I Like the Ladies
Author's Note: This came to me when I thought about the line 'mysterious falling kid' in one of the books I'm reading now and whether Isaac was a Terry Pratchett fan. Yeah, again with the mushy weird brain. Has slash, although in really minor doses
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
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"Me, I like the ladies."
Peter looked at Isaac through bleary eyes. What was the guy on about? How had he missed an entire piece of the conversation? He wasn't that drunk.
"Yeah," Sylar sniggered. His drink spilled a bit but he didn't notice. "They're either blonde and scared or remind everyone of Peter." He fell slowly off his chair, giggling.
Isaac looked affronted. "Hey, now..." He blinked and tried to remember what he'd been about to say. "Why, why, why does everyone think that? I mean, would anyone like, like, like to hear the real version of how those paintings came about?"
Mohinder banged the table, hurting his hand in the process. "Hear, hear," he said and then belatedly mumbled, "Ow." Matt took his hand and kissed it. He smiled sleepily and then drifted slowly off into dreamland. His head hit the table with a louder bump than his hand had made.
Isaac looked over at them and then sniffed. Yeah, he definitely liked the ladies. Didn't anyone remember Simone? "Okay..." He frowned. What was it...? Oh, yes. "The night before I painted that..." He gestured at the picture of a man who looked remarkably like Peter falling out of the sky. "...I had been reading far too much Terry Pratchett books and there was this one, one, one particular line..." He sniggered at the memory and then resumed his train of thought although not after at least five minutes of trying to remember what he'd been saying. "Anyway, add that to my drugs and, and, and you get..." He gestured to the painting again.
He shook his head. Not a good idea. He laid it gently on the table. "I don't understand why people think I can paint the future." His tone was mournful. "It's not my fault everyone has a fascination with Peter and that they see him everywhere!"
Peter, who had been staring intensely at the painting Isaac had gestured to, suddenly yelled, "My nose is not that big! How can people think my nose is that big?" Everyone groaned and clutched their heads, except Mohinder who was by now snoring peacefully.
Sylar, from his position on the floor, patted the only part of Peter's anatomy he could: his foot. "Because it is, sweetie." He groaned softly. "Now take me home. I think I'm drunk."
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And that is my weird mushy brain.
Review please.