Milliways lake area, October 19th

[watchmakers_son]

Dusk's settling over the lake. It's been much colder lately, but Sylar's aware of it as a distance: objective observation rather than subjective experience.

He wears his coat anyway. It's a comfortable weight, an extra layer of protection over his stomach.

And for once, apparently, the forge is occupied.

"Zuko."

Comments

[princeinexile]

Zuko's gaze is critical; the one eye is always narrowed, cruel, judging somehow. Little softens it. Certainly, nothing softens it here, what with Sylar's sudden distraction and anger.

That, he does not say, was a poor show.

"You're still wounded," he notes without inflection. "The stomach is a major resovoir of energy. Uncle," and only here does he crack a little, his eyes rolling and a sort of bizarrely fond bemusement peeking through, "calls it 'The Sea of Qi.' That might hinder you."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar makes a small, unamused scoffing noise. His hand lingers for another second before he draws it away.

"Show me again."

It should be completely healed within a week, at the most. If he can work even through the pain, though, and the hindrance Zuko speaks of --

Imagine what his strength will be when he is healed.

[princeinexile]

Zuko nods; this at least pleases him, that much is obvious. His expression eases into something like approval, but he repeats the motion.

Again if necessary.

At least, until Sylar can at least replicate simple punch.

[watchmakers_son]

It's in part because he never learned to develop an abundance of physical strength. There'd been no need.

It's in part, still, because of the injury.

Sylar exhales a long breath and follows through on the punching motion, this time without calling up his new ability. It turns into another pained hiss by the end. Drawing back, he takes another breath and tries again. The stitches stretch; Sylar ignores it, repeats the motion one more time to be certain.

There.

The shimmer to the air is barely visible as he gathers himself for a fourth try. It takes timing, focus to the exclusion of all else --

Boom.

When he lashes out, the radiation, rather than confining itself to a sphere, lances forward a foot and a half in front of him before fading. Sylar exhales again and draws his feet together in a more relaxed stance.

[princeinexile]

"Well," he says, dismissively to Sylar's obvious pleasure in what he's accomplished, "That's fine if you don't want to go further."

A step, and then another-- and there is blazing light, a veritable storm of fire that follows the kata that follows. It takes Zuko over land and sky, with leaps and kicks and movements that certainly, Sylar cannot replicate.

That's fine, though. Zuko couldn't do at kata up until a couple of years ago.




Azula could do it at eight.

[watchmakers_son]

Motionless, Sylar's expression tightens again as he watches the display, his lips pulling back into the beginnings of a snarl.

It settles, eventually. Calms somewhat.

For all their similarities, it's an incompatible part, this ability. He'd gain nothing by trying to take it. But he can remember, and the parts that are freer for the taking -- the movements, the theory, the lesson -- are far from useless.

He watches Zuko with the same critical eye the younger man turned on him. "And is that the pinnacle of what you can do?"

[princeinexile]

There's a sharp turn, the maimed eye on Sylar now. He does not realize that he is the equivalent of a delicious frosting laden cupcake dancing before a very hungry diabetic.

That's probably for the best, as he's rather irritated now.

"No," he says. "I'm still a student. True mastery-- takes time. But you're at a level that I could surpass as a child." He walks back, every move quiet, and resumes the first stance. "You can do better."

'You will do better' would probably have been more accurate a statement.

[watchmakers_son]

The calm instantly snaps, and in two strides, he's closed the gap between them. Sylar glares down at Zuko, hands curled tight at his sides.

They're glowing again. Blue, this time; not red.

"Do you think," he spits, the consonants harsh and over-enunciated, "I would have bothered with you if I didn't know that?"

[princeinexile]

Zuko's eyes flick down -- that is chill, not heat; not Azula's blue flame mastery, not here-- this man can touch many elements. He's like the Avatar. This does not earn him respect, only further derision.

"Do you want to learn or not?"

He is not showing throat. He will not back down. "You can learn, or you can walk away. What's your pride worth?"

Iroh's words, Zuko's mouth. He feels funny saying them, remembering once a face down like this-- but from the other side.

