John
Finley had texted Sigrun Fiske at a prompt oh-one-thirteen last night, panicking about the most decidedly *Un*-blue state of their white-blond hair. His hair was easy to dye, and easy to keep up, sort of - wispy hair's biggest disagreement was it's bind to tie-backs and scrunchies, both of which Fin utilized frequently - and he stood in one of the bathrooms with a box of Arctic Blue hair dye, squinting at it's directions through their circular reading glasses - which, fewer and fewer people knew they even owned.

In other words - Fin had a plan. The still-unhealed septum ring sang to their slight impulsiveness these days, but, hey - when the world (Newton's Cradle) was burning (being ravaged by the Horrors), what else was there to do?
Lyndia
It was really no choice between sleeping and turning a random kid blue at this fine hour. No tossup, no competition. This was the *Second* Kid the creature had been called upon for semi-dramatic hair changes, and she had to admit, she did puff out her chest a little in pride. 

It was a little bit funny how she had actually *Met* Neither of the people shining the bat-squid(?)-symbol into the night sky in their hour of need. This one seemed to have quite the focused determination to them- they hadn't picked up on the slow curls of cool breath right by their cheek, nor the multicoloured eyes scanning the same instructions they were. Seemed straightforward enough.

The sound of crunching ice between sharp teeth permeated their muttering in the silence.

"Cool shade."
John
"Merci," Fin replied, in a tone that would have almost been flat, had it not been focused on the box. They did, however, notice the creature hovering just over their shoulder, and jumped, just a bit (and he tried miserably not to show it). They glanced up at Sig with a nod.

 "You must be Sig, then. I'm Fin."

With a less formal introduction, they squinted at the box. "Can you read this? I feel like I'm absolutely blind here, and none of it makes the slightest touch of sense, either."

He did like the idea of it, having bright blue hair - tilting their head from side to side, before handing it off to her. If Sig's texts were anything to go by, she was as maddening as could be, and, from a purely aesthetic point of view, he thought she was pretty to look at - in the same way a torrential downpour of rain could be pretty, or a tidal wave, right before it poured down and wrecked havoc on everything below.
Lyndia
"Last I checked, *Ja*."

Sig's voice was slightly accented but comparably monotone, despite the spring in her step as she bounced over to face them. Her hair was in two loose braids over her shoulders, a few wispy curls loose around her face, and she was well prepared for the incoming splatters of blue paint with a *Kiss* Shirt already smudged with bleach around the shoulders, and pyjama pants that didn't *Quite* Reach her ankles. Without tall boots... Few pairs did.

The box of dye left Finley's hands, but Sigrún's did not leave her pockets.

"Could do this in my sleep, Lord Finnigan," She assured him, plucking their glasses from their idle scowl with another quiet limb, placing them near the sink. A dark towel hit them in the face.

"I've brought my instruments, so your neck isn't blue. Unless you want that blue, too? A splash of discolouration is a striking statement, but the last time I turned my sister purple she bit me," She rambled, this time revealing her plastic-gloved hands to toss the bottle of blue goo around a couple times. *Piece of cake.*

A patch of the same blue spread across her face as she double-checked the instructions with an odd little smile, swishing the last of her ice around her mouth with her tongue. Twisted-ribbon pupils flicked back to Finley, twinkling with her personal favourite kind of mischief.

"Can't have the belle of the ball stopped up with aggravated assault charges, though, so I'll be nice and careful."
John
"Belle was a good movie," Fin remarked, somewhat off-handedly, studying the bottle as it passed from Sigs gloved hands. Their eyes followed it like a cat watching a laser before they jumped back into focus. They looked back up at Sig, a small grin breaking onto their face. 

"I'm kinda excited. I haven't uh, I haven't told anyone I'm doing this except Owen. I think I told him anyway. I haven't even told uh, the uh. I'm, uh. I've got a date. To the dance." 

The little grin spread wider, a hand going to fidget with their sleeve. 

