Janet
Despite the stunning array of incredibly cozy places to sit in the Cradle's surprisingly nice library, Sigrún was sat on the floor right in the middle of the aisle glittering with the brightly-printed spines of fiction, fiction, *Fiction*. Scattered around its hunched-over form were yet more books, worn paperbacks stacked in neat piles with glossy-jacketed hardcovers, some delicately held open to chapters in the *One* To *Three* Range by tentacles that seemed to leak like spilled oil from a surprisingly normal-looking *Nirvana* Shirt coming untucked from a long black skirt.

It seemed that she, terror of the low seas, tripping hazard *Supreme*, had caught wind of a new batch of books that the library had acquired that past blue moon. What joy! Nose literally pressed deep into a story that smelled crisp and freshly-printed, it might have taken a category five weather event to the face to get her to notice anything beyond it. Just the way it liked things.
Ray
Uriel had occupied themselves with silently sitting next to Sigrun, picking up the books she tossed aside after her curiosity was satiated. Uriel would give them an a second look over, especially since their taste in books was vastly different than Sigrun's. 

They didn't quite know if Sigrun noticed their presence— after all, Uriel hadn't exactly said anything, too interested in reading the titles that lined the books' spines to remember to introduce themselves. 

And so they sat.
Juan
The library is nice. Mimir had settled on this conclusion shortly after she had returned — the space was usually empty, and if it wasn't, it was big enough that she could avoid interaction entirely. It was pleasant, despite the need for her to wear gloves constantly in the place. 

It was looking for a very specific book, as always, one of the few she would constantly circle back around to at times like these. She slowly walked through the shelves of books, taking her sweet time getting to where she wanted to be, until her boot hit... A book. On the floor?

"Who the fu— oh." Pink eyes were lead to the hunched form of Sigrún, with the albino sitting next to it and its pile of books. Mimir raised an eyebrow. 

"Having a playdate?" It was meant to be a joke, but it didn't quite come out in the correct tone. They didn't bother to correct it.
Janet
If the joke sounded sour in Mimir's ears, it certainly had the time to really permeate in the room, reaching its peak of perfectly-marinated missed-beat awkwardness before Sigrún realized that it was talking to her.

Mostly because, even for Mimir, it sounded so *Strange.* Was it a dig at her reading books? No, that wasn't right. She had friends that weren't books. Mimir would know that, being one of them. *Hmmmmmm.* Before it occurred to her to even acknowledge the newcomer, Sigrún swivelled around in her nest to see what could possibly be drawing its ire.

***"FUH-"***

A loud, flat note of surprise bounced off the shelves, a book nearly smacking Uriel upside the head as Sig's spatial awareness crashed back into her, sideways. From the sheer surprise, a breathy little giggle bubbled up from her chest. She snorted a *Yes*.

"Playdate—yes, playing, we make a game of—*Heheh*—scaring the living shit out of each other, don't we..." She clapped Uriel on the shoulder, summoning an impish grin to aim at Mimir.

"Impressive, truly."
Ray
A flying book hits Uriel square on the face with a *Thwump*, and the hefty clap that rattles their thin body only makes them look even more confused and lost. 

"Ah, I suppose?" Uriel responds, their head tilting at the question. Deep grey eyes blink in confusion, and soulfully find both Mimir and Sigrun's gaze. 

"Are you also here for a..." They pause at the unfamiliar word, "Play date? I simply saw Sigrun sitting here, and felt it apt to join." 

Uriel's braid swishes to the side, and they put on a smile. "Play date is a fun word. I do enjoy its energy— perhaps I shall add it to my vernacular."
Juan
Before Mimir could really piece together why her "Joke" Had made Sigrun confused, everything made sense all at once. The yelling, the book flying, it made them freeze up for a second. 

But only a second. As the book hit Uriel, and the giggle snapped her out of it. It was refreshing to hear from Sigrun, especially after... You know, that's not important. Not right now. It takes a moment of extra effort to pull their eyes away from it, glancing around the floor to look at the books scattered about and allowing herself to laugh a bit with the maker of the book-nest.

"You're *Very* Convincing," Mimir comments, the joke part landing a bit better this time, or at least she hopes. Eyes meet once more and she allows herself a lopsided half-smile, only to let it fall as she turns her head to Uriel.

"Have you never heard of a play date before?" It made sense, with a second's thought. They clearly never had friends as a kid. "It's a little kid thing." 

