Roland
It was a cold, crisp day in Isakstad, and Uriel was out of their element. 

It was rare for them to venture outside of the Cradle walls, too enlightened with past instances of sudden bouts of sleepiness to entertain what it would be like to traipse around the town with little a care in the world. 

Today, though, it was different. Uriel had both a friend *And* Someone adept at style. Today was the day, they thought to themselves, picking at their knitted coin purse while they waited in town for Margo. 

*Today was the day Uriel bought new clothes.*

Uriel ran a couple of nervous fingers through their hair. Hopefully, their attempt to impress a certain someone wouldn't lead to them looking like a fool...
Jennifer
◇ The bus drove away from the stop, and in its wake appeared a phoenix of a woman, smoke billowing from her pursed lips and straight candy apple locks framing her jagged, tired face.

□ Standing there with a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her lips, Margo scanned the surrounding area. The sidewalks were devoid of snowy albinos, as were the couple of business that ran along both sides. Fast food joints endemic to Sweden mingled with a Starbucks and a general purpose designer store, and in that mix Margo found herself strolling past and sneering at the former. Starbucks was *Trash* In her eyes. She spat on its window, flecks of tobacco and Tar intermingled with her saliva, trailing down in nasty streaks as she took the corner.

▪︎ This smoky song and dance continued on for another five minutes before she *Finally* Found them, two stops down from where she'd initially disembarked. She grumbled under her breath and nearly jaywalked herself into a hospital bed as a Volvo slammed its brakes and came to a stop a few feet away.

◆ "Cocksucker! Watch where the fuck you're going, I'll skin you alive if I see you again, fucker!" She shouted at the irate man behind the wheel as he leaned his head out the driver's side window and yelled at her. This continued on for a couple of moments, Margo and the man trading verbal insults, and it only seemed to stop short of blows because of his partner, heard yelling at him to just get going. Once the man drove by she pitched her heavy-bottomed Zippo at the trunk of the car, flipped it off, and swore up a storm under her breath as she finally approached Uri. "Sorry about that, man. Inner angry New Yorker got to me. Like, fucking guy bowls through a red light, nearly hits me, and has the gall to say I'm in the wrong? I pray I see that bastard again. I pray. Anyways... Nice purse. You knitted it yourself, huh? Also to what do I owe the pleasure of being invited out?"
Roland
Margo entered like how a wildfire enters a forest— raging, breaks non-functioning as her anger accelerates with speeds that would make NASCAR drivers envious. Uriel can only blink in half-confusion, half-shock, unable to interfere as Margo gets into an argument with the man in the Volvo. 

*Oh dear,* They think, tilting their head with a hopeless expression. *At least court hasn't changed her.*

It takes a moment of Margo venting about the man before Uriel remembers they're in a conversation, and they lightly jingle the coin purse in their hand at Margo's compliment. 

Her temper may be... Questionable, but spending time with the lady always made something in Uriel's stomach bubble in happiness. She reminded them of their mom, almost, instead she ran hot like her hair instead of the ice-cool fury that flowed in every Frenchman's veins. 

"Ah, well... I've saved up a fair bit of money from selling my wares to people, and..." Their dark grey eyes shift down to their feet before returning to meet Margo's gaze. 

"I would like to purchase... Some new clothes, is all." The pink on their cheeks *Must* Be due to the cold of the Swedish weather, Uriel rationalizes. "A-and, well, you know far more about all of *This* Stuff than I do." Their accent thickens as they stumble over their words. 

"Besides... You and Vi. I am sure a shopping trip with us two could help you impress her even more, no?"
Jennifer
◆ "Admittedly I just get all my shit from Depop, Redbubble, and various thrift slash army surplus stores, but..." Margo spoke, a note of agitation still underlying her voice, as if the face of the prick who'd nearly flattened her out was still replaying in her noggin. "We'll find you something nice, I guess. What kinda budget you got, exactly?"

□ Ah, the tactlessness of it all. From ranting to downplaying her own eye for fashion directly into a band check, she unceremoniously grumbled and hummed her way through what she said, fishing out two lollipops from the permanently bulged left pocket of her camo coat and unwrapping one with her teeth before popping it into her mouth. She spat out a couple of bits of waxy paper then held the other one out towards Uri.

