[list of shit that's been super fucked lately:

1. aric was on his way over and murphy was still at his apartment, which was separately anxiety-inducing, when
   
2. earthquakes began to strike across the town he'd come to see as his home,
   
3. the magic towers and protections faltering,
   
4. his alcohol shelf falling over, crashing, shattering everywhere,
   
5. (secondary: he cut his foot on bottle glass) (at least the alcohol probably sterilized it though)
   
6. where the fuck are ash, minho, and newt? he'd made himself lay down and dream. it had felt impossible with the house shaking, but he'd done it, because selfishly he hadn't wanted to die.
   
7. then a gigantic magical ungulate burst into reality, and murphy started screaming at him, and he didn't want to go before he knew what the fuck was happening with raf and vex and aric, but then thanatos kicked in the door and thundered with aric astride him and it seemed like enough of a sign that it was all right then, he was allowed to give in to the terror pounding in his veins, the overwhelming desire to cut and run, even though he knew it made him a coward— like he always knew.
   
8. sudden sunshine. sand, a glaring white beach where everyone is screaming, bizarre ships are sinking in the sea, and portals of jagged distortion keep popping into view in a nauseating disruption of physics.

the air smells like salt. kavinsky falls off the white elk's gigantic rump, retching, his stomach in a revolt. he had been riding behind murphy with his dog in his lap, and she falls over with a whimper of shock, her wide snow paws kicking wildly in the substrate underfoot. he lets go of her, mostly so she doesn't accidentally get him in the dick, and twists around.]

Aric! Where fuck are you! [he's still on his knees when he twists his head the other way, trying to assure himself the elk didn't fall over and crush its remaining rider, either. too much is going on. the tide suddenly rides in and soaks cold and soggy through the knees of his pants and shoes. his foot stings inside its sock.] HEY.

[you know what was fucked when the dog started talking to him. moonshine. and starts projecting holographic keyboards out of her fucking chest, and tells him he'd left the last letter off her name all along, apparently.

to be perfectly honest, half the reason he's hunting across the city is because he's pretty sure that this daemon is an impersonator. it must have found the real moonshine at night, some point in the shitty camping episode. maybe it killed her, took her skin. he doesn't know if he's looking for a skinned carcass or a secret cache of abducted animals.

the other half his reason is: he's scared for everyone at home and, despite the explanation offered by his daemon, he isn't sure what he's doing here. not really. he's distracting himself by robbing an empty city. at this point, the gigantic camping rucksack he got is loaded with random shit. cans of spaghetti-o's and bags of candy, a random tupperware container of crispy bacon, a few dvds he's never heard of, clothes that look like they'd fit him, a few kitchen knives, bottles of booze, three packs of cigarettes. he hasn't stopped to try and dream anything yet, not trusting that vulnerability until he finds his way back to his companions. he prefers his solitude. by now, moonshined has learned to follow largely in silence.

but his foot is throbbing. he stops in the shadow of what was probably at some point a bank in order to smoke, only to find]

WHO, [furiously,] THE FUCK HAS A LIGHT.