God, was he really this stupid once? (Still are, Zuko. Still are.)

[watchmakers_son]

"I'm here," growls Sylar, "to learn."

He lifts his hands, spreads the fingers, closes them again. The ice winks out. A flicks of his wrist: fallen leaves near the lake skitter into a tight spiral, as if stirred by an unfelt breeze.

Sylar doesn't look away, and doesn't stop glaring.

"And so are you." He lowers his hands; there's clear contempt in his voice now. "Unless I'm mistaken."

[princeinexile]

Yes; a lesson for a lesson. Zuko doesn't flinch, but his eyes are the same width now, good matching bad and narrowed to a scowl. "Yes," he says.

They are.

He shifts away, and then says, "So return to the stance. Practice does not make perfect-- it makes permanent."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar, after a moment, smiles -- there's no humor to it -- and takes a step back in kind. He settles into the same stance as before and fists his hands.

[princeinexile]

It's back to the same old motions. Punch, blast. Occasionally a variation, but not until Sylar has the motion down. A kick and a flaming arc that follows. Punch. Kick. The only thing constant is motion and heat.

Thankfully, Zuko doesn't realize he's being irradiated in tiny degrees out here. But those are the prices you pay when you play with fire.

[watchmakers_son]

It's exhausting.

It shows in how Sylar holds himself as the lesson continues, in the sweat and the rasp of breathing. Never in his expression, after the first time he faltered. Not even when the pain from his injury hits him like a physical kick, and he stumbles before he can regain his balance and continue as if he'd never stumbled at all.

Directing radiation to the feet doesn't work, not even with practice; the lesson there is in close range combat alone, unassisted by telekinesis. But the flow to the hands steadily becomes easier, and soon he is tracing quick arcs and patterns with the heat, far cleaner than his earliest attempts, each

tick

pulse like the turn of a gear, each

tick

turn becoming as simple to hear and shift and feel as Brian Davis' talent.

Eventually, Sylar leans over his knees to catch his breath. He keeps listening, even then -- and he thinks he can hear a separation, too, the longer he does so. There is heat, but there is also light...and neither are as intrinsically tied together as they appear.

[princeinexile]

Zuko stops when the man falls -- he starts, but doesn't go to pick him up (nobody hauled him to his feet after his mother left) and instead waits with ill-disguised impatience.

Still, Sylar's doing better then some could claim.

"Are you going to be all right?" he finally asks, and there's honest concern. He just doesn't wear it well.

[watchmakers_son]

"Yes." Distant, and still a little winded. Keeping his other hand on his knee, Sylar touches his stomach again and tenses fractionally before he can shove the pain aside.

When he straightens, though, his eyes are unfocused, watching nothing in the middle distance, and his head's tipped slightly to one side like an animal listening to a call.

"I'll be fine," he says in the same vague tone as before as he closes his left hand into a fist, palm turned toward the trees. There's only the tiniest variation between heat and light, he thinks. You'd never know it unless you were specifically looking for it.

But there is a variation.

And he wonders, now, as he grabs hold of the other and shoves it toward his fingers as he opens his hand --

(Don't burn hot, as Mr. Bennet said to Ted. Burn bright.)

It doesn't have the bass rumble of the earlier explosions. In fact, it sounds like nothing so much as the crackle of electricity.

And the focused electromagnetic pulse burns a blindingly bright blue as it ripples out of Sylar's hand, racing for the treeline.

[princeinexile]

Zuko's eyes are slits again, toxic gold, almost as bright as brass.

"Well," he says without much pleasure, "You're advancing quick."

Prodigy, his disdain says. He hates them, who do not have to work for what they get. Little does he know that Sylar puts a lot of work in: Hunting, stalking, devouring. (He wouldn't consider it the same, though. Sylar is still getting something for relatively nothing.)

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar's closed his eyes as the last of the pulse bursts out of his hand, listening still, memorizing the differences in sight and sound and feeling for later. He's begun to smile slightly.

It only grows as he lowers his hand and slants a glance toward Zuko, taking in the bitterness of the younger man's expression.

