Stephen
[Chemistry Lab, roughly 2:30am...]

◆ "Well, that's... Huh. Now *That* Is forbidden fruit. Fuck..."

□ Late nights were always an interesting time, and given the lack of structure in Silas' life there were a *Lot* Of those in the present. Late nights spent by the piano, weaving somber yet hopeful melodies through the sterilized halls and walls of Newton's Cradle, or all-nighters on the game with his friends back home, or even just drinking too much ZzzQuil simply for the high. Tonight it was messing around in the lab, and in a moment of quiet thoughts and no immediate experiments in mind he'd begun to research, reading paper after paper, and...

▪︎ Now he had the knowledge of how to make hydrazine, and it was easier than he'd thought it would be. Too easy.

• Forbidden fruit. He needed a distraction before he killed himself on hydrazine fumes.
William
Two-thirty in the morning on a day filled with classes, and the local human rubber band was still awake. What to do, what to do...

Well, there was nothing to do. Not even on her computer. Not even in the confines of her room. She sighed as she idly stared at a w-tube video playing on her phone, the information being transferred bouncing off of her eyes and ears. Her head laid on the bed atop a pillow, yet the rest of her body sat on her cheap office chair, her feet lying on the desk. A noodle neck connected her body to her displaced head. Seeing Margarita's body stretched out was a common occurrence in her comfortable dormitory, catching some people off guard as her parahumanity was in full view. But for her? It was normal.

And an annoying part of life.

After having left her neck stretched out for what had to be half an hour according to the video she was watching, Margarita audibly grumbled to herself as she found herself unable to retract her neck, a part of her body she was supposedly in control of all the time. Oh well.

The only thing left to do at this point was explore the facility *Again*, with all the lights off save for some to keep the facility seem somewhat maintained, plus to allow the night staff (if any) to go about doing their business without having to have one hand clutching onto a rechargeable flashlight.

Holding her head on her left hand like a mythological dullahan would, she walked about the facility, the odd and lower point of view making her wonder what the place like seemed for short people.

Like Silas, who was coincidentally in the chemistry lab, playing delicately with clear liquids contained in bottles, flasks, and test tubes with papers upon papers by the table and a laptop. As expected for a ZZZquil-drinking madman like him.
.

With a promising aspect of having *Something* To do and chat with someone, Margarita used her free hand to push open the door, her neck that loosely hung behind her rubbing against the other, stationary door.

"Good... Early morning. What are *You* Doing this time, making meth? Or not. No really, what are you making?"
Stephen
◆ "Yeah, good... Uh. When the fuck does it turn from night to morning?" He chuckled, though it was also rhetorical. "Like, when does it shift? Obviously evening's the beginning of night, but even then evening in summer and winter are two entirely different things. Different times and all that fuckin' nonsense. Anyways I'm trying to talk myself out of making hydrazine because that shit would kill me without a moment's notice, and I guess you being around helps. Take a seat."

□ Gesturing to the table at which he sat, her assertion of his quarters was pretty spot on. Papers stacked high, several test tubes and a flask, a Bunsen burner he'd forgot to switch off – *Late night forgetfulness,* He'd justify it as if questioned – and a cup of tea like the Brit he was at heart. Cleaning his side up a bit, he looked up at Marge, likely his closest friend and confidant at Newton's Cradle, despite her frequent good-spirited headbutting over the chat.

▪︎ Refreshing was what it was, just like...

◆ "Tea? Got a pot of the black stuff just over yonder if ya need a pick me up." He gestured to an old blemished tea kettle, still warm to the touch despite being off the heat for an hour. That little quirk came from being brewed over a goddamn Bunsen of all things, and... "I brewed it over a Bunsen. Tastes kinda burnt but fuck it, tea is tea. Now, whatcha doin' up, mate? Can't sleep?"