Megan
It was an antenna hanging out of the second floor lounge, and it was a skilled but befuddled operator on its receiving end.

Akvilė sat by one of the west windows, surrounded in wires and tinkering with a piece of antiquated tech perched in her lap. Between the wires running out of the window and the wires surrounding her and the odd electronica playing from her cellphone there was a certain air in the lounge as she worked, her expression focused and a little frustrated. Anyone with ears could've figured out what she was apparently so annoyed over.

With every tiny turn of the frequency knob on her receiver the signal playing through a singular old speaker on the table changed drastically. Occasionally it caught snippets of broadcasts, but mostly the noises were just awful. She had *No* Idea why they were so. The pawnbroker had guaranteed her he'd had it tested, and had demonstrated it by snagging a station from the hills of Greece, yet here in her lap, pressing the pleats of her skirt into her thighs, it was catching more interference than anything else. The whole situation had her confused, and she was attempting to diagnose the issue when a familiar face strolled in.

*Max.* She looks up and softly waves, her expression betraying the perplexing situation with her newest bit of radio tech. 

"Uh... Hi."
Keith
Maxwell is only in the dormitory commons because they're the quickest way for him to get where he needs to go, but when he sees Akvilė by one of the windows, wherever he needed to be suddenly seems a lot less important. He waves at her, beaming.

— "Hey! How's it going?"

He wanders over without waiting for an answer, finds somewhere to sit nearby that doesn't look too expensive to break, and rests his elbows on his knees, pointing at the radio in Akvilė's lap.

— "What's that?"

He's kind of figured out, from the small snippets of broadcasts he can make out, that it's some kind of radio, but the specifics elude him. And what kind of radio sounds *This* Bad, anyway?

— "It sounds broken— Oh no. Did you get ripped off?"
Megan
"It is... Uhm." Soon as her mouth opens it slams shut again, and her expression shifts into a mix of thought and realization that Max is about to sit in her corner. Whether it's translating or finding the words or simply having a moment of panic that slams her to a halt, though, is anyone's guess. She gestures to the receiver and frowns. "Not well? I-I might have, um... Yes, been ripped off, as you– as you say."

Max hadn't waited to take a seat at all; a fact that left Akvilė conflicted. Sure, she'd have *Preferred* Solitude, peace and quiet, a corner for herself and her radio gear and no talking allowed, but she couldn't exactly sulk about it or hide. The lounge, after all, was public, and it was a threshold many passed through on their way from section to section of the concrete monolith she'd found herself trapped in.

Maybe she didn't have room to complain, then. Plus Maxwell, for all his God-loving nonsense, was more of a friend in her eyes than just about anyone at the Cradle– save for Amelie. *I hope she's okay.*

"But, um... It is receiver. Old one. Tuned for..." She snaps her fingers irregularly as the synapses fire, "AM! That is word for it, yes. I-I have shortwave set-up at the cabin but no, uhm... Uh." Quick as she can she digs her phone out, typing about as frantically as she can. "Versatility. Y-yeah, that's word. I wanted to expand so I bought at second-hand store, and, uhm... Yeah."

She twiddles the knob, and a noise not unlike a washing machine entirely full of forks and porcelain plates splits the room asunder. Clearly it was for effect.

"B–but... Um, you are doing well, I hope?"

[I might revise this after work. Depends on if I wanna contrive a logical sway of conversation towards low-frequency or not.]
Keith
— "Oh no. That sucks, I'm sorry."

Maxwell looks at Akvilė with a sympathetic expression — that sort of disappointed look you're given when someone doesn't share your pain, and it isn't really that serious, but they're still trying to convey some amount of sympathy — and shakes his head a little. 

— "You think you can fix it?"

He crouches a little closer to the device, trying to give it a closer look. Not that he really understands what any of the knobs do. But he does poke at a few of the wires — at least the ones that aren't exposed — and tries to listen for any change.

— "Receiver?" Maxwell asks, confused. "AM... Oh, it's a radio. Cool."

He sounds almost bored by it, but neither his facial expression nor his general demeanor corroborate that, seeing as he's still prodding at various different spots on the radio and looking attentively at Akvilė as she speaks.

— "Yeah, I, uh... I guess I'm doing fine." He frowns. "I won't lie, it's pretty lonely around here. I've been here for a pretty long time by now and I feel like I'm only just starting to find people I can hang out with. How about you?"
Megan
Akvilė hums in agreement and shakes her head softly.

"Yeah." She plainly replies, looking down at the receiver as she speaks. Eye contact isn't her forté, but talking about her interests *Is.* "I-I may be able to fix. But it, um... It would require much I don't have. Wire, or... Um. Solder. Yes. An-and stuff for wiring." She continues, twisting the knob once more as she speaks and being met with another chorus of squawks and shrieks. Her expression shifts into one of defeat, and she looks up at Max as she sets the receiver onto the adjacent table. 

