The Cave.
It's cold inside. Like, seriously cold. Like "my-nipples-could-cut-diamond" kind of cold. Oh, and it's pitch dark, too.
Sure, you might get lucky and stumble upon some glowing microorganisms that light up your new dwelling with that soft, bioluminescent glow... but let's be honest: you can't cook a burger on a jellyfish rave. So bring a portable grill instead. You'll need it.
Also, stock up on power banks so your phone flashlight doesn't die mid-doomscrolling. And start thinking now about what you'll do with the bats. Yeah, they're probably not gonna throw you a welcome party. So maybe bake them a cake as a peace offering. Bat cake diplomacy—very underrated survival tactic.
Dragging a wardrobe down into a cave? Yeah, no. I feel your pain. Instead, use the stalactites and stalagmites around you. The ones hanging from the ceiling look like stone fangs, sure, but the ones rising from the floor? Boom. Instant minimalist clothes rack.
Cave ceilings are great for keeping things out—like human attention, nuclear blasts (well... maybe), and the slow, disappointed head-shaking of your parents right before they say:
"We really thought you'd open a law firm in this cave. You've let us down, son."
And that slow, rhythmic drip-drip-drip sound echoing around the chamber? Might drive some people nuts, but not you. To you, it sounds like binaural beats, celestial choirs, and a chill duduk melody straight outta an Armenian spa playlist.
Your eyelids are heavy. You wanna lie down for a bit. You've prepped that trusty fold-out cot, and it's almost comfortable... but damn, it's cold in your subterranean kingdom. What to do?
Here's the pro tip: bring a second robe and layer that sucker over the first one. Voilà. You're now protected from hypothermia and spontaneous Sub-Zero cosplay. Time to drift off and dream.
Dreams of flight. Dreams of escape. Dreams of places you'll float to next.
The Airship.
Planes? Too fast and way too cramped. Hot air balloons? Tiny and terrifying. Helicopters? Honestly, what even are they? A garden shed with a blender on top?
But an airship... mmm. Now that's your jam.
First off, you've got some maneuverability up there. If you catch wind that a region's getting spicy—say, Topol-M missiles from Russia or MK5s from the U.S.—you can just drift away like a tactical cloud. Just don't forget to let the captain know, so he can do the whole "steering away from doom" thing.
And don't be scared to visit the bridge and talk to the guy. He's not a boss fight. You're not gonna plummet to your death. The Hindenburg went down a long time ago, and today's airships are way more modern. Like, they probably have Wi-Fi and everything.
Secondly: airship life is comfortable. It's like an endless cruise in the sky. You chill in your cabin, tap away at mobile games, and eat food that's objectively better than anything you've ever cooked (which is, let's be honest, nothing).
Other passengers will float around you like NPCs in a sky mall, and to make sure they don't knock on your door, just draw a protective pentagram at the threshold and double-check all the locks.
Boom. Social barrier set.
In theory, I'd suggest you just keep buying tickets and hopping from one airship to another—stay ahead of the apocalypse like a nomadic blimp wizard.
Problem is... those tickets? Yeah. They cost money.
And no, you can't just dig a secret burrow into the gondola. They check those before launch. And you're not exactly great at stealth.
So maybe apply for a night shift as a janitor. Wait for everyone to go to sleep, then get to work. Yeah, I know—just thinking about physical labor makes your muscles cry out in protest.
Still... start a blog about your airborne adventures. Could be text, audio, video, or just your inner monologue typed with trembling fingers. Post aesthetic shots through the portholes and snap pics of the retro interiors. The followers will love that and start sending you donations.
And if they don't? Well... start practicing your samba moves for the next Brazilian carnival.
Oh, by the way—remember that amazing steampunk outfit you bought for a 19th-century Victorian LARP that you never made it to because you caught a cold?
It's finally your moment.
Other kinds of roleplay? Yeah, those are too spicy for you. You get shy. But this one? Throw it on with pride when you board that dirigible!
I guarantee you (okay, I'm lying) the navigator will be thrilled and let you ride for free, and the flight attendants will totally take fashion notes.
So yeah—air is your element, oh mighty wind mage.
Or... shall we dabble in another element next? You brought this on yourself.