▪︎ That was just how she did things.

◆ "I'm pretty sure all I have to do to impress Vi is exist." Margo chuckled. "Like, sometimes, I'll be sitting around handling her chinchillas, and I can feel her just looking at me in the most... I dunno, loving way? It feels like rays of warm sunshine. I... Think we're both hopelessly head over heels for each other still." She continued, her voice velvety yet still distinctly snarled, like fine fabrics pulled hard over carefully articulated animal skeletons. "But also I do kinda need a couple of new flannels... Started incorporating them into my wardrobe more. If I'm gonna be a bit of a dyke then I might as well dress the part, huh?"

• "Anyways." Margo looked down the street, eyes darting between the various signs hanging overhead. "Got any shops picked out? And you want a sucker?"
Roland
I'll respond today <3

"Budget?" Uriel asks, blinking twice before remembering to check their purse. "Um, I have... Around forty dollars?"

It's the most pained Uriel has ever sounded. The plight of being poor was a struggle Margo did not know, and yet they could not resist the micro-expression of a wince when looking at their savings.

Uriel takes the lollipop gingerly. They aren't a fan of sweets like the one Margo held in her hand— the overwhelming taste of too much sugar made their sensitive taste buds recoil. It was too much flavor— honestly, American sweets are one of the few things Uriel could not stand to stomach. 

Nevertheless, they nod in appreciation, tucking the lollipop away in their purse. "I'll give it to Hatzume," They say, rolling its stick before dropping it in. "She seems to like me, despite how little we interact. And... Something about strong sweetness reminds me of her." 

Even the color reminded them of Hatzume, Uriel thought to themselves, eyeing the bright neon packaging. Hopefully she enjoyed grape.

A goofy smile blossoms on their face as Margo goes off on a tangent about Vi. It reminded them of the stories they'd read as a child— holed away in a corner of the library no one would come to find them (not that anyone *Wanted* To), clutching their tales of love in their tiny, bandaged hands. 

"You two are so cute..." They sigh, momentarily in their own world before remembering the conversation. 

"Ah, but... If you want to wear something, wear it because it is something you like. You do not need to conform to what a..." Uriel didn't know what the next word meant, but has the lingering assumption it would be foolish coming out of their mouth and so they opt to replace the profanity with a motion of their hand. "Person like you should wear."

It made Uriel frown to think of Margo conforming to other people's perception of her. She was a wonderful person, as is. She should look how she wanted, not how other people wanted her to look.

"I don't have anywhere picked out," They state, clearing their throat as if they'd been building to this part for a while. "I don't usually go shopping, so I was wondering if you could take me to your favorite stores."
Jennifer
◆ "Perfect." Margo hummed, suckling on her lollipop for a few seconds with a faint yet audible squelching sound. "Army surplus shops are usually pretty good for budget, but also... I get this feeling you'd look so not yourself with army fatigues on. I rock them because I'm all angles and muscles and a shitty temper, you might be better off if we... Wait. I got an idea. Lemme just..."

□ Fishing her phone out of the breast pocket of her coat, Margo could be seen quickly tapping away at her phone. Nails trimmed short and filed smooth made zero sound as fingertips met the screen, and as Uri spoke she nodded and occasionally looked up at them. "Right." She hummed at the mention of Hatzume. "There. I know where we're going." She continued, pocketing her phone. "Thrift stores are king for budget, honestly. No sense not to go, and there's apparently a few within walking distance. Let's walk and talk."

▪︎ She took a few steps and turned to face them as they gave a slight speech about conformity and whatnot. She softly chuckled.

◆ "Anyways, on the topic of flannels – sorry about cutting ya off a little – , it's not *Really* About conformity. I'll be honest, I just bought one at a thrift store last week because I felt like my wardrobe was getting a little dry, and lo and behold, I fuckin' *Love* How I look in them. It fits me." She continued to stroll, only remembering after a solid seven steps that Uri was significantly slower than her on their feet. "Whoops. Been a while since we've been out, kinda forgot about keeping pace with ya. Just catch up and I'll match."
Roland
Thrift stores. There weren't enough people in their sleepy village to have a functioning thrift store, but Uriel was familiar with the concept. A store where people gave what they could, a setting for many a fairy tale or tale of magical antiques.. 