Max, however, kept talking, and once she'd set the receiver down and was satisfied it wouldn't blast noise across the second floor again she turned her full attention towards him, and what he was saying. She already saw him in a sense as a younger brother, and listening to the meek lad speak in lonesome terms stirred something in her. 

Maybe it was empathy; she too, after all, had been at the Cradle for months and still could count her friends on one hand, and she too was lonesome beyond words. That particular thought was stuffed down as she shifted in her chair slightly, switching the criss-cross of her legs as if she could crush the near-constant longing with such a motion. It didn't help that he turned the question on her. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. Whatever thoughts she'd been mulling over were gone out the window and in their place was Akvilė, put on the spot, nervously shifting.

"Oh. Um... I-I understand." There's a tone to her voice, somewhat wistful and clearly coming from someone who related. "They, uh... Rip you from home, an-and send you far. It's... No good. You especially. Y-you are, um... Young, an-and." Her mouth finds the shape of her words, but the cracks in her lips warp it from musing to a flash of true colour. "Leaving nest is... It is scary. I know."

She falls quiet, looking at the wall and swallowing spit.
-

"B-but, uhm... It is nice to hear. Friends are good, yes. And I have been OK. I-I guess. Much time in wilderness. Set one solar panel yesterday, and, um... It– it is miraculous that we can harness sun's strength for our use. One notch up the... The Kardashev. Yeah. Forgot for moment."
-
Keith
Maxwell listens attentively and keeps his mouth shut. He could ask all sorts of questions — he doesn't entirely understand what Akvilė means by "The carded shiv" Or what exactly she's setting solar panels for, it's all very confusing — but he decides it's better not to. None of it strikes him as important.

He does get curious about the radio, though. Having seen Akvilė turn the knobs and flip the switches, he reasonably confidently figures out how to turn it on and how to tune it, and he does have a reason for it: as Akvilė was flipping through channels, in between all the noise, Maxwell thought he heard something he recognized. And he wasn't sure why.

Twisting a knob whose label he couldn't really read and wouldn't understand if he could, Maxwell found what he was looking for:

— *... Líng. Èr. Jiǔ. Èr. Bā. Qī. Liù. Jī mì xìn xī. Jī mì xìn xī. Líng. ...*

Maxwell looks stunned. His eyes are darting rapidly between Akvilė and the radio. He isn't speaking, and he's taken his hands off the equipment entirely.
Megan
*Oh?*

Akvilė wasn't sure what to think as Max leaned towards the receiver and began turning the unmarked knob. Was he simply leaning in to snoop? Was he fiddling with it in an attempt to suss out the problem? Or was he just touching it for the sake of touching? She didn't know, and with each tiny motion of his pinched fingers she watched the dial creep upwards, slowly but surely and without any immediate answers. After a moment of watching the receiver as Max twiddled she began to pick up on something peculiar poking through the airwaves. It was something eerie, and something vaguely familiar, yet it was too fuzzy for her ears to fully pick up on– a fact that annoyed her. Then the signal fully clicked, and she gasped excitedly as the number strings began to echo through.

**LÍNG. ÈR. JIŬ. ÈR. BĀ. [...]**

Initially she doesn't notice the stunned expression on Max's face. She doesn't notice his eyes darting, his entire body rigid and shocked near-catatonic, the effects the station seems to be having on him. She's too busy setting her phone a few inches from the speaker, its microphone app open and recording, and it's only a few moments after she's set her phone down and straightened back up (or as straight as she gets: slightly slouched) that she notices Max's look of sheer bewilderment. The rush of discovering an apparently unknown number station had her transfixed on the set for a moment, and this rush hasn't left her body one bit as she turns to face him with a concerned expression that only barely cloaks the excitement she feels.

But then what *Does* She say?

"Uhm... Is-is this your first experience? With spy station that is. Y-you look like, um... You are scared. Nothing to–... To worry over." She goes to offer a meek smile and instead the latent excitement tugs her lips into a too-wide grin. "Very much not."
Keith
Maxwell snaps back to reality in a matter of moments, but he doesn't quite look calm. 

— "Spy station? Um... Yes."

Something still isn't sitting right with him, though.

— "Are you sure it's alright? It says it's classified, I really don't want any trouble."

He's long since withdrawn from the radio. His posture is curled up and defensive and he's keeping his hands close to his chest. Something feels wrong.
Megan
One look at Max told Akvilė little and left her with a heady mix of questions and concern. But would it have been rude to ask questions when he was so clearly disturbed by what he was hearing? She didn't know. What she knew, though, was that the station could wait. She could tinker with the receiver at a later date, catch the signal out in the wilderness, document and describe and bootleg some transmissions for the Priyom archives. Max was unsettled, and she could see it from hair to shoe. Her previously awkward yet excited grin fades into something not quite a frown or a smile.

