Semi-Open RP - in ur tent, harassin' ur gurlfrend
The tents were disgusting. Thick layers of dust and scattered furniture. Used at some earlier space in time too, Sylar was fairly sure. He had gotten dressed up and everything? ...For this? A fake marriage. To... some oncologist who took an extreme liking in checking his hair in the mirror. Not a bad guy. Pretty nice. Just... boring. Insignificant, in the scale of things.
In short, Sylar needed to get away from the home and the wife.
At least he wasn't the only one in this humiliation. There was an entire tent village, of people who had been... surprise-married or... whatever you would call this chaos. About a hundred people, he would wager. A hundred people shouting in their tents and elevating heart rates and general turmoil. Sylar hated it. Every last bit of this, weddings and all. The general public wreaking havoc onto his hearing. Why couldn't he be back in Bitchiwitch? Where he was just about the only house member and nobody bothered him.
Peter Petrelli hadn't escaped the madness, he'd noted. Sylar hadn't seen him in a while, not since their last little mishap, with the man ending up with three feet of steel through his forehead. And Sylar had barely even had time to admire his artwork, before his brother, that congressman, had gotten all high and mighty, trying to stop him. Nathan Petrelli didn't scare Sylar. Him or his connections. Peter was still entirely fair game.
So. Escaping the... House of Duckwaffle. Whatever that meant. He'd rid of the suit, at least, in favor of his almost uniform t-shirt, jeans, and slightly spooky, long, black coat. Peter Petrelli was due for a visit.
These tents were insultingly easy to get into, at least. He could just... walk in.