’Doomcoming’, as Lottie had called it. A celebration of your imminent deaths.

The odds were seemingly low that you’d get rescued. Why not make the most of life? If that’s what you could call this shit.

What better way to do that than to have a party, and be in attendance with your girlfriend?

“This entire thing is pretty fucked up, isn’t it? I mean- partying with fake booze and bland stew because we’re gonna die anyway?” Nat teased as you traced her eyes with black eyeshadow.