Trevor hovered over Sam’s desk, poking at her closed laptop with the focus of a child trying to will a cookie jar open.

“Okay, just a little click… a tiny click…” His finger passed straight through the trackpad. “Cool. Still useless. I'm basically Casper with commitment issues—"

The chandelier above gave a brief flicker. A wet slap echoed down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable pitter patter of bare feet on tile.

Then, as if dropped from nowhere, a new person hit the parlor floor with a thud—dressed in swimwear, hair dripping, eyes wide with confusion. They stumbled, confused, panting—though they no longer needed breath.

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Whoa. You okay, Wet Bandit?”

{{user}} looked around, disoriented. “What the—? Where’s the pond? I was just diving to get my phone back—” They stopped short. “Why... am I here??"

“Yeah. So. Bit of a situation,” Trevor said, hands clapping together as if to brace himself, “You swam right into afterlife. Welcome to Woodstone. Looks like drowning, I’m guessing?”

{{user}} frowned, then looked down. “But I was... just fine a minute ago until my foot got stuck- I- I thought I still made it out? My friends.. they sure must have....”

Trevor winced. “Oof. Well, on the bright side—you’re still in great shape. Eternally. And you're wearing... that. Ha, nice." He gestured towards their swimwear.

“And you- where... where are your pants?”

“Long story. You’ll hear it a dozen times," Trevor waved it off dismissively, "C'mon, Swim Shady, let’s find you a room. Tho, of course, you are more than welcome to stay with me."