Prideview Apartments

who: West and Gillian
what: Waking up, and dealing
where: Gillian's apartment
when: An hour or two after the last thread with them
rating: TBD
status: In Progress


The first thing West felt when he woke up was that there was something wrapped around his forehead. The teen groggily opened his eyes, confused at first at the way the room seemed to be little more than blurs of color at first. Where was he? How'd he get here? The last thing he remembered was the roof, really . . . and why the hell was there something scratchy wrapped around his head? His hand came up to touch what felt like terrycloth, pressed against his head and wrapped all around like a turban; a towel. What the hell? Why am I wearing a towel turba- The thought was cut off when he moved, and the room spun before his eyes as searing pain ripped through his head. Oh, yeah . . . Now he remembered.

A soft groan slipped from him before his back met the couch once more, and he squeezed his eyes shut to fight off the pain and dizziness.

who: West and Gillian
what: A phone call, and being found
where: The roof of his building
when: Not long after the thread with Sylar
rating: PG for slight language
status: Complete

( Ring Ring . . . )

WHO: West Rosen and Sylar
WHAT: Sylar finds a flying boy!
WHERE: A couple blocks from the apartments
WHEN: Late evening, Wednesday
RATING: TBD, but probably at least PG-13 for violence
STATUS: In Progress


He was running late getting home. West was having a bit of trouble being ANYWHERE on time as of late, thanks to the fact that he'd busted his watch just before Christmas, and hadn't gotten a chance to replace it. So of course the seventeen year old was not doing too great when it came to actually being on time, and tonight was no exception. He had some homework to do, and after that he wanted to drop by Gillian's place and stay with her for a while. He knew he'd been a sucky boyfriend as of late, and he wanted to make it up to her. That was why he'd made a stop at a small, eclectic little jewelry store on his way in from school.

The box was tucked safely in the pocket of his coat as he hurried along the sidewalk, his sneakers skidding every now and then on a patch of concrete covered in frost. After about fifteen minutes of trying to maneuver through crowds, he finally resorted to an alleyway, hoping he could find a shortcut. Then again, if he couldn't . . . he could always just fly. Caught up in his thoughts the way he was, he didn't see the figure in the mouth of the alley, where he'd just entered moments ago.