black_hat

5) Possible Lunacy thing

“Luna-bird, look,” her mother breathed, and Luna climbed on the stool besides the desk littered with potions and brews.

Her mother never noticed the shadow that ran across the cracks in the floor like water. It pooled for a moment around the great mirror’s stands and then receded inside its depths.

Luna gasped in glee. “Mummy! Did you see? There’s a man in the mirror!”

“Yes, my dear. I’m sure there is,” her mother said softly, caressing the object in her hands with her eyes, her lips slightly parted.

Luna turned her attention to the mirror and watched him. She refused to leave. Her mother didn’t mind this at all. She was often down there herself, and Nesidora referred to Luna as her fellow pea. Her father, however, minded.

He had tried to pick her up after her two day vigil but she would grab hold of the mirror and grow completely limp where her father could not get a hold on her. If he got too close to separating her from her latest project, Luna would wail like a banshee. It was a playful, exaggerated sort of shriek but a shriek none the less.

Her mother called down the steps. “For Hecate’s sake, Artemus, leave the child alone. Can’t you see she’s investigating?”

Her father sighed, recognizing the code word. “All right, then. It’s a wonder I can even hear after that.” He rubbed his ears and shook his head, and Luna clapped.

“Is that thunder? Is it a woozle?” he questioned vaguely.

“It’s me, Daddy,” she exclaimed.

“Hmmm?” he mused, looking puzzled. “Is it a tunafish?” He held his nose, as if warding off a smell.

She nodded. He patted her head lightly, ruffling her hair. “Well, a little imagination never did any harm, I suppose.”

Luna only emerged from her scrutiny by the temptation of food. Her mother had taken to leaving her snacks on the top of the stairs. She would retrieve the plate, never showing her back to him, and return to her spot just inches away from the glass.

She was alert. She was solemn. She was captivated.

“Hello,” she pleaded, plucking up the courage to speak to him, the man in the moon. Luna wrapped her blanket around her snuggly and tapped three times on the glass. And someone tapped back. She fell backwards.

“Hello yourself.”

Luna looked around the room, and found that she was quite alone. Time had flown by and her parents were unaware. She bit her lip, feeling nervous. She scooted away quickly.

“Don’t be afraid, child. Stay—it’s been such a long time since I’ve spoken to any living soul.”

Luna tilted her head. “Oh. Are you…a prisoner or something? Of the mirror people?”

“I am captive to my own will, but yes, I have encountered…challenges. I merely want to converse with you for a spell. What is your name?”

“…I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

He laughed. “Then tell me your name and we won’t be strangers.”

She actually thought that sounded quite reasonable. “Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

There was a pause. “Ah. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Luna looked at her toes. “Are you from my mind? Is that why you never answered? Because I suppose my figment wouldn’t say it’s from my mind. But I don’t know if I would call myself pretty.”

“Why, I’m just as real as you are,” he said, and there was a weight, a pressure, to his words she couldn’t quite place. “As for where I’m from…that’s a bit of a philosophical question at the moment.”

“Phellyosoaphical?” she questioned.

“Phil-o-sophical. It means love of wisdom.”

She beamed and moved closer. “Really?” she fluttered, and then without further ado, pressed her face against the mirror.

“You’re really quite shallow,” Luna observed, and tapping the back of the mirror knowingly. “You not even as deep as a rain puddle.”

“How…cute,” he muttered. “Move back so I can look at you again. You’re fogging up the glass by the way.”

“Should I move back?” she mused. “You are in a mirror. I should do the opposite of what you say.”

“I’m glad you broached the subject. I assure you; take everything I say at face value.”

“What if you are two-faced?” Luna tapped the back of the mirror once more.

“Listen to both of them.”

“Well, are you two faced?”

“If I had two faces, I would put them to use. Wouldn’t you?”

Luna laughed. “I like you,” she said, hugging the blanket. “…Can we be friends? I don’t have many, or any really.”

“Of course. We shall be great friends. But you know, you have to tell me a secret about yourself. That’s what friends are for.”

Luna considered this and fiddled with the edge of her robes. She had never had a friend. Thus she didn’t know how to be a proper friend.

“I don’t have any secrets,” she said sadly.

“Oh, I’m sure you do. Everyone has secrets. But tell me a truth. Any truth. Any wish.”

Luna looked up. Wishes-now, wishes she understood. “I’d like to never grown up!” she exclaimed, her memories of Hogwarts and what it was to be clear and looming in front of her.

“That can be arranged.”

“It’s not a wish if it comes true.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Luna leaned towards him. “Aren’t you going to come out?”

“In good time. You see, I’ve been placed under a curse, and I am imprisoned in this form until….”

Her eyes widened. “Until?” she pressed on, shaking.

“That’s the trick. I can not tell you how to release me, and you must keep my existence a secret. If you tell anyone about me, my prison would collapse and I would die.” The mirror man seemed to sigh in defeat and put a hand to his chest. It seemed almost familiar, the gesture, but the tragedy of this figure overwhelmed her.