"You mean to tell me you can't do that." As he speaks, his tone trails into something closer to an afterthought as he turns his other hand palm-up. The same buzzing blue ripple rushes over his hand, coils tightly, and vanishes an instant later.

[princeinexile]

Zuko grasps the subtle dig, but he doesn't rise to it. "That-- I don't even think Father, or Azula-- can do that. It's not..." He shakes his head, and says, "Lightening, that's -- the pinnacle. It takes years of education... or a certain... ability."

Ability that Zuko bleeds for and Azula laughs over.

"Mastery can take years. I only know two Firebenders who can do something like that."

[watchmakers_son]

"Is that so." Musingly, as he flexes his fingers and turns his hand over. It's followed by a swift, sudden glance to Zuko, and an equally swift and knifing grin.

"I've always been a fast learner. It's a gift of mine. A talent." Returning his gaze to his hand, casually, he adds, "But, you must know the principles are the same. Quite similar, in fact. It's only a matter of -- "

Another electromagnetic burst, small and tightly contained. The air ripples around it.

"A shift. One side to the other."

[princeinexile]

Sylar is not winning himself favor; his teacher's eyes are hard, onyx and gold. He -- wants to know. He wants to know how it works for this man, how to attain that power so effortlessly.

"For us -- it is not science. It is spirit. I do not think we are like you," he says, hands twisting. There is something between them, though, that Sylar cannot really attain--

-- as fingers unfold, feathers of flame go with them; Zuko has spirit, and that gives shape to more then power. He can feel it, the energy that he channels -- yang that gives birth to fire, and the yin that would need to be separated to give birth to that lightening...

But he knows where that path goes.

"Can you do that again?" he says after a moment, as he dismisses the power, letting it hum into something lower, subliminal -- still there, centered in his belly. "I want -- there's something I want you to do for me. I want-- that -- that lightening. Just the lightening." He walks away, further out.

"Throw it."




He has wanted to tame it more then anything. But if he can feel what it is to redirect it--

--finally, finally--

he will at least ride it, turn it, if not create it.

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar's look sharpens again, intensely curious, and perhaps the faintest bit puzzled. It ticks over Zuko, calculating, as he settles into his stance.

And then Sylar smiles again, and, without hesitation, lashes out once more as he'd been taught.

It isn't the same as lightning, just as radiation is not the same as fire; and the focus is still not there to nearly the same degree as a true Firebender. But with the slightest twist, like turning a key in a lock, what follows the arc of the punch is a blast of electromagnetic energy.

Some of it ripples out in all directions, fading before it reaches the building of the bar proper.

Most of it fires straight at Zuko.

[princeinexile]

It is not what he was -- exactly -- seeking. All the same, one hand is extended to 'catch' it, beckoning it through his body. It is--

It is like training wheels, he thinks. Or the blinders you put on a komodo rhino to keep it from going off course. This is something less then what he wanted and not what he expected. Passing it through his body without arm and out his other hand is effortless.

It leaves him rather consternated.

"That's not-- that's not what I was looking for," he says as he walks back, lips pursed. When will he ever -- attain that? How can he learn, without practice?

Bloody uncle, and his dreams of being an Earth Kingdom tea jockey! They stymie Zuko's desires to be-- anything then what his uncle wants him to be, these days.

[watchmakers_son]

Some of the surprise, for a brief instant, is mirrored on Sylar's face. All of Zuko's talk, and his seeming irritation at Sylar's quick progress, and he handles the blow that easily?

He moves out of his own stance as Zuko approaches, never taking his eyes off of him. "Then what were you looking for?"

[princeinexile]

"If I could make it, I'd show you," Zuko says. But he can't, so he's not going to try. (That leads to embarrassing explosions and Zuko getting knocked on his ass.)

"Lightening. Like-- what rips the sky open," he says. "There's a move -- even if you can't master lightening, you can -- channel it, elsewhere, if it comes from a foreign source. I've never been able to properly test it."

He leaves out the part where it's fatal if you screw it up. Zuko likes to leave out important things that would make his plans look less sensible.

