( He knew of the interested gaze upon him and thrived with the attention. Tragic that this was all he could show to the public eye. His other activities were practically works of art, and ones he could never claim.

Hank was not too far off with any of his readings, either. Gabriel's work days had been filled with ticks and chimes, rattling pieces, and rotating gears. Is it any wonder Sylar heard them still? They had become a part of him, integrated into his own modes of thinking. He heard them the loudest as he deconstructed a person's mind, liberating it of its power like a pirate plundering treasure from the ocean's depths.

Sylar watches how Hank retrieves the timepiece, noting the difference of how he put it back on (caring, reverent) as compared to the nearly flippant way of its removal. There's no exaggerating his smile for the persona he's portraying. Sylar and Gabriel both favored customers who appreciated their good work. He snaps closed the kit and pockets it once more. )

You are very welcome. Old habits die hard. Perhaps now you'll permit me to ask: why are you drinking so heavily tonight? I mean... ( Sylar rubs at the back of his neck and affects a nervous laugh. ) ...If you don't mind telling me, that is.