“I will keep the secret,” she said and pressed her palm to the mirror, trying to give solace.

“I expected you would say that. I am a very good judge of character.”

“Would you help me with something in return. My mother. You see…I had this dream.” She flushed, and wondered how to continue.

“…Ah. You fear losing her to death.”

Her lips parted wordlessly, and her eyes shimmered. “How did you know?” she asked in wonder.

“I am your reflection in this form.” Luna sensed there was more but didn’t press him. “What would you do, to stop her from being stolen from you by a thief?”

“Thief? My mum said death was natural.”

“Only because we allow it to be. By our acceptance, we give death its power. Now, what are you willing to do?”

“Anything,” Luna answered. “I would do anything to protect her.”

“Then allow me to see through your eyes.” She paused, searching his face for a sign but his reflection was vague and murky. “It is a small price to pay. Or did I misjudge your affection for her?”

“No,” she said immediately, and thought about how silent the room had become. How silent the world had become. “I…I imagine you’ve missed quite a lot of things in the mirror. You would want to see everything.”

“Everything anew. And feel everything. If you doubt yourself, find something unspeakable within, let me purge it. You will be reborn with me. A child forever, if you so desire it.”

Luna did not desire eternal youth of her body. She desired eternal youth of her mind and soul therein. And this being of great magick was offering her the key.

“You have to leave when I say to.”

“Your words will be the keys that locks and unlocks my prison.”

“I do not wish to put you in a cage,” she protested but the room had changed. Shadows crept from the back of the mirror and at first, she tensed. Something primal, and dark, and deep from the beginning, screamed at her to flee, to not let the shadows touch her. But they crept slowly, gently, and humbly, like a cat that only wanted to be near his mistress, his closest friend.

“But what is your name?” she cried, and that itself seemed to bar their shadows in their advance.

“…Noman,” he said, a sly tinge to his voice. “You can call me that. It’s closer to the truth than any other name you could think of for me.”

Luna let the shadows cover her, the face of her mother looming in front of her like the sun.

6) Sylar versus Haitian...where Sylar tries to get this kid to lure him in by 'putting' her in danger. The said kid will then have a poison syringe. Messy. This is Sylar looking around for the perfect victim. Look, Sylar, look.

There was always something to say about a person’s room. It reflected the state of mind to an uncanny degree. He had always tried to reflect his mind well, keeping things nice and orderly and perfect, when he had his own space in his old life. It was simply a matter of keeping the mess in one lone room in the back.

If this run-down apartment, not in furnishing but in the sheer disorder of it, was any indication, he was dealing with a man who was falling apart inside as well as out. He couldn’t have hoped for better.

Right down to the doe-eyed, pitiful look. When his prey saw the girl drowning in the filthy river, then how could he possibly resist?

“She'll do."

“I didn’t know you were looking for that kind of fun,” Patterson grunted, looking dazed by this turn of events. “I mean, I don’t mind, but you’d have to pa-.”

It took him a moment for that to click, and then the sheer, sheer imperfection hit him square in the chest.

“You misunderstood,” he said coolly. “Something on your mind?”

Patterson looked blank but in those empty spaces, it told so much. So the man was a pedophile. Yes, no wonder the girl was wearing such a short shirt over her body, and the state of her knees took on a different meaning. It wouldn’t hurt anything if he had to kill Patterson in the end.

In fact, he would make a point of it.

“Get dressed,” he said, and the girl looked up dumbly at him then glanced at her father. He nodded, and she scurried off, in taters. Sylar fidgeted. This kind of imperfection grated against him. Somehow, there would have to be-

“You bringing her back?”

“Don’t call the police to try a set me up as a kidnapper, Patterson,” he advised, and this time, the man blanched. “What I do is…above their jurisdiction.”

“A Fed?”

Sylar smiled at him. “No,’ he answered simply. They waited in silence, with only the dripping water of the faucet keeping track, keeping count. It made him feel better, in that there was so glimmer of control, of small steps that were always so easy to take.

The mouse came back into sight, wearing what looked like what had been her mother’s clothes. Interesting. Dead or alive?

“We’ll be back in three hours.”

“Gotcha.” The man pointed at the girl. “Now, you listen to him and do whatever he tells you. I don’t want to hear you’ve made me looked bad.”

Resisting temptation to reply to that, Sylar walked out of the clutter and the girl followed after him, tottering a little, possibly just from being young and trying to walk so quickly.

“Do you have a name?”

“It’s Cindy,” she whispered, so softly he only heard it through his ability.

“My condolences,” he muttered, and doe-eyes looked up, spooked. Hitting the streets, the mouse seemed more of a survivor type who stayed quiet, absorbing, until it was time. He preferred this, though her whole existence of being that way could be off, broken. She suspected he would do something to her along the lines of what she was used to. From instinct alone.

-BB