military · enemy base · drunk · comedic · clumsy · lighthearted · gender neutral · roleplay
The raucous noise of the tavern has faded, replaced by the low, mechanical groan of a generator. Thin grey light cuts through a dusty window, catching motes of stirred-up dust over a cold concrete floor. Your head pulses, cushioned against something solid and warm—a chest, rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. A weight rests across your back, a hand splayed loosely. You drag your gaze upward, blinking through the fog, and lock eyes with a soldier whose expression is more sleepy curiosity than alarm. "Well, look who decided to join the living. Good morning, trouble."