"So, uh - thanks again. Really."
Lyndia
*G a s p -*

The bottle flicked open, Sigrún's face a perfect mask of middle-grade-sleepover shock.

"A *Date*, milord? No wonder you're so lost in thought..." She snickered a little, working a satisfying shock of blue into a lock of flaxen blond. "This is good, this is good. You will be *Terrifying*. The ice melts at your feet, frost crackles around your eyes, and your nose probably hurts but as long as you don't faceplant into any punch it'll be fine."

Sig worked with laser-focus now, her assurances equally nonsensical, disjointed, and somehow encouraging. Her odd little grin barely budged, and something flicked and coiled excitedly just outside the corner of Fin's vision.

"Cute, are they? *Telltelltell*. Won't they be shocked..."
John
Finley grinned at her odd but endearing suggestions. The idea of being strange, eccentric, even, was always appealing, particularly if it went together with an aesthetic Fin enjoyed.

"Kinda like Jack Frost," They mused, sort of to himself, before hardly remembering not to nod at her question(s). Pink spread to their cheeks as they tugged at their sleeves. 

"It's, uh. Well, I think he's cute. He's, uh - you know him, actually. I don't know how well, or anything, but uh - you do. I think he's cute - especially when he forgets to brush his hair down and it just sticks out in every direction, and he's got a great laugh, and-... You know. That kinda thing." 

Oh, Fin, you smitten, smitten bastard. He couldn't help it. Thinking about Ares turned their face to the hue of bubblegum, or, perhaps, saffron was more accurate. 

"He's - he's so special to me. And he asked me to go! Not like - I don't think he meant in a date way, but I mentioned the word date, and he agreed to it, and - God. I'm rambling, *Pardon*."
Lyndia
Sigrún took her time winding a lock of now-*Very* Blue hair around her finger as Fin gushed their way through their endearing speech about definitely-Ares. 

*Perhaps* Gabriel's nasty taste for gossip had infected her just a little, but Sig really did root for them. Somewhere in her murky layers of pigment and emotion, she wondered where her last crush on anyone had gone; an obsession was quick, but it was clear, a fine point of light nipping at her heels beneath the shifting currents. She supposed the lack of it made her feel.. A little all over the place. It was probably good that she was on this end of the gushing, then. She wasn't *That* Dangerously bored, she had a kid to dye.

"Aw, no, ramble..."

Her response took a second, her eyes momentarily glazed over. 

"Anyway. Walks like a date, quacks like a date, dibs on being your maid of honour!"

Her snicker was raspy but jubilant, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. A few blotches of arctic blue spread idly over her hands.

"Alright. So, you let this sit for.. An hour, two? Then I stick your head in the sink, or you hop in the shower. A pity, that we can't all be blue on a whim..."
John
"If you ever wanted to, I could help," They offered with a shrug. "It can't be that hard - I mean, you just did it in, what, five, ten? I'm not horrible at these kinds of things. Plus, your hair isn't too much darker than mine. It wouldn't be hard."

They only registered what she'd said first, then, eyes widening. 

"Maid of - gods. I don't even know if he *Likes* Me, Sig," He said, pushing his cheeks out with air before letting out a sigh. "I mean, I hope he does. I mean, we've like, cuddled, you know, and held hands, and-... The more I talk, the more obvious it seems, I know, but, still. You know? It's just. I don't know if I'm just, you know, overthinking, or if, you know, he actually likes me."

They glanced up at Sig with a sigh. "I like him a lot. Like a lot. I just hope I'm not wrong. You know?"
Lyndia
Sig's dimples quirked at that, just a little.

"You could.. Do better for sources of reassuring love advice, but you, you seem to be cared for quite a bit."

Peeling the blue-soaked gloves from her long, perpetually cold fingers, Sigrún eased herself onto the counter by the sink. The tall creature thoughtfully turned its wrists in circles as it spoke, eliciting tiny *Crackle*S and *Pop*S. The tentacles sprawling from her back- two, they might count- lazily twined around her legs.

