~ Mural woke up in an alley. He sat up and surveyed his surroundings. He was leaning against a dumpster, half unconscious in an alley. He quickly checked his bag. Yep, he had everything. His ponytail came undone so he took one of the hair ties from his backpack(he couldn’t put them around his wrists, that made them hurt way worse than they already did) and put his hair in a bun. He looked at his reflection in a piece of broken glass. It kind of scared him at first. He hadn’t realized how much he looked like Marco until now. Mural tensed and got up. He heard sirens in the distance. He probably fell from two or three feet above the ground and made a crashing sound when he teleported, and didn’t know how long he was out. Someone could’ve called the cops on him because they saw him unconscious in the alley or something. He zipped up his backpack, took out his phone, put it in his hoodie pocket, and started walking. Ah. So he was near a city. Just had to get there first. He had his wallet on him, but

-no freaking ID. Good. He couldn’t be known as who he was. He had to think of a new name. And he started to spiral again as he kept walking. They might track him. If they found him, Out. Kicked. Killed. Done. And what about Marco? He felt bad for leaving him. And why did he keep thinking about him? He didn’t even know where he himself was, he had more important things to worry about than him, but he couldn’t shake the feelings of remorse and guilt he felt after leaving him, even though Marco was the one who wanted him to run away. It wasn’t like he’d killed him. But, he thought, he had chased him out of all but one mortal realm.. So he either had to hide in his home realm or a magic realm, which tended to be harder to get to, and Marco wasn’t able to go to most magical realms for reasons he’d never told him. Boy, he thought, he’d screwed up bad. Marco was doomed because of him and Marco had ruined everything for himself for him. Mural sighed. He had to keep go

-ing. And he owed Marco his life. And Marco wanted him to keep going and fix things. So he would. ——— Mural collapsed somewhere in the middle of the city. His ankles were bleeding again. He didn’t care, but it hurt like heck. He’d decided he would go by his deceased uncles name. Asriel. He didn’t really look like an Asriel but it worked. Asriel Wheatfield. The last name came from someone he’d met when he was 5. Asriel Wheatfield. That was what he would tell people to call him. Mural got back up. He eventually came across a hotel, got a room, and went to the room, collapsing on his bed. He was so glad he’d decided to bring a wallet. Now he just needed a job. But that could wait. He needed rest, or he’d pass out from exhaustion, so he closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy but well needed sleep. ~

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