[watchmakers_son]

"I'm sure you could find someone else to train you." Outwardly, Sylar is still eerily calm, despite the smallest bite to his words; the power, it seems, is not as great as he hoped. "If that's what you're after."

But it's still more than Zuko can accomplish.

(And there is more, as he quickly sifts through more names he gleaned from Suresh's list, wondering --

(He has more to do now. Greater works. The smaller ones can come after.)

"There are so many others here who have talents like you and I."

[princeinexile]

"On my world, I am not that remarkable. My family--" They have produced better then him.

He goes silent, brooding and irritated now. "I have a teacher. The problem is -- he stopped teaching." It's time to pretend to be average Earth Kingdom peasants. That means never making fire dance under his fingertips.

But--

That's peace, isn't it? That's what uncle wants, and Zuko (resents) can't stop him from getting it.

"It's complicated."

[watchmakers_son]

Sylar's equally silent, for a fraction too long to be comfortable.

"And your ability." Quiet, almost shading into amused at the edges. "Is it truly that weak, that you cannot teach yourself? Change on your own?"

[princeinexile]

Zuko's eyes narrowed.

"It's not like that. IT's forms and moves and disciplines. Secrets of unlocking power. A guide -- makes it that much easier. Where I am, without my guide--"

He shakes his head.

"It's not a matter of strength," insistent "it's a matter of knowing where to look to learn. Uncle could devise patterns of qi in the swirl of tea leaves in his cup."

He is not that --

Strong.




Dammit.

[watchmakers_son]

"I had a guide as well, when I began."

His eyes are blank, face completely impassive. A second passes before he inclines his head.

"Well," he amends. "In a manner of speaking." Sylar's gaze ticks away, briefly, then returns to Zuko. "They can show you paths that are incorrect, Zuko; ones that don't work. And they'll never realize it.

"It's part of mankind's destiny to evolve: to forge its own path, diverting from ones that have been laid down before. If you're that unhappy with yours..."

He leans in, the last words dropping to a low hiss.

"Then listen, and look around you, and change it."

[princeinexile]

Paths that are incorrect.

It's time for you to look inward, and begin asking yourself the big questions! Who are you, and what do you want?

"It is not that simple," he says, looking away, eyes on some point in the middle distance, seeing someone who is not here.

Leave it behind.

"I don't have that answer yet. Those questions are still -- being asked." He is evolving; Sylar looks upon a person in that delicate state of flux, at the crossroads of destiny.

Does he stay, the perfect nephew, the son-that-was-lost-and-was-returned? Lu Ten's replacement-- never good enough to be the original-- but-- but--

"We'll have to see what happens when the door opens. But for now," he glances over, and then fetches the bucket he'd brought out here to drench himself with, "You have learned what you can. But you need to be stronger. You don't know your own limbs. Maybe practicing with your flesh instead of with your fire might help you. You cannot neglect one strength; you never know when it might fail you."

Or when it might be the least important thing in the world; firebending does nothing when day is black like night, but a pair of swords in skilled hands do not care how bright the sun shines.

[watchmakers_son]

His non-physical strength has served him well enough in the past. Grudgingly, though, Sylar finds he may have to concede Zuko's point: physical strength has its benefits.

Especially when tied into the less common strengths.

Nevertheless, there's a mild, mocking disdain in the upturn to his lips, and the nod he gives Zuko is rather disingenuous. "And I suppose I should wish you luck in finding your own strength," he says. "If you can."

He turns, and begins the walk back to Milliways.

(It's somewhat slower than when he first came outside. He still aches, more than he'd care to admit, from the session.)

[princeinexile]

Zuko's gaze does not sharpen; his arms are strong from the rise and fall of the hammer, and he has learned some nuance and twist to the bending. Watching -- sparring against -- Toph and Katara, in the past, has aided him.

Milliways, in general, has made him stronger.

"Don't forget your end of the bargain," he calls after.

The strength that is genetics and science. He will want those. He will want to understand. But--

Not now. There are other things now; walking back to the forge to put things away, to close it up for the night (till Ryan inevitably musses it up), to find the dogs and to go and to run, and --

--and to think.

Think a lot.