Uriel couldn't help but giggle out loud. What an adventure! Maybe the Universe would plop something nice in their lap today. 

...Or maybe something cursed. Still, it didn't damper their excitement, and Uriel only noticed Margo had continued walking after they had snapped out of their stupor. Long legs tripped over each other trying to catch up to her, and they looked like a baby on stilts as they lagged behind Margo.

"I am... Quite excited." They state, humming a tune Margo would find familiar. It was an old French song, something from the eighties Uriel showed Margo in one of their long nights awake. They didn't have a music taste of their own, so they could only provide the songs their mother would play when she arrived home from work, or what she put on as she cooked for two.

"I do wonder if we'll find something magical." Uriel's finger presses into their cheek with a tilt of their head. "What's the best thing you've ever found at one of these stores, besides your flannel?"
Jennifer
◆ "Never know." Margo shrugged. "Thrift stores are pretty wild places, so maybe."

□ Once Uri caught up Margo lumbered forward, stuffing her hands in her back pockets and straightening her back as much as she could manage. This wasn't much, however, and she ultimately strolled down the street with a slight hunch and a strange sort of swagger to her walk. "But, hm. Best thing I've ever found...? I've found a couple of Garfield shirts at thrift stores – in case you've ever wondered where I got so many – but the *Best thing...?* I dunno, man." Margo grumbled in displeasure. She hated not knowing. It felt as if a pressure were applied to her chest, and the only way to get it off was to spew out the answer already, yet she didn't exactly *Know.* "Hard to say. I saw a hat with a crazy long brim once, but before I could actually pick it up to look at it someone scooped it. It was one of those meme fishing hats – y'know 'em? Monologues about fishing, weirdly egalitarian with its fear, absurd proportions, the like. I think I missed out on one of those, which sucks a lot, but oh well."

▪︎ She clacked her lollipop about a little bit.

◆ "So what's new? Know something happened between you and Owen – details appreciated – but other than that, what's new?"
Roland
Uriel doesn't know why Margo would want a hat with an absurdly long bill— if anything, it would seem cumbersome, they toil to themselves as they try to keep up with her stride. They didn't understand fashion too much, so perhaps it was simply a new fad that came in style while Uriel was busy dozing the day away. It would hardly be the first time. 

Perhaps they could ditch the braid for a similar hat, if they were lucky enough to find one.

"Me and Owen?" A small, sweet smile forms on Uriel's face as they look down at their feet (and nearly run into a lamppost). The angles of their sharp, gaunt face grew softer at the mention of the boy with cinnamon for freckles, and what little tenseness that remained in their shoulders evaporated. 

"We're... We're still the same, it's just..." White eyebrows knit together as Uriel finds the correct words. "We just express how we feel about each other in more... Direct ways, yes?" 

The cool air tinted Margo's ears pink, Uriel noted, but they guessed there was a different reason why theirs were the shade of crimson. 

"There's always been something warm growing in my chest at the thought of him. I would vent those feelings by leaning against his side and spending long nights in his room; and now I vent them by playing with his hair and kissing him. Nothing's changed, I don't think." Their gloved fingers can't help but tap their chin at the answer they gave, and it looks as if they're taking the question far too seriously for their own good. 

"Ah, but I've never been good at love." They simply state, and their eyes look almost wistful.
Jennifer
◆ "Jeez, and I thought I was whipped." Margo sarcastically remarked after a good few moments of Uri going on about their newly-confessed and reciprocated love. Leave it up to her to lean into teasing. "Just fucking with ya, man. Happy for you two, honestly, even if shit's barely changed from what you've told me. He was kind of responsible for my whole... Y'know. Looking inward and figuring out I was autistic thing. So I guess I owe him at least a little happiness."

