Locked from Wardens

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She's gone. She's not here, we're alone again

Comrades, I really, really, really need a drink. My supplies have been... confiscated for the time being. If anyone owes me an unpaid favor and has anything alcoholic then now would be the time to write off your debt in this way, alternatively, if anyone has anything alcoholic and is interested in a trade then my other supplies remain meticulously stocked.

Please, I really--

I need too--

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Spam - FF sorry!

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[There's a thud, as Prefect falls against the door.]

Go away! Then I'll talk to you.

[The logic of a man who's almost out of scotch.]

Spam & Private

[grayatonement]

[The killer considers this lack of logic for a moment, pauses, then speaks again.]

"Fine."

[Back on their journals, without moving:]

Why do you keep getting drunk?

Spam & Private

[buywithme.livejournal.com]

1) This isn't talking

[Shouted through the door.]

And two, I know you're still there!

Spam

[grayatonement]

[A small smirk appears on Sylar's lips, more amused with Prefect's antics than he normally lets on.]

"Then how do you want to talk?"

[He doesn't mind the opera, though it wouldn't be his first choice.]

Spam

[buywithme.livejournal.com]

[The door opens a crack, and Prefect peers out at Sylar.]

I want you to leave me alone. I have nothing to say.

[He looks tireder than is altogether healthy.]

Spam

[grayatonement]

[Sylar shifts to lean on the door frame instead, opposite the crack in the door so he can look at Prefect. It seems like it's been forever since they became close in level 0. Maybe Gabriel is more nostalgic than he's willing to admit.]

"Then who will you talk to?"