Two pairs of pants, torn to shreds.

Looking down at yourself, you don't see the expected denim front of your jeans. Instead, it's just the regrettably bright-red cotton of your boxer-briefs, contouring a bit tighter than you'd like to the contents underneath. The tattered remains of your jeans are in three parts- the bulk of them still stuck in tatters on what used to be the basement stairs, and two cuffs around your ankles.

It takes you a second to even register your own state of undress, though, as looking at Isabella, she's in a similar predicament. Her black leggings offered even less resistance to the splintered wood, the thin fabric in thin strips only slightly lower on the stairs than the remains of your jeans. For a second she sits there stunned, legs wide open, showing you a remarkably small pink triangle of fabric between her long, tan legs. You feel the front of your boxer-briefs start to strain and quickly cover up; with a short, sharp shriek, Isabella does the same.

"Are you three okay?" Sasha shouts down from the upper floor- evidently she and Jeanette decided not to risk the stairs any further.

"No!" Isabella shouts, glaring at Astrid, before struggling to her feet. She turns herself slightly to the side- not enough to show you much of her backside, but from the look you got at her hip you don't think there's much covered behind her. She sees you staring and her harsh expression softens slightly, or at least turns a bit to amusement, as she raises an eyebrow with a smirk and glances down at your own half-dressed lower half.

"Shit, guys, I'm sorry," Astrid says, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly.

"Well, gee, thanks," you mutter, "what were you thinki--"

"Guys!" Jeanette shouts down from above, "we're going to see if we can find a ladder or some rope or something, just sit tight." You shuffle angrily, and glancing at the two girls with you, you try to hang on until then-- or does something down in the basement catch someone's eye?