@flood0
Eventually, Waylon makes it out of the ‘Sea of Nectar’, via the train. He tries not to think too hard about the view out the window between the seas, all empty space and bright pinpricks of stars in the far distance, the sun burning hot and bright behind him. There will be time to deal with that- or, if there’s not and he wakes up at home, it won’t matter. The ‘Sea of Tranquility’ seems a likely enough place to find some peace, and so that’s where he gets off, glad to leave the vastness of space behind.
It’s like a woodland, and that’s pleasant enough that Waylon finds his tension easing a little. Still, there’s too many people at the heart of it all, and he drifts soon enough towards the outskirts, and then further out, into the woods. He’s no tracker, no cartographer, no navigator, and he knows it- he follows the straightest path he possibly can, knowing that when he tires of wandering out in the quiet of the trees, he’ll want to be able to turn back around and make a beeline for the station.
It’s peaceful, out here. Waylon walks for what feels like hours- where he expects the forest to end eventually, to peter out, it doesn’t, just stretches on and on. He thinks about Lisa, the boys, wonder if they’re worried about them- hopes that his contact is helping them with their moves, maybe helping them settle into a new home, under protection. Murkoff will have no reason to keep targeting them, when they realize he’s really gone. He doesn’t even realize, for a while, that he has the camcorder open- not recording, but it’s up like he is. He snaps it shut nervously, decides it’s time to turn back around.
Except... except he takes a straight line, and he walks at the same speed, and he cannot for the life of him get out of the forest. Time seems to lose meaning, and he wonders... where- where did he get turned around? He’s just starting to truly lean into the panic of it, thighs and sides burning from the brisk walk he’s been doing, lungs aching, when there’s a shout, echoing strangely off the trees, source unseen.
Waylon does exactly what comes naturally to him- he bolts.
Right into someone else as they burst out from behind a tree, and he makes the singularly least dignified sound of terror, falling back onto his ass and scrambling to push himself to his feet again.
Oh please be sane-
“Sorry!” He gasps, shaking, readying himself to dodge, to run, fingers tight on his camcorder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you- uh- do- do you know the way back to the train station-”
Be normal, Waylon. He looks fine.
