exit, stage e a s t

[ open scene: a quiet night, the sun long since set, the night air finally cool, and mo ran alone in his tent. ah, blissful peace, some modicum of comfort after a long day trekking the dunes, and mo ran— rash and foolhardy, makes use of a special treasure he discovered. (or perhaps it is something the sand provided to him, laughing at the misfortune sure to come.)

all is quiet, except for a moan, hastily broken off, and then: the sounds of a swarm. a legion of small, fluttering locusts, their wings buzzing. they come from nowhere, from the sand itself, and disturb nothing in camp, except for one specific tent: mo ran.

the swarm descends and the peace around his tent is shattered as he yelps and curses the heavens. scrambling can be heard in the tent, as though a fierce fight is underway, and a minute later, a new video appears on the network.

normally cheerful, with a smile bright enough to charm any young maiden, dimples to please the aunties, and bright eyes, he looks different that night, his eyes a little darker, annoyance lingering at the corners and in the twist of his lips. around him swarm the locusts, and any attempt at batting them away s futile. more simply appear. ]

How the fu— how do I get rid of locusts? Never had to deal with something like this before.

[ a brief scramble and then he darts out of his tent, the camera shaking some. he's half dressed, hair down, and barefoot as he makes his way out. for a moment, he looks relieved, brightening up, the locusts have forsaken him, he can beg another tent possibly. but alas, that is not the case: within moments, the locusts are back, swarming around him. ]

Fucking hell, [ he mutters, and tries to brush away the locusts again, running a little further away from his tent in hopes of dislodging them. ] Can I set these stupid things on fire?

[ they're in his hair, and— what's that, are those locusts trying to get into his pants?— so maybe fire isn't the best option. ]