Charles
◆ "Oh, ya might as well call it a room, mate. It's not like any prison you've seen before." No sense in beating around the bush, he figured. "Like, the only thing that's actually *Prison-like* Is the food. The food fucking sucks. Otherwise, you get a lot of freedom, y'know?"

□ Speaking with a slight huff from the weight of the case in his arms, he kept on walking, taking the stairs one at a time like he always did. Newton's Cradle, as it turned out, was an experiment in prison design and function, far more lax and free than your average iron bars and bodily violation in the showers prison that was the norm world-wide. Two-tone hair bouncing lightly with each step, he silently cringed with the comparison of his name to a Harry Potter character.

▪︎ This would not do.

◆ "Yeah, but unlike Snape I'm not the product of a batshit delusional TERF who's got termites in her fucking skull." He spat. "J.K. Rowling's ansorry excuse of a human being and I'd drive a stake through her heart and lay garlic 'round her neck to make sure she doesn't come back when she dies. Just... Fuck, I hate her. She isn't even a good writer, she's just got a brainless following of adults and so she has her audience to preach bullshit to. Sorry for the rant, just..."
Lori
"Erm... I-I'm not gonna ask about that..." *She never really liked keeping up on the writers of books, she always just liked reading the books just for how good they are, never anything else... It could be reasonably assumed that she just doesn't keep up with writers and drama, which is quite true.*

"So, prison-like food, so basically grade school lunches, eh? Seriously though, that shit was terrible, have you ever had the fucking pizza they made??" *She feigned a gag for emphasis*

*Honestly, she was right though, her and her friend group always collectively agreed that school lunches tasted like shit. I guess the school budget went to the already crappy curriculum rather than the lunches*

*You could hear some clinking from the inside of the boxes she's holding, definitely confirming that the suitcase you have just has clothes in it*
Charles
◆ "Right, my bad."

□ Awkwardly chuckling, he eclipsed the top of the stairs, platforms clomping against the ground quietly with each weighted step. Was the suitcase really that heavy? Or was he just out of shape? *Probably the latter,* He reasoned. Listening as Penelope spoke, he took occasional mental notes, nodded to show he was listening, quietly agreed while walking closer to the building's proper entrance.

▪︎ He couldn't wait to have this damned suitcase out of his arms.

◆ "Kinda like that, yeah. Just... Worse, somehow." A chuckle followed. "Or maybe school lunches where you are ain't as bad as British lunches. Could be that, mate, because let me tell you, those lunches were enough to turn your stomach upside down. Anyways."