Sylar's Alone Time - Open Post

[powerhunger]

Sylar had inspected his room thoroughly; nothing interesting resided there. Obviously he couldn't go around killing people like he usually did; he had to be discreet. These damn heroes were over the place. You could barely walk down the hallway without bumping into one of them, or some random little British talking cartoon baby.

Sylar had seen weird

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[chronicfuckup]

On the days when he's gotten bored with the hotel Saul has trekked out with a baggie of weed and some rolling papers tucked in his pocket, wandering around the island until he finds a sufficiently scenic place to sit and smoke. Today, he's been bored with the hotel and is sitting on top of the crag, cross-legged with a roach in his fingers. As soon as Sylar drives up he coughs, blinking and squinting, and strains his eyes against the sun to speak to him.

"Hey, you shouldn't drive like that, man! Jesus, that's dangerous."

[powerhunger]

Sylar looks over at the shabbily-dressed man sitting on the crag, and the smell quickly rolls over to him on the currents of the air.

He almost smiles, then figures there was nothing on this island he could really expect, so he may as well take everything in stride.

He nodded at him. "There don't seem to be that many people around. Did I startle you?"

[chronicfuckup]

"Nah, it's fine. You just gotta be careful." He shifts on the rocks, holding the joint in his lap as if that'll make what he's doing less obvious. "Do you know how many people die falling off things every year? Like, a lot."

[powerhunger]

"I wasn't going to go hurtling off the cliffs, so don't worry about that," Sylar says. "What are you doing out here if you're so scared of falling off...things?"