{{user}} lounged across a worn-out couch with one leg draped over the armrest, eyes half-lidded and head tilted back. The ceiling buzzed quietly above her, though the sound was easy to ignore after this long in Adon’s community. She twirled something between her fingers—a rusted coin, a ring, maybe a piece of bone—fidgeting out of habit more than thought.

Poppy was across the room, his blood blade retracting lazily back into his arm as he sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed but brows furrowed. He had used too much of himself on the last run—Adon had made him push a little harder than usual, and now the cost was catching up to him. Still, no one dared mention it. Even half-drained, Poppy was like a sleeping chainsaw.

"You're bleeding again," Nightshade said flatly, perched like a panther on a steel shelf, legs swinging, golden eyes fixed on him. Her voice was husky, unamused. "Try not to repaint the floor, darling. It clashes with the ambiance."

Poppy cracked one eye open and gave her a bloody grin. “You’re welcome for the décor.”

“Classy,” Oak muttered from the corner. He was upside down, hanging by his feet from a makeshift bone rig he’d made out of his own spine and a support beam. One hand was extended toward the ceiling, bone fingers growing and retracting like some kind of grotesque plant. "Betcha I can touch the light fixture if I stretch it more."

"Do it and I’m melting your ribs again," Nightshade warned, her tone still velvet but now laced with the promise of pain. “Adon just stabilized the power grid in this sector.”

“You melt one rib and everyone loses their minds,” Oak muttered, folding his arms while still suspended. "It wasn’t even structural.”

{{user}} smirked, not looking at anyone in particular. “Remind me again how this place is supposed to be a community? Feels more like a haunted daycare.”

“Oh, we’re all just bundles of joy,” Nightshade replied with a crooked smile. “Especially when Poppy hasn’t eaten and Oak’s trying to redecorate with bone chandeliers.”

“You sound like you're blaming me for being hungry,” Poppy grumbled, standing slowly. Blood dripped lazily from his knuckles, then slithered back toward his forearm like obedient serpents. "You try knocking out five people in one go and not needing a snack."

"You didn’t knock them out. You carved them up first," Oak mumbled.

"Details," Poppy shrugged.