"Winter's getting cold, ja? It's only getting colder, even down here. And darker. You find what makes the torches flicker the brightest, and you make what beauty you can by their light."

Silvery eyes, shimmering like liquefied kaleidoscopes under the buzzing lights, twinkled with humour. She kicked her feet playfully, clad in thick socks with patterns of cats and fish bones.

"*Hand-holding*, though. *Faen.* I'll find some mistletoe to hurl at you tomorrow- if my aim is true, mayhaps he'll kiss your worried little head wound all better!"

Snorting and blowing a wispy blonde lock from her nose, any bite to her bark was chased away with a rough little giggle. She cocked her head to the side, focused her strange eyes, and... Turned blue.

Powdery, light blue bloomed in rivers across her skin as countless tiny muscles shifted to expose smart little mirrors too small to see; the bent light taken directly from Finley's head enveloped her like frost, formerly scarlet lines of not-quite-ink melting into slightly discoloured strands of Arctic Blue. There was an artistry to it— winding, organic patterns of hoarfrost glinted subtly over the reflected shade, stretching over her looming frame.

The conversation had moved on, but Sig was not one to be misunderstood, nor underestimated.

"And, oh, *I* Have no problems changing hue, *Heheh.*"
John
Fin practically jumped - he had forgotten that, yes, this girl was a literal sea-monster, who just so happened to only live a floor or two away from them. They cleared their throat, doing their best *Not* To seem freaked out. A year or so at Newton's Cradle - two, really, in just a handful of months, holy *Shit* - had lent their eyes to a lot, but someone sprouting tentacles from their back was always a little unnerving. 

Though, he did like how she spoke. She had a sure, quick banter that pressed confidence into the hands of the listener with a nod (as well as a bit of unease). In short, Sigrun would never have to worry about Fin underestimating her. Quite the contrary. He was properly terrified, but in a respectable way.

"Dude," They said, a bit spellbound, watching the ink (ink? That wasn't ink. It couldn't possibly be) morph and swirl into a spread of arctic array, like the very winter itself surged through her and granted her every wish. They stared, almost forgetting that some people found that rather impolite, the last hues of red melting and breaking down into a clear, perfect blue. 

They almost raised a hand to their hair, and thought better of it.

"That's incredible. How do you do that?"
Lyndia
The gawking of the lovesick Canadian tickled Sigrún just a little, her grin revealing hints of sharp teeth and stains of green just inside her curled lip. The move to the Cradle had been bad for her, but if there was one thing a beast so proud did enjoy, it was finally being able to bask in its power.

"I breathe, and it follows," She cooed, leaning forward. "It's a language of twisting light, a sixth sense... Literally speaking, though, my skin is different."

She extended a graceful, cold hand out toward Finley, palm up, fingers splayed. It returned to her neutral skin tone; it looked strange compared to the blue, as though the light coming from the fluorescent bulbs above the mirror couldn't decide which was supposed to be real.

"There's my normal skin, see? My first layer, before the rest grew." The flesh-tone melted away, spots of mottled black spreading to her fingertips. "There's layers of cells under it, with these tiny muscles- they pull my human skin aside, and stretch out the pools of pigment beneath it."

A flourish, and it was like a layer of ink dripped off of her digits, revealing a vibrant orange-red; it rippled with golden yellow across her knuckles and lit her tendons, so vivid it might drip off and splatter the floor with visions of coral and shifting sand. Her eyes glittered.

"And my coolest trick, beneath those... Mirrors!" A final time, her arm changed, organic tones melting away into liquid diamonds. Undertones, reflections of Finley's hair and the graphic on her shirt, bits of the floor and ceiling were all facets of a living, iridescent masterpiece.

"Camouflage," She whispered, holding her hand up to her face; a hazy outline of her mouth appeared on the back of her hand, grinning sea-green.

