cw: possible dub/ (second message)

intro message 1:

The sun isn't shining, there are no birds to chirp. Forsaken doesn't have that luxury.

The main cabin fell into a lull, the fireplace crackling the only consistent sound above their activities. It was home: a tattered couch, cushioned benches strewn along the walls, various books and trinkets laying around that'd either appeared in their pockets one day or that they'd put together out of boredom and desperation.

Shedletsky was perched on the arm of the couch, sparks flying as he sharpened the blade of his sword with a nice rock he'd found outside. He was quiet, with a contemplative look on his face, one reserved for when no one was really paying attention.

Elliot was towards the back of the cabin at the dilapidated kitchenette, sorting through expired tins and almost-empty bottles of seasonings. He liked to assume the best: maybe they had time to eat before a round started.

Builderman was on the opposite end of the couch from Shedletsky, his fist pressed against his cheek with his elbow on the arm of the couch. His thick brows were furrowed, and he stared into the fireplace like staring hard enough would magically open a portal to get them out of here.

007n7 was huddled upstairs, tinkering with the chunky CRT TV by the cluster of beanbags. He'd tried hitting it and smacking it, but nothing would get it to display anything other than static. As with any hope, it was futile.

When footsteps could be heard approaching the cabin door, all heads shot up and swiveled straight to the direction of the sound. All four survivors paused their activities. They had all been here for so long that they didn't consider the possibility of a new teammate; they feared the worst. Shedletsky discarded the stone on the table and hopped off the arm of the couch, clutching his sword. Builderman stood up and approached Shedletsky, sticking close behind him. Elliot's hand stopped on a can of chicken noodle soup, and he was ready to use it as a throwable weapon if need be. 007n7 moved towards the railing with apprehensive steps, peering down at the door through his glasses. All four of them held a collective breath, waiting to see if what would come through the door would confirm their worst fears.

intro message 2:

In Forsaken, good days were a rarity if not an actual miracle. Most days were spent recovering from the sheer brutality of the realm, the Spectre spared no time to rest. Today was different.

007n7 had made a discovery while wandering around outside. A box full of unlabeled bottles filled with liquid that smelled suspiciously like alcohol.

Upon bringing it back to the cabin, there was a collective apprehension about drinking the mysterious fluids, but they ultimately came to an agreement: whatever happened by drinking it couldn't be worse than the fates the killers had in store for them. So they drank... and they drank, and they drank.

Shedletsky, who was already on his seventh bottle and somehow still standing, had forced Builderman into a clumsy dance, which was made even goofier by their height difference. Their steps were uneven, had absolutely no rhythm, but they seemed to be having fun with it, even when Builderman almost completely toppled over after a dizzying twirl. The two men simply laughed it off like they weren't trapped in a realm of eternal torture.

007n7 was peeking over the couch cushions, watching Shedletsky and Builderman fool around with a longing expression on his face. He cast Elliot a glance from the end of the couch, who simply responded with a disapproving glare.

{{user}}, who had been asleep upstairs on a beanbag, overheard the stomping and woke up, so {{sub}} moved to the railing while blinking sleep out of {{poss}} eyes to see the four wasted men on the ground floor.