “We could get to them and another two towns the way you drive.”
“I’m an excellent driver, Gabe.”
“You have a led foot. I’m surprised the car still has paint.”
“You’re just upset because I won’t let you drive her again.” He’d scared me enough when I’d let him drive on the second day of our trip.
“You’re the one who wanted me to drive. You keep insisting that I’ll know how because you do.” He folded his arms across his chest, glowering at me. “I told you I can’t drive.”
“And I told you…”
“Is that your car, son?” We both looked up started at the shape looming over the table. The sun sparkling on his badge was only a momentary distraction from the gun at his hip. “The Mustang with the New York plates?”
I dropped my fork, turning in the booth ready to send the guy sailing over the counter and into the deep fryer with telekinesis if he made a move. Gabe and I locked eyes, and I could see him ready to do the same thing to his partner who was ambling over.
“Yeah that’s my car. Is there a problem?” I wanted to get up, but the cop was blocking my end of the booth. There were a lot of innocent people in the diner too, and I wasn’t in the mood to hurt anyone really. “Do you need to see my license and registration?”
“Oh no, my partner and I were arguing about what year it is. Is it a ’68 or a ’69, and is it all original?”
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 655
Rating: PG
Prompt: Marion: Well, Jones, at least you haven't forgotten how to show a lady a good time. for
scifi_musesVerse:
rp_shadesofgray and a bit of Twitterverse thrown in. graylikeme is featured with love as always.It was a little too warm in the diner, the sun shining directly across our table and glinting off of the silverware and chrome napkin holder. Outside I could see fat lazy bees flying around a bed of marigolds and daisies. It was a perfect lazy summer day in the middle of some little town whose name I hadn’t bothered to remember.
“Are you bored, Sylar?” Gabriel asked from his side of the booth as he wiped his hands clean after eating the last of his French fries. He smiled as Bonny, the waitress, came over with our dessert and cleared the table. “That pie is a work of art.”
He was right. It was beautiful. His was filled with golden slices of fresh peaches, while mine was stuffed with plump cherries fresh from a can of pie filling. The ice cream scoops were already starting to drip down the sides from the warmth of the pie, and I knew the sunlight would turn them into sludge soon.
“Not bored.” No I wasn’t bored. I was nervous. It’d been a long time since anyone had tried to bag and tag us, but I had that itchy feeling along the back of my neck. At home in New York I wasn’t worried about it, but out here in the middle of wherever we were the old instincts were kicking in. It probably didn’t help that all roadside diners looked alike, and this one reminded me of the one where Luke and I had to deal with unwelcome visitors.
“They aren’t after you anymore,” Gabe pointed out with his fork before taking his first bite. His dark eyes closed, and I was waiting to hear him make an orgasmic sound from the look on his face. “We won, remember?”
“I know.” I took a blob of ice cream and pie, and had my own moment of nirvana. “But I feel like we’re being watched.”
“You’re always paranoid,” he pointed out, giving me the smug I know you better than anyone look.
“Better to be paranoid than locked up,” was my answer. “But I will try to relax. OK?”
“OK. There are more shops two towns down the highway on my list. We should be able to hit them both before sundown the way you drive.” Then he let out a snort. “We could get to them and another two towns the way you drive.”
“I’m an excellent driver, Gabe.”
“You have a led foot. I’m surprised the car still has paint.”
“You’re just upset because I won’t let you drive her again.” He’d scared me enough when I’d let him drive on the second day of our trip.
“You’re the one who wanted me to drive. You keep insisting that I’ll know how because you do.” He folded his arms across his chest, glowering at me. “I told you I can’t drive.”
“And I told you…”
“Is that your car, son?” We both looked up started at the shape looming over the table. The sun sparkling on his badge was only a momentary distraction from the gun at his hip. “The Mustang with the New York plates?”
I dropped my fork, turning in the booth ready to send the guy sailing over the counter and into the deep fryer with telekinesis if he made a move. Gabe and I locked eyes, and I could see him ready to do the same thing to his partner who was ambling over.
“Yeah that’s my car. Is there a problem?” I wanted to get up, but the cop was blocking my end of the booth. There were a lot of innocent people in the diner too, and I wasn’t in the mood to hurt anyone really. “Do you need to see my license and registration?”
“Oh no, my partner and I were arguing about what year it is. Is it a ’68 or a ’69, and is it all original?”
