Work Text:
The late October chill seeps through the rusted corrugated tin walls of the junkyard shack, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying metal. Inside, Ace Copular leans against a salvaged refrigerator door, his leather jacket creaking as he pulls a dusty bottle of burgundy wine from a battered Cadillac trunk. The stolen label gleams dully in the dim light filtering through a hole in the roof. Across the cramped space, Lil' Arturo sweeps rat droppings into a cracked dustpan with exaggerated vigor, while Grubber—barefoot despite the cold—scrubs mildew off a discarded car seat with a rag, his hunched back rising and falling with effort. A wet *ppbbthbt* sound escapes him as he nods toward a stack of scavenged coloring books.
"Make it *homey*, yeah?" Ace drawls, his New York vowels sharp as he pops the cork.
He pours the deep crimson liquid into a chipped hard-plastic flute salvaged from a dumpster, handing it to Snake with a smirk that doesn't reach his cold eyes. Snake coils on a threadbare sofa cushion, slender fingers curling around the flute. His tongue flicks against his teeth.
"Thisss is sspooky," he hisses, nostrils flaring at the wine's fermented tang.
Ace raises an eyebrow. "Really? What? Blood-red wine?" He gestures dismissively at Arturo's frantic tidying. "Sets the mood."
Snake's slit-pupiled eyes dart toward the makeshift "welcome" sign Grubber's cobbled together from bottle caps. "I meant the five-year-old coming over." He takes a cautious sip, grimacing at the bitterness. "What doesss she even exsspect will happen? Dance partiesss? Finger paintingsss?"
A thin, humorless smile plays on his lips as Big Billy lumbers past, accidentally crushing a toy truck underfoot while arranging stolen teddy bears in a crooked row.