The description could be helpful if it wasn't coming from her. Of course, she loves attention, but when it's from the two of them... In the same space...

Mixed feelings throw punches at the front of her skull. This *Had* Been a topic of thought for it recently. How can someone it cares for and someone it could care less about be connected like this, in a strange friendship? It's clear to them that Sigrun is not quite picky with her friends, or if she is, it's not in the same way Mimir is. It confuses her, but she wouldn't dare express it.
Janet
Mimir's laugh was a *Very* Rare little treat indeed, one that Sigrún puffed out her chest a little at seemingly coaxing out. Perhaps her attention had been scooped up a little too cleanly, however, another beat passing before it clicked that one of the books stuck to some fringe sucker had just *Thwacked* The albino in the nose.

"I must have knocked the memory out of them!!"

Twisting around with such a velocity that she gained a second of airtime and landed sitting up on her knees, the centre of the bubbly vortex of scattered *Warrior Cats* Instalments stared them down point-blank, uncomfortably close.

"Dear, gentle Uriel, what have I done to your *Face*, shall I forgive myself—eeeeeehh, you're good. Little scar was there before me..."

She pressed the tip of their nose with a cold finger and landed back hard on the palms of her hands, head flopping to the side; coincidentally, another book hung open at her eye level, suspended by a limb that was now being overtaken by a sugary purple shade. Her lip hung open slightly as she paused to read the first sentence of a chapter, saving a particularly gripping simile for use later; upon remembering that there were people around her now, it clamped its greenish teeth shut, mouth curling again into that weird little smile.

Uriel *And* Mimir! If blissful isolation wasn't in the cards, it could still be a lovely day.
Ray
Whatever Sigrun deemed was inappropriately close went unnoticed by the socially inept Uriel; instead, they slowly blinked at the impending appendage until she pressed their nose like a button. 

The expression on their face was *Adorably* Lost— if only Owen were there to see it. *Gentle Uriel?* What an odd manner of speech, even to their ears. 

They spend too long starstruck and confused by the motion, still reeling even after Sigrun has turned away. Only until the heartbeat faintly drumming in their ribs grab their floating mind and drag them back to reality did Uriel remember to answer Mimir's question. 

"Ah, no, I have not. I am inexperienced in the matter— nonetheless, I do hope you know about these Warrior Cats. I've only seen glimpses of a..." Their eyebrows furrow in earnest concentration, "Firestar, was it? A fascinating character, so I've been told."
Juan
Gentle is defintiely an adjective that one can use to describe a person. Mimir wasn't quite sure it would describe a single person here and be accurate, but they choose not to comment on it. Sigrun clearly sees something in Uriel that they do not, and likely never will, see. 

They keep a safe distance, a couple feet back from the two to avoid any mishaps. The sleep depravation was still lingering, and accidentally triggering a power while tired never went well for them. Plus, they didn't want to get too close to someone who could knock them out whenever they felt like it. It didn't keep Mimir from feeling some fucked up kind of fomo, something about missing high school experiences... They couldn't be bothered to try and be self aware right now.

The mess of books seemed interesting, and before she could really examine them, Uriel brings them to the forefront of the conversation. The smile on Sigrun's face only added to the suddenly changed atmosphere in the space.

Something just happened.

"Firestar? Yeah, you *Would* Think he's interesting." Of course, Mimir is a generic Firestar hater. She thought he was boring at best, uninteresting at his worst. Nine lives and the orange cat couldn't lose a single brain cell for the life of him. Lord — no, Starclan — knows it would have made him more fun. 

"Everyone knows Yellowfang is one of the best characters in the series."
Janet
"A *Delectable* Choice, yes, but she didn't make my own hearts flutter quite like my beloved wife, Needletail," Sigrún swooned, tentacle poised over its chest, sending an exaggeratedly lovestruck look through the ceiling. In her hands, the paperback she was idly bending made a soft crackling noise.

"My love with the terrible choices and the sort-of adoptive daughter and the *Deliciously* Condemned fate is responsible for the most of my enduring childhood cat-related lunacy."

*Read: 'I am gay. Mommy issues.'*

Ah, but it was good to discuss the sacred texts again. The image of a younger, comically smaller Mimir—complete with her signature scowl and dry chuckle, perhaps a downy shock of purple hair—curled around her own stash of angsty cat books was one she found absolutely ticklish. So was the thought of the current, bewildered Uriel poring over them with a highlighter, like some sort of prophecy written in nostalgia.

