Odell
◆ "Like a mixing board...? Yeah, that's familiar." Margo spoke, recalling days spent at the after-school jazz club she'd cut her teeth at. "That's familiar..."

□ Nodding, she suddenly did something *Weird.* Popping her lollipop out of her mouth, she fished out its accompanying wrapper and wrapped the half-eaten sucker up. Dropping it back in her back pocket, a whisper of a smile graced her face as the cat's tail brushed against her hand. This whole conversation, despite how calm and aloof she seemed on the outside, was threatening to rip her apart from the inside out, like a parasite burrowing out of her chest. Being truthful was *Painful,* The words continually getting caught in her throat as if they had rose thorns, bleeding her dry and feeding her stomach a steady supply of blood.

▪︎ But, Uri had told her to be a bit more honest with herself and others, so...

◆ "I used to chew on the necklines of my shirts when I was younger. Don't really do it anymore." She casually spoke, or at least as casually as she could manage. "No funny noises, but I occasionally notice myself rocking, so... I don't know. I really don't. I can feel my organs move around sometimes, though, and... Fuck, man, that's weird." She fell silent, fixing her smoke back betwixt her lips. Between her previous conversation with Violetta and this one with Owen, she had more than enough food for thought.

▪︎ As a matter of fact, she had a whole fucking *Buffet,* And she knew she'd be picking through it for a while.
Phyllis
"Not all that weird," Owen assured her. "You'd be pleasantly surprised."

If he was being honest with himself, Owen was pleasantly surprised. Though he liked to think he knew himself pretty well, he still felt relatively alone in his experiences- he could explain this aspect of himself all he wanted to before, but knew deep down that no one really understood. There were kindred spirits in the strangest places, here. 

"Rocking *Is* Nice. So is gnawing on things. And knowing a lot about really obscure subjects. *And* Wanting to ram a chair leg through every fluorescent light. *Well, maybe not that..*"

It had taken him a long time to come to terms with those things. Talking about it still felt a little uneasy, like he was speaking about some taboo; a voice that wasn't his still whispered *'mustn't mention it'*, even if he thought it was bull. 

"I.. Thought I was an alien, when I was a kid. My mams always assured me otherwise, but no one else really backed them up. It sucks, not knowing what planet you're supposed to be from.. But, maybe, we're not as alone as it would seem?"

Another blueberry, to force himself to take a breather. He.. Hadn't told anyone that. Not in a long time. Here, though, it felt relevant, for reasons he was sure she understood as well. Besides- Margo was probably *Mighty* Uneasy. He felt odd after knowing these things for certain his whole life- he couldn't imagine what this was doing to her, who was so uncharacteristically uncertain.

Alaw, who was pointedly oblivious to their inner turmoils, had deduced where the blueberries were coming from. The bag rustled as she shoved her entire head into it, only the tips of a couple whiskers peeking out the top. She really knew how to lighten the mood- Owen wondered if he ought to be taking notes.
Odell
◆ "Nah, it's fuckin' weird being able to feel my organs jiggling around when I work out. Always thought I was just schizo or some shit, but..." A sigh followed. "I dunno anymore."

□ And that was the truth. Before showing up to the Cradle, she'd simply passed off the various peculiarities in her psyche as nothing more than that: peculiarities. Now, though, between taking care of her reptiles and researching about languages or bonsai trees or whatever she had a lot more time to think, and as it turned out, thinking was the mortal enemy of her previously-solid view on herself. Puffing her cigarette, her face had sank into a dejected, uncertain frown, the cherried end glowing brightly and reflecting off of her distinctive silver eyes.

▪︎ Those eyes happened to also be following Alaw as she dipped her head into the bag of berries and plucked a few out.

◆ "You thought you were an alien...? I see. Probably the different wiring, if I had to guess." Uncertainty laced her voice, dripping off in large drops. "Then again, sometimes I... Notice my leg bouncing. I stop it when I see it, but it always feels wrong. What the fuck is wrong with me, man?'
Phyllis
"You'd guess about right."