□ Shrugging, Margo kept on charging forward, one loose swagger-filled step at a time. The stick of her lollipop bobbed up and down like a conductor's wand, or perhaps the needle of a seismograph measuring the sheer force of her jaw. "But same, man. Same. It's been a huge learning curve with Vi, y'know? Learning how to love healthily in particular's been kinda tough." She casually spoke. "Like. Naturally I... I dunno. I feel kinda defensive slash possessive deep down, and I know that shit is mad unhealthy – trust me, Hiram's possessive bullshit and all the hell it wrought on my mom taught me that from a young age –, but I just... I'm scared of losing her. Scared of being alone again. Hm."

● "Maybe those are thoughts for my therapist." She chuckled. "Not for my lovesick partner-in-crime. Eugh. I'm fuckin' cringing at myself even though it's kinda true."

□ She laughed a few moments, then snapped her fingers and pointed two fingers towards a doorway with a whistle.

◆ "Anyways, we're here. Myrorna's... I like this place. Has a real weird vibe to it." Margo spoke, her lollipop clacking softly against the inside of her mouth. "Might as well check it out, huh?"
Roland
Uriel felt horribly out of place in this store among the midst of normal people. They forgot how important the Cradle's role as a safe space was in their life— here, however, there were *Normal* People and loud noises instead of familiar faces and the option to retreat into your room given a choice. 

It was for a good cause, Uriel reasoned. They had to be able to brave the outside world eventually... Even if they felt a little nervous as they perused the store's goods, as if there were a warning on their forehead everyone could see branded into their skin. 

"I do not mind being a partner in crime." Uriel smiled. "And it's only natural to hold onto something tightly if it's important to you. So long as you do not lock the bird in a cage, feel free to admire it all you want. A bird in the hand is not the same as a bird held against its will." 

Margo wanting to keep Violetta close made them smile. They were glad their friend was happy, and that Violetta felt wanted. They always found kinship with Violetta in an odd sort of way, and so Uriel supposed the possessiveness wouldn't bother Vi all too much. After all, they were never bothered when Owen's hands gripped their shirt in a tight hug, knuckles turning white in a desperate plea to press them closer to his body. 

*Hm.* Uriel contemplated the memory for a bit, staring off into the distance with a thoughtful expression (only betrayed by the slight dust of pink on their cheeks.) 

A good thought. They'd continue their idle daydream... Later, they decided. 

"Anything catching your eye, Margo?" Uriel asked, following behind her like a lost dog. This was all new and foreign. They didn't know if there were secret, untold rules to this type of store, but Uriel was certain they would break them regardless. 

No, best to keep their head down and follow Margo's lead. She's always been the more outgoing of the two, anyway— and even if they seemed a little strange trailing behind her so closely, they didn't bat an eye.
Jennifer
◇ Margo quietly ran her hands along a row of jeans on hangers as Uri spoke, letting out a surprised laugh at their comment about her possessiveness.

◆ "Well then." She laughed. "I. I'm not going to lie, Uri, that's simultaneously not helping at all and helping a lot. I'm trying to not be possessive with her, but... Hm." She fell quiet, noticing a pair of gaudy two-tone track pants and picking them up. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I've just got to establish a healthy amount of it. Dunno." She spoke as she looked it over, running her fingers along the plasticky material and humming intently. Then Uri spoke again; she'd need to get out of her head.

◆ "These pants are kinda funky." Margo turned and held them up for Uri to see. Split down the middle, one half was a lime green and the other was purple, like some sort of wearable fucked up melted Jolly Rancher. "But then again... They're kind of jokercoded? I heard Vi use that term a few times and I guess by extension it means I use it as well. Oh well." She continued. "How about you, man? Anything yet?"
Roland
Uriel looked at the pants with an... Interesting look, one that tried its best to hide the knee-jerk disgust. Instead, they turned to the bins of clothing, looking at each with an ever-growing frown on their face. 

"It certainly would be something only a jokester would wear." Uriel remarks, not sounding unlike a judgmental housewife.

 Instead, they turned to the bins of clothing, looking at each hand-me-down with an ever-growing frown on their face. *Did I not dress normally?* They wondered to themselves, face souring as they came across a leather pair of ass-less chaps and dropping the offending pants as if they were toxic to the touch. 

Until... "Oh?"

