Baileigh Solis

Never in her adult life had Baileigh been a shy person. The awkward and often painful environment of high school aside, she was the sort of person who could meet someone and, in five or ten minutes' conversation, could form a strong and lasting friendship, no matter what walk of life said person came from. She liked people, all people. She liked talking, about anything. Therefore, she liked talking to all kinds of people, about anything.

None of which anyone watching her tonight would be able to guess, as she'd spent the beginning of the evening staring at her drinks and making idle chit-chat about the weather, or Mohinder and how he was doing, or the presidential race that she'd paid absolutely no attention to but people usually liked to talk about politics, didn't they? All of which had killed, maybe, fifteen minutes and one drink. Now that all of that had been exhausted, she was left staring at the watery iceless remnants of her tequila and tonic and clutching for something, anything to say.

Frustration and embarrassment finally kicked in, and on some level she welcomed both. They made her babble, and at least if she was babbling, she was saying something. "I'm usually much better company," she confessed, half-mumbling into her drink before tossing back what little was left in the glass. "Really. I...make conversation. I have things to say. I'm...cheerful! I make jokes, I tell funny stories, I...can think of halfway decent topics of conversation, I'm just..." She blew a strand of hair out of her face, gazed down at her woefully empty glass for a moment, then back up at Sylar. "...just not really running a hundred percent right now, and I swear, on the soul of my grandmother and I really, really did love my grandmother so I promise when I swear on her immortal soul I'm very, very serious, it has...nothing, at all. To do with you. I promise."