A heavy sigh seemed to weigh him down, ever so slightly as he listened. *How on Earth would he chip into this deep a level of disgust?*

"It's alright if your leg bounces. Mine bounce. So do my hands, sometimes," He started, trying to wrangle his out-of-order thoughts into something deliberate, something smart enough to be listened to. "If your, um, theory is right, then you *Need* To- just a quirk of the wiring, really."

As if to prove his point, Owen's own feet started to tap together in the grass, loosening the nervous coils building up in his legs.

"Dogs shake themselves out, yeah? Cats flick their tails, uh, people dance? It builds up, and it's too much, and so it just.. Vents."

*Another hole-in-twenty in the game of spoken language! Those were words that* Definitely *Made sense.*

...Sometimes Owen wished he didn't understand sarcasm, because all he seemed to do with it was be mean to himself. Eugh.

*"...Sbratast fân,"* Owen murmured, daring to lightly drag a finger along a soft, unsuspecting shoulder blade. Luckily for him, the calico face-first in the blueberries didn't seem to notice. Her fur looked like it needed a good wash..

A nervous hum rumbled in his throat, a long and drawn-out chord set to whatever tone would detangle the knots in his stomach. 

"You've gotten a lot of shit for it, haven't you?"

If only he could say *"I understand"* Hard enough for Margo to actually feel it.
Odell
◇ For once, she had nothing to say back initially.

□ Instead, spurred on by the realization that her entire view of herself was being shattered into pieces one word at a time, she fell silent. Contemplative, even, her jaw firmly cleaned around the butt of the cancer stick that was most of the way done. Unbeknownst to Owen, it was her own way of trying to stop herself from breaking down in public and sinking to her knees, a fleeting attempt at control that slowly wavered as the words filtered in.

▪︎ Needless to say, she was steadily becoming more and more of a mess.

◆ "...I haven't, actually. Nobody's noticed, or cared enough to make a big deal out of it." It was the truth, quietly uttered as her hands shot into her pockets and she sniffled lightly. "I'm gonna get going. Just remembered I have to pick up some fruit for the dorm. Bowl's empty..."

▪︎ A white lie, surely, but she knew if she stood around talking any longer she'd sink to her knees and go near-catatonic state. She refused to let herself be seen in such disarray, not by the public, not by Owen, not even by her goddamn roommate. Her suffering was meant to be bottled, and anything else was tantamount to a death sentence.
Phyllis
Owen didn't know exactly what he'd said, but *Something* Had been itching behind her cool demeanour. Something was wrong, and it ate at the heating skin on his face, and Owen wondered if he'd accidentally dipped too far. *What had he said, again?*

...Poor kid. Owen's issues with the way he was wired came mostly from other people, but Margo's were from *Herself*. That was rough, and it was tricky. And all he could really do was listen to someone who didn't want to talk.

"Oh! Al-alright," He stammered, not wanting to leave things on such an odd note. Once again, the voice that yelled at him to *'say something!'* Was a little louder than the one that asked, *'but what?!'*.

"Lo-lovely chat..."

Two concerned faces watched her leave; one feline, tinged with purple, and one boy, lips flattened into an uneasy line and deep brown eyes scanning for any last hints before she vanished from their sights.
Odell
◇ And that final bit met open air.

□ Margo, however was now out of earshot, with her hands in her pockets and her pace quickening by the second. She could feel the familiar tug of emotional turmoil pulling at her eyes, her throat, her chest, knots building up and tears beginning to well. Clutching down, she spat the cigarette out and lit another, shaky hands nearly dropping her lighter down a sewer drain. Now, it was a race against time, and against her ability to keep her composure under check, and she had to get back to the Cradle *Quick.*

▪︎ That, and she had to hope Uri wasn't there. As much as she trusted them, she still couldn't accept being seen sobbing her eyes out by *Anyone.* Not sober, at least, and the vodka she'd had was now all gone.