It snorted a little, a sharp tooth glinting through its grin, round eyes twinkling with amusement.
Ray
Uriel blinks. It's a bit too slow— their eyelids lag behind each other in a fraction of a second, causing the albino to look more like a lizard than a human. Their pale, almost bluish complexion certainly didn't help them there. 

"I know little about these characters." They clarify, clearing their throat. The adam's apple peeking above their purple poncho collar bobs at the motion. "I do apologize if my lack of knowledge has offended you. I simply find the idea of living nine whole lives fascinating. Being able to defy death that many times... I wonder what knowledge and wisdom one could gain." 

They stroke their chin, looking off in the distance solemnly. Despite the subject matter and intended audience, they treat the (often contradictory) lore of Warrior Cats with the utmost respect and seriousness. 

"You both like Yellowfang and... Her wife Needletail, then?" Uriel wonders outloud. "Fascinating. I did not know the cats could be lesbians. This opens up a myriad of possibilities." 

Despite Uriel's unfamiliarity with both the lore of the books splayed across the floor, and hanging out with these two people together, their expression remained constant. Their face stared at Sigrun and Mimir, unblinking— like a cool glass of milk, the surface of the smooth, white liquid unmoving and still. 

That was the best word for Uriel. *Still,* And unnaturally so. 

"I am glad you all are in high spirits." They say to no one in particular, a polite smile on their face. "What joy, to be reassured like this."
Juan
Mimir is struggling to hold back her confusion. Uriel, put simply, confuses it. It becomes very clear to them very quickly that they absolutely do not know anything about Warrior Cats, and it's enough to make it twitch as it bites back a plethora of comments. Instead, they slowly take in a breath, thoughts wandering to Needletail and Sigrun instead. 

"Nine lives is boring. Plus, Firestar is boring. I'm sure he's very wise but nothing itches a scractch better than a tragic death. Seems like you share that sentiment, hm?" Its head turns back to Sigrun, eyebrow raised, but only for a moment before Uriel spoke again.

If she had been taking a sip of something, she would have done a spit take. *Wives?* Someone is reading into things a little too much and a little too poorly. Or maybe they're just confused. Warrior cats is very confusing. 

"They are not married. They don't meet, as far as I remember. But they have some good parallels..." She trails off, sighing. How can they be so... Enthusiastic? About everything? Both of them, but mostly Uriel. Was it just the blind ignorance? Mimir wants to dissect them in a lab.

"Both of their lives end so tragically. It's wonderful and terrible."
Janet
"*Yes!* The cats can be lesbians! That's what I've been saying for *Yeeaarrrs*," Sigrún beamed, excitedly crackling her book a little faster. Perhaps Uriel was a little clueless, but it had been so long since the concept was new to her—Sig could be a critic if she so chose, but being giddy with likeminded folk felt *Good*.

"And-but-I think, *I* Think that the tragic death is the most satisfying at the end of the nine... Makes it even more tragic, don't you think? All those memories of life, and knowledge of death, dissolved into stardust—the kittycat Library of Alexandria," She sighed with a flourish.

"Long lives, slow spirals into un-death before being scraped from the mortal coil! The concept is downright *Horrifying* If you look at it just right! I've theorized for weeks on end about the possibilities—like, when a person is bitten by something like a vampire or a zombie, or they die and come back in fiction, they're always described as becoming *Less human*, less of themselves, but-but cats, what does it mean to become less of a cat? What do cats think infeline monsters are?? With the existence of Starclan, though, obviously those who have succumbed to this are venerated, prayed to. *Which begs the question: do those cats regard walking the line between losing themselves and outright death as their ultimate form, the culmination of those nine lives?! This is especially interesting if you consider that—*"

The coiled-up tips of her tentacles tapped the tops of its book stacks excitedly as it spoke, on the brink of a long-in-the-making rant about zombies, vampirism, and feline ancestor worship. Whatever daggers Mimir was beaming into Uriel's skull were deflected by a mushroom cloud of forming theories (not that the rambling sea creature didn't notice, but rather she didn't care, seeing as how there was lore to explain). Sigrún spoke at mach speed, gleefully mutating the *Warrior Cats* Canon to her own horror-addled whims.
_ _

Her dreamy grin turned incredulous, aimed at no one in particular. 

"I wrote *So much* Concerning fanfiction. Hel."
Ray
I reply today after dinner w my parents