At exactly 3:47 in the morning, Elliott was stirred from their slumber by the shaking of their bed. They valiantly attempted to ignore this, but it was soon joined by the sound of something tapping on the window with increasing force, followed by the breaking of glass. At this, Elliott was forced to relinquish the comfort of sleep, snapping to a state of full consciousness much faster than is generally advisable.
Their hanging plant swung on it’s hanger, no longer hindered by the window glass, which it had broken. After a moment of disorientation, Elliott realized that the entire room was shaking, and not just from a passing truck. They probed their mind in search of all of the earthquake preparedness information they’d learned in their years spent living in the Cascadia subduction zone, and came up empty.
When an earthquake hits while one is indoors, it is generally advised that one get under a desk or table for protection, or failing that, stand in a door frame. Elliott did none of these things, though in their defense, the only table they owned was a low coffee table. Instead of taking cover, they got out of bed and began to make their way towards Puck’s apartment.
By the time they made it to the bedroom door, they’d come to the conclusion that walking was too difficult, and so they began to crawl. From the living room they could hear the smashing of dishes in the kitchen, as they slid off of the cupboard shelves. Their television slowly drifted towards the edge of its stand, before face planting onto the floor.
Elliott only halfway registered the destruction of most of their earthly possessions as they reached the front door of the apartment and began scrambling towards Puck’s door. In the hallway, they shielded the back of their head with one arm as one by one, the ceiling tiles were shaken loose.
“Shit!” they exclaimed, as one of them clipped their shoulder.
They arrived at Puck’s door, which was never locked, and pushed it open, falling over the threshold in the process.
“Puck!” they bellowed, but there was no response. Still on all fours, they made their way across the living room to the bedroom door. Using the doorframe for support, they pulled themself up before opening the door and staggering over to the bed.
The god was asleep, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and a troubled look on his face. He appeared to be in the midst of a fever dream.
“Puck, wake up!” Elliott cried as they shook him by the shoulder. Puck groaned, furrowing his brow. “Wake up!” they repeated, gently slapping the god’s face.
Puck stirred and slowly opened one eye, which seemed to look through Elliott and off into the distance somewhere. The shaking of the building gradually slowed.
“Ugh,” Puck groaned, rolling onto his back. “What happened now?
“Well,” began Elliott, who wished to soften the blow, but also didn’t know how to do that, “there was a bit of an earthquake. But on the other hand, it looks like you can sleep, after all.”
“Oh, well that’s a relief,” Puck said with a roll of his eyes. Then the gravity of the situation dawned on him, and he abruptly sat up to give Elliott a serious look. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, I’m fine. Just a bit alarmed. What about you, are you alright? You’re sweating,” they added with disbelief.
“It does look that way. Feels disgusting, to be honest, but I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, it’s not my favorite bodily function. Can I use your phone?”
“Of course.” Puck handed over his phone, which he hadn’t even set up with a PIN.
Elliott began searching for information on the earthquake, which at this point consisted of a small, but growing number of social media posts. Even without an official estimation, it quickly became clear that the effects had been felt all over town, and that quite a bit of destruction had been caused. Puck watched as the color drained from their face.
“I’m sorry, I need to go make some calls,” they said, getting up from the bed.
“Of course.”
“You sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. Go check on your friends,” said Puck, having correctly guessed Elliott’s intent.
“Thanks,” said Elliott, and handed the phone back before leaving.
Alone again, Puck began to do his own research. The local news outlets were starting to publish articles on the magnitude 7 earthquake which had hit the town. His eyes grew wide as he read through accounts of collapsed buildings, fallen trees, and fires started by broken gas lines.
Puck was not unused to the trail of destruction which tended to follow him, but this time he’d been so careful. Ever since moving into Elliott’s building, he had left the premises in secret each night to release his built up power, far from his beloved prophet. The strategy had been working decently, until this bizarre sickness had come over him.
He had gotten lucky this time: Elliott hadn’t been hurt. But how would they see him if their friends had been harmed, thanks to Puck’s carelessness? A vision of Koralia’s face came to him, like a ghost sent through the centuries to haunt him. He recalled as vividly as if it had happened yesterday how she had looked at him with such anger and betrayal.
The god knew what he had to do. It had always been he who had needed Elliott, but now the best thing for his dear human friend was for Puck to simply disappear, before any more harm could be done. That was one thing that Puck knew how to do well.
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