Something gleamed. It was a golden, antique heart-shaped locket. A curious hand held the piece of jewelry in front of the duo, and Uriel cocked their head in interest. 

"I wonder if something is still inside..?"
Jennifer
◆ "Huh...? Oh, it's a locket." Looking over her shoulder as she spoke, Margo hooked the 'jokester' pants back onto their hanger and set it back on the rack. "Only way to know's to crack that shit open, I guess. Lemme watch though, I'm wondering the same thing."

□ With her hands – and her attention by proxy – free, Margo strolled over to where Uri stood and fixed her curious gaze on the locket within their hands. She knew how special the things could be. She knew how Vi had squealed in delight when she'd brought back a beautiful locket from state-side with her own gob within, and she knew that if Vi had done the same for her she'd have never taken the damn thing off, so she couldn't help herself from wanting to know what – if anything – was inside.

▪︎ So there she stood, slouched slightly, mottled eyes fixed directly on the locket. The anticipation was oddly strong; it felt as though it could've knocked her heart out of commission in the moment.
Roland
Uriel opened the locket, the fabric of their gloves making the ordeal harder than it realistically should.

Their eyebrows knitted, for inside was a man who... Looked a bit like Owen except older in one half, and the other was a photo of a man Uriel had only ever heard about, but never saw a picture of, night time whispers about nervous blue eyes and messy dark hair. It made their expression sour, their grey eyes uncharacteristically glaring at the thing.

Margo, however, saw something a little different— instead of an older Owen, she saw an older Vi and her beloved's ex, the same one that burnt her face, in the locket. 

Uriel held onto the chain tightly. "The man looks... A bit like Owen, no?" They tried to keep their voice light, and yet an unflinchingly human pang of discomfort resonated in their voice.
Jennifer
◇ If she'd been blessed to own a gun, she'd have shot the locket directly out of Uri's hand.

■ "Mother*Fucker.* Why the FUCK is he in there?" In the span of less than three seconds she'd gone from draping her limber body over a clothesrack with curiosity in her eyes to a clenched jaw and every neuron in her brain going into overdrive. She'd only ever seen the bastard two or three times in pictures, but she knew what he'd done to her girlfriend. What he'd taken from her. Still somewhat hanging off of the clothes rack she fumed in place, shaky deep breaths through the nose coming out as rage-filled exhales through her teeth like the hissing of a cobra. 

■ Skirting around the clothesrack, Margo drew in closer. Once she was next to Uri she'd snatch the chain from them, her furious grasp so firm it could have easily shattered every bone in the dreamweaver's hand with ease. For several seconds she stared into it, at the almost-smug Russian looking back at her. No amount of therapy, cigarettes, or beatings would help how she felt about this damn thing; with a furious yell she pitched it at the floor, stomped her heel into it several times, and barrelled out of the shop visibly shaking with anger.

▪︎ The sound of someone kicking a nearby dumpster with all their force could be heard, before all was silent again.

▪︎ But things were *Not* Silent.

-

□ Her thoughts weren't exactly *Clear.* She was *Not* Okay. Seated on a curb about fifteen inches from where she'd booted a man-sized dumpster ten feet down the way she shakily grabbed a cigarette out of her pack. No matter what she tried to do in those few moments it was his face over and over again. His unburnt face with its two working eyes and its lack of trauma. Furious wasn't even the correct term. She *Bit* Through the filter of her cigarette at one point, causing it to drop and burn a hole in her beloved coat. 

□ It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was definitely the most impactful. The metaphorical icing on the already shaky cake tipped her over the edge, and she began to melt. It was a feeling she'd always hated, but she couldn't function like this. She was too angry. Too sad. Too wired. Too everything. She sat on the curb, she rocked, and she very sluggishly popped the remainder of her cigarette in her mouth. Uri would find her like that.
Roland
"Ah—" 

Uriel's melancholy evaporates as the thrift shop falls *Dead silent*. The handful of people, both working and perusing the thrift store instantly bore holes into Uriel, their companion (and the one who would have received the blame, had she been here) leaving nothing but dust in her wake.

