who| Future!Sylar [In diguise!] and [OPEN] what| Brains, brains, who's got the brains? where| Out and About; LA when| Evening rating| PG-13 and Up, depending. status| Thread, Incomplete, and Open
It never really went away.
With Charlie Andrews's memory enhancement, he could list every power he had obtained in five years, as well their original owner, and what the weather had been like that day. It would have taken a few days, and he would have had to stop for meals and possibly a nap(Not because he needed them, but because he liked them.), but he could. He'd done it once for a Nun who had taken control of his body before he'd been able to pin her to the wall because there had been nothing better to do to pass the time until she let her guard down, and she'd asked. He had apologized, when his headache had gotten too strong and he'd had to make his own opening and slice open her skull. It came with having been raised to respect people who held positions within the Faith.
Of course, that wasn't so long after the explosion, which meant it had only taken a few hours. The need for power had been stronger then, and though it was dulled now, buried beneath layers of abilities and so far down the path of bodies he could barely see it some days, it never went away. Not really.
There were times when, alone in the White House with Monty and Simon in the days they had begun to show signs of manifesting that he'd thought it was gone. It could have been that he never saw them that much, between Heidi's artful scheduling of them to the side and his presidential duties. For a country that practically ran itself while he bore down on the Evolved, it took a lot of meetings. It was interesting--he found almost everything interesting--but tedious, and though he found himself caring about the populi in the detached way that people who aren't supposed to be leaders feel when they become leaders, he had evolution to progress.
In the alleyway behind the rathole hotel he'd dutifully escorted the young woman back to after their 'chance' meeting in the bar, Sylar wiped the splatterpattern left on Nathan Petrelli's face with a scratchy towel. He would have thought he had some power that could make a towel less scratchy, but no such luck. He probably would have dismissed it before this moment as useless, and so he made a quiet note to himself to remember this for future reference. If someone has a fabric softening power, He thought to himself, take it. Lighting the towel with one hand and depositing it on the body to get it burning, he rubbed at Nathan's Five O'Clock shadow with the other, and lifted part of a discarded hotel mirror to survey the stubble. It had worked on a drunk twenty-something, but he didn't have time to readjust the illusion or stop for a shave.
That, and the suit was sort of a bloodied mess.
He had just settled into the guise of the now-dead girl when the twinge in his skull started up again. Another ability, and somewhere near by. He went back out through the hotel, and let the migraine lead him from there.