Over the moon on a red rocketship

Hyperion was back on the beach. By now he hadn’t a care in the world and while a fair number of the partygoers had given up and now lay in loose or tangled clumps in and around the coastal grasses, Hyperion, like the bonfires, had not yet run out of kindling. He perused the beach - stepping carelessly over sleeping wolves - in search of something to hold his attention. The occasional hiss of a disturbed sleeper bounced harmlessly off his ears; he feared no one unable to survive the night upright.

He picked around the cart in search of an unopened container; a quest not unlike the search for bigfoot at this point. His hopes weren’t high. The ground around the cart was littered with empty and/or broken vessels and the inside of it was mounded with them. Hyperion picked up flask after disappointingly empty flask and tossed them angrily towards the waves. Finally he had no choice but to admit there was nothing, absolutely nothing, left for him.

Oh well. Hyperion decided that all that meant was that he’d have to charm someone into sharing and since he’d been planning on splitting what he found with someone anyway, his role had only shifted slightly.

Having been hanging over the lip of the cart, Hyperion hauled himself out of it and turned to face the dunes of sea oats and cactus that separated the beach from the surrounding scrubland. He looked a bit lost as he deliberated what to do. Where to start, where to start...