After a brief pause to allow Margo to collect her thoughts alone (and, more importantly, negotiate with the shopkeeper to pay for the item now shattered into smithereens onto the floor), a familiar pale figure exits the shop with the chime of a bell, and their eyes sweep the exterior of the city before a grey stare lands on the body of the hunched-over gumshoe.

"..."

They say nothing, walking over to Margo and sitting by her side wordlessly. She was angry, yes, and while anger usually triggered an primal fear response bred into Uriel by years of hurt, they didn't feel as if she would ever hurt them.

*What an odd thought.*

"...I take it you did not see Owen, then?"
Jennifer
◇ She had calmed down, but she hadn't recovered.

□ In the few minutes between her lapse in control and her closest confidant announcing their presence she'd popped earplugs in and chuffed down her cigarette with impressive force and vigor. Head hung low, she rested her forearms against her legs, dangled hands steadily toying with the various zippers and hanging bits as she blew off steam. She didn't even have it in her to respond at first, and it was only after a couple more minutes spent in silence that she finally hiccuped slightly.

▪︎ She looked over at Uri, rocking as she did so, and her eyes looked equal parts concerned and empty.

◆ "I... Saw Vi's ex." She spoke with an uncharacteristic level of quiet and softness. It was almost as if talking too loud would screw her back into a semi-catatonic meltdown. "Staring back at me, man... Smirking. Lost control." She continued. A few quiet moments passed, hands continuing to toy with anything and everything as she softly rocked. "I thought I was getting better, but... What's it say about me that just seeing him in that locket *Fucked* Me up like that? I'm... Sorry."
Roland
Uriel reaches a hand to the small of her back— too unsure of the motion to rub soothing pats into her back, but there nonetheless. They bite their tongue about the cost of the locket; more than expected, but not enough to where they couldn't pay.

"It's alright, Margo. Healing is not as easy as it seems. Ah, Owen has this saying..." They cluck their tongue, head tilting as they try to remember. "*It gets worse before it gets better*, he says. That there are always steps back on the path forward."

Grey eyes travel down the rocking girl's uneven motions, and Uriel reaches into their purse. Moments later, a fidget toy of some kind (Most likely one they bought for when Owen was around) is pressed into Margo's palm. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You'll get better— its something to talk about during the next appointment with your therapist, *Non*?"
Jennifer
◇ At the sensation of a hand to the small of her back she tensed up lightly, instinctively more than anything else, before awkwardly leaning her head against her good friend's leg and letting out a pronounced sigh.

■ "Yeah, I... I guess so." Hushed and uncertain, she spoke as if she'd just had her entire life turned upside down. It might've been catastrophizing... "But honestly? I just... I hate sliding back. I hate feeling like i'm getting worse again." She continued, rocking in place and tapping her foot lightly. For a few moments she sat like this, head gently pressed against Uri's knee and hands busied with the stim toy they'd lent her, simply letting the light breeze blow over her shoulders and down her arms and chest. 

▪︎ All that could really be heard for these few moments was the clicking and clacking of the stim toy.

◆ "I dunno." She finally broke the silence after what might've felt like a pint-sized eternity. "It's something to talk to my therapist about, I guess, but that's the future." She continued, finally leaning her head away from Uri's leg and beginning to rise to her feet. "And I'm not too focused on the future right now. Mostly I just... Feel off. Feel a little overwhelmed and also like shit for throwing that tantrum back there." She adjusted her coat once she was back on her feet, flattening it out and frowning at the new burn hole along the zipper. 

▪︎ "I think I'll be fine. Just... Before we keep on shopping I might need a few more minutes to let my nerves calm down. Also, here, mate. You said you didn't have much to start with, and honestly I feel like I owe you one for cleaning up my mess. Thanks for that."

○ With that Margo fished out a 500 krona bank note, holding it out towards Uri. She didn't seem like she'd be taking no for an answer.

[Up to you! I'm game to keep this going lol
Roland
Uriel continues patting her on the back, waiting for the shaking to stop until standing up and (begrudgingly) taking the krona. It was... Far more than they expected, but a nagging voice in their head reminded them that *What did they expect? It was Margo.* 

"We can go shop somewhere else," They say, voice steady to contrast Margo's shaking. "But take your time. I'll be here as long as you need." 

And they would.