[ While Will murders himself with laughter, Sylar finishes his current beer, and lists sideways just enough to toss it into the waste basket (considerate) before resettling. He is about as comfortable and relaxed as he's been in a long time, perhaps since he cuddled a poodle in the woods and slipped into semi-conscious powernapping, which is unexpected. Potentially dangerous. He cannot bring himself to give a fuck.
So he opens a second beer and smiles just slightly to himself as Will recovers, a smile that flattens out and disappears at news of his misery-company having fancy good friends.
Plot twist.
He raises an eyebrow, not breaking from his contemplative stare of the opposite wall. It's time for him to laugh, now, with the same kind of disuse. Rusty, baritone in his chest, understated and quiet. Then-- ]
Yeah.
[ He brings beer up to drink from. He isn't being that ironic when he says; ]
no subject
So he opens a second beer and smiles just slightly to himself as Will recovers, a smile that flattens out and disappears at news of his misery-company having fancy good friends.
Plot twist.
He raises an eyebrow, not breaking from his contemplative stare of the opposite wall. It's time for him to laugh, now, with the same kind of disuse. Rusty, baritone in his chest, understated and quiet. Then-- ]
Yeah.
[ He brings beer up to drink from. He isn't being that ironic when he says; ]
Let's be friends.