"Y-yes, it is OK. I, um... I promise it." She speaks after a moment. Her voice, usually quiet and uncertain, has a certain velveteen sheen to it like that of an elder comforting a child. "The, um... Operators of station should know not who listens. I-I think. It usually is such." Her wording isn't particularly clear, but she tries her best to allay any concerns Max might have been experiencing over stumbling on a military channel. "Th-they send it out into world, an– and then, um... It is out. Anyone with radio can receive then."

A moment passes as her nature commands her attention. Something about the station itself seems *Off,* But she can't quite place it with the receiver so quiet and Maxwell so conflicted.

"B-but, um... You are unwell? Or have you worried yourself sickly? Y-you look bothered, Max..."

Inside she feels strange referring to him on first name basis. But... He's clearly unwell. She scoots a bit closer, leaning on the edge of her chair and looking at him.
Keith
— "No, it's alright. I'm— fine. I'm fine."

Maxwell shakes his head. He's not sick, but he might well have "Worried himself sickly", as Akvilė put it. He's certainly bothered, but unwell? No.

He's not quite aware of how he looks. He's tapping his feet restlessly on the floor, he's fidgeting nervously with his clothes, his eyes are dancing from point to point in a room where there's nothing to see except what's in front of him and he *Certainly* Isn't making eye contact.

— "That wasn't English, right?"
Megan
*I'm— fine. I'm fine.*

Akvilė was unconvinced, but she didn't show it. Instead her doubt was hidden under a mask of concern as she listened, her hands uncertainly kneading each other and cupping one another as Max lied white through his teeth. She knew dread, and she knew worry, and she knew she saw the latter in his form, his frame, his feet and eyes in constant motion. He was *Not* Okay, but she wasn't about to push it. He'd said something far more interesting anyways– but he might not have realized.

Akvilė's head tilts slightly, and while she's still concerned she's chewing on a mouthful of questions that end up taking precedence whether it's polite or not.

"Uhm... You said it was classified a moment ago, no?" She asks. "I-I-I think it is Mandarin, but you seem already to–... Um. Know? How did you?"

Her wording isn't great, but when is it? What she knows is that Maxwell somehow knew what the station's broadcast was saying, and that simple fact doesn't sit right with her. How could he have stumbled on a station and knew exactly what it was saying?
Keith
"I don't know!" Maxwell suddenly shouted, throwing his hands into the air. "I don't! Know!" He had briefly thought that maybe, just maybe, he could restrain himself and keep his anxiety bottled up, but with the news that apparently that was *Mandarin Chinese,* He'd gone from anxiety to full-blown panic. Without even really noticing, he'd stood up and begun pacing around the room.

"I'm American—" He began, using one hand to indicate himself — "My parents are American—" He continued, this time placing both his hands just above where he'd indicated himself to signify his parents — "Their parents are American, their parents are American, and so on until they arrived from Europe! I am *Not* Chinese and I've *Never been* And I've never taken classes and the first time I even *Met* A Chinese person was after I arrived here! So why the *ACTUAL FUCK* Do I understand Chinese?!"

He dropped back into his seat, exhausted, cradling his face in his hands and breathing heavily.

"Sorry," He mumbled. "Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn't swear. I'm sorry."
Megan
As Max flew into an agitated fit Akvilė shrank into her shadow a little. She did not, however, tune out or take it personally. She could see clear as day how utterly freaked out he was; *He needed support, not more questions when he clearly didn't have answers.*

As he paces about the room gesticulating and shouting Akvilė sat in her chair, startled but not surprised at his sudden outburst. She was startled enough to have leaned back into her chair, sure, but she kept her hazel gaze fixed on Max and her attention on his predicament. The wheels hadn't stopped turning however, and she glances over at the radio set once or twice as he builds into a crescendo of existential confusion and collapses into his chair. She leans back in before standing up entirely and stepping behind his chair, placing a hand on his back tentatively and rubbing softly.

"It– um... It is OK. You don't know the why of how you understand but you know you are not insane, and it is worrying to, uhm... Not know. I guess." She speaks, perennially hesitant but clearly trying her best. "It's sort of like, um... D-de. Déja?" She pauses momentarily before deciding the pronunciation doesn't really matter. She continues to softly rub one of his shoulders, fingers of her free hand half-curled around the back of his chair. "Déjà! Déjà vu is word. Blegh. It is tricky word to say. But it sounds such, like you have experienced this before but are unsure why, and, uhm... I-I-I guess I'm not sure either how you understand. It must be scary though. I'm, um... Here."

Something she's read in a book lately is lingering in her mind, but she knows better than to mention it. The last thing this dishevelled fearful Christian lad under her hand needs is the suggestion he might be possessed by a devil.
Keith
"Thank you," Maxwell croaks. "That means a lot."
Megan
Akvilė simply hums in acknowledgement and places her other hand on his shoulder. She kneads softly.