Closed RP: The Morgan-Petrelli Tent
Damn, he had gotten dressed up for this? Surprise marriage?
Still, Peter Petrelli was hardly a man to fight fate - he tended to run face first into it - so he just calmly collected himself and headed down to the tent village. At least, by the looks of the rather large crowd, he wasn't the only person roped into this.
Tent 31, when he finally found it, was pretty much a replica of every other tent around it, but it seemed to be... nice enough.
Scrubbing his hair loose of gel, Peter heaved a sigh, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and trying to loosen his tie. He really pitied the poor person that had been randomly married to him. Ever since talking with Nathan a few days ago, Peter hadn't been in the best mood. To say that he'd been sulking in his room wasn't an exaggeration - he had, and he hadn't left since this evening.
On top of a small pile of his stuff, sitting in the corner, Peter spied his sketchpad and grimaced slightly. One of the more recent drawings was of a striking redheaded woman; he'd had no idea what he was drawing at the time. Maybe that was relevant.
Oh well, nothing to be done for it now. Abandoning his sketchbook, Peter wandered back outside - snorted briefly at the hot-tub - and settled down to sit cross-legged at the edge of it, fiddling absently with his tie. Now to wait and see what poor soul ended up with him.
Still, Peter Petrelli was hardly a man to fight fate - he tended to run face first into it - so he just calmly collected himself and headed down to the tent village. At least, by the looks of the rather large crowd, he wasn't the only person roped into this.
Tent 31, when he finally found it, was pretty much a replica of every other tent around it, but it seemed to be... nice enough.
Scrubbing his hair loose of gel, Peter heaved a sigh, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and trying to loosen his tie. He really pitied the poor person that had been randomly married to him. Ever since talking with Nathan a few days ago, Peter hadn't been in the best mood. To say that he'd been sulking in his room wasn't an exaggeration - he had, and he hadn't left since this evening.
On top of a small pile of his stuff, sitting in the corner, Peter spied his sketchpad and grimaced slightly. One of the more recent drawings was of a striking redheaded woman; he'd had no idea what he was drawing at the time. Maybe that was relevant.
Oh well, nothing to be done for it now. Abandoning his sketchbook, Peter wandered back outside - snorted briefly at the hot-tub - and settled down to sit cross-legged at the edge of it, fiddling absently with his tie. Now to wait and see what poor soul ended up with him.