Whatever response -- physical or verbal -- that Sylar looks as if he's about to give is cut off midway by another strangled yell. The glow around his hands flares up again; it isn't merely frost this time, but a quarter-inch thick layer of ice that rapidly lattices out over the fabric.
He squeezes his eyes shut, pallor edging toward a more greenish hue.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-09-04 04:36 am (UTC)He squeezes his eyes shut, pallor edging toward a more greenish hue.