Jeannie
[1:30am...]

◆ "Huh?"

□ It wasn't all that odd for the chatroom to be buzzing at this point in the night. If anything, it seemed as if it became even more active in the small hours of the night, and out of curiosity she decided to check it on her back to her room. Not sure what to expect, the first thing she saw was a note from the administration saying that due to the Angels the curfew on prison grounds were being extended. She knew that the Angels posed some sort of threat, but for the prison staff to be making such a drastic change to the liberal freedoms the prisoners enjoyed it must have been something serious.

▪︎ Then again, she'd met the Angels before, and oddly enough she saw a fragment of herself in them.

• So, she pushed open her door, and with a pained groan lurched through the entryway directly to her couch, looking to see if Uri was around.
Diane
``1:30 AM``
Soft, inviting comforters. A mattress pad so soft you'd sink into it when you slept. The comforting embrace of a pillow, donned in a silken case and stuffed with down. 

Uriel was rather practically minded when it came to monetary expenses. They weren't raised on much, but disregarding that, material possessions never seemed to weigh heavily upon their mind. 

The one item they did allow themselves to indulge on, though, was their bedding. It was a justifiable expense in their mind— a small part of them deemed it a business expense, with all the seriousness possible of someone trying to justify sleeping as a business. 

Uriel arched their back, allowing themselves to enjoy the sensations of being *Cozy*— well, they were trying to, when the door violently opens itself. 

It's Margo, and as their eyes drift over towards her bruised knuckles, they're suddenly reminded of everything that was said in intra.

"It's you— are you alright?" 

They swivel and stand up, stare lingering on the various injuries donning her body, the big, puffy splint on the bridge of their nose. It was an... Awful sight, and Uriel could feel their stomach drop at the mental play-by-play looping in their head. A swing, a break of a bottle— they can hear the sounds clearly, and visibly wince.

Although, Uriel didn't know what was the most 'not alright' with Margo— the recent development with the angels, or the beating she had just received. Hopefully, Margo would fill-in-the-blanks of their vague question, and determine what 'alright' meant.
Jeannie
◆ "Dazed and confused." She chuckled, almost mockingly. "Dazed and fuckin' confused, man. What's even going on? I get into one little fight and the whole school's preparing for the End Times? Christ..."

□ Grumbling and chuckling at the same time like an amused grandma, she sunk into the leather seats of the couch – *Hell with the blood,* She figured, *I can always get it out.* – and began to inspect herself in the frontlit reflection of her television. For how little she had actually been struck it felt as if three women had thrown said punch, and even though the strikes ultimately hadn't broke anything aside from her nose she still wondered if, for the first time, she was now outclassed by a mountain of difference that she *Couldn't* Claw her way up.

▪︎ All this was going through her head as she quickly pulled off her shirt. 

◆ "Avert your eyes if you're gonna stare at me. I gotta make sure my torso's fine; never know." She commented, beginning to look at herself the best she could in the faint light of the dorm. "Mind getting me the Rub A535? Got a feeling this shit is going to sting soon. Also gotta set my nose in place... Cocksucker. That Margaret chi – fuck, wait, that's my mom's name, oh man." She stopped mid-sentence. If she was right about names, she wouldn't have been pleased. Identical; no can do. "Wow, had to just take a second to... Y'know, process it all. Anyways, she punches like three chicks in one. What the fuck are they putting in the sauce over there in Italy? Creatine and Arnold Schwarzenegger's actual shit?"