"You'll be alright, fry," She continued, poking Finley right on the tip of their nose. The blue relaxed a little around the shadowed parts of her face, as did the sharpness of her gaze fixed on them.
_ _

"You're smart. And observant. Sharp instincts, sharper tongue. And now, a killer colour change."
John
"That's like, actually insane," They whispered. They looked up at Sig with a look of true hushed awe, glancing back and forth from her face to her sick nasty (and kinda creepy) skin. They balked a bit at the poke in the nose, before a laugh spread over their face. 

"Thanks, Sig. I really appreciate all this - the mirros are my favorite, by the way, you could scare the shit out of anybody doing that. Have you thought about doing that on Armando? I think it'd make the damn thing go beserk. And like, can you do any colour? Like any at all? And can you do more than *One* Colour at a time? Like - sorry if this a lot of questions, but I like to investigate - what is it made of? Is it for real just your - just your skin? Does it hurt to do that?"

Sig had finally revealed a tendency of Fin's that had been buried under quips with difficult patrons of the intranet, fear of Armando (and losing the ones he loved), buried under classes and a literal chemistry midterm they had to take in the midst of the chaos. Sig had pulled out Fin's undying, nearly unquenchable curiosity, his eyes growing wide when he spoke, little sparks jumping off his hands unconsciously. 

"Sorry if I'm talking a lot, I am, but - Sig, that's so fucking cool!"
Lyndia
Sigrún leaned back and giggled at Finley's barrage of questions, swinging her long legs.

"No!! People here are so weird about talking a lot! Why be dropped into *X-men* Meets *Silent Hill* And not be totally entranced by *Anything*?! You- you shoot lightning, right? You have to tell me what *That* Feels like next!!"

Shimmery streaks of excitement twined around her body, zipping through her skin like a swirling school of fish. Sig had gathered that it would be.. Insensitive to gush about the fantastical madness that was the Cradle. She wasn't too loony to understand why that was, her eyes read light and shadow just fine, but they did warp the hues and patterns in a way many did not appreciate. Fin's lunacy was, finally, a familiar and joyous thing.

"And, yes. Any colour I can drink in, patterns can take a second but they're *Essential* For camouflage, it doesn't hurt but it kind of pinches sometimes? And, *Heheh*..."

The patterns in the ever-shifting sea-beast's skin danced and swirled as she spoke, but at the thought of the wailing void, a more coherent veil of swirling white swept over her angular features. Its last cry caught in her skin like dust between her teeth, gold in her fist. It was different from the night she had drank it in, the intricacies picked from fluorescent lights and cold bathroom tiles, but the scream still rippled clear, silent, and true.

"'Armando' used it on *Me*, more like," Said she, quieter now but brimming behind those strange eyes with a thrill bordering mania. She hardly blinked, as though it might obscure the memory.

"The suckers, they're like— they're like eyes, almost, feeling light as a sensation, that I recreate. Their memory... It's like it embraces me all over again."
_ _

Her whisper-like voice quivered with wonder, a seasoned teller of tales around fires in the pitch-dark weaving pictures vivid enough to make her listener's skin crawl with the phantom sensation of eyes peering through the hidden currents running under plain sight. A dandelion seed made of silvery reflections settled on her cheek like a teardrop.
John
"Well - lightnings a bit of an overstatement," Admitted Finley, turning their head side to side in the mirror to look at their gooped-up hair. "It's more like... Static. Lots of it. I can break things apart, like locks and stuff, if they're weak enough. And I'm almost always prone to shocking people. I've got a habit of touching metal before I shake hands, y'know? And, like, I can shock a lot of metal stuff. Like trash bins. You know that one on the third floor that looks scorched? I got scared by a spider one day when I was throwing something away."



They grimaced a bit. "But, you know. If people think you can wield lightning, they generally leave you alone. You know? Don't go ratting me out, if you don't mind."

He liked talking to Sig. Something about her reminded him of Nadia, although the two were truthfully about as alike as a beetle and a butterfly. She had a warm, bold energy that always drew Fin towards people. It was comforting.

They stared at the mirage and menagerie of designs whirling across her skin, mouth slightly agape. 

"Holy shit," They said. "Sig, you're a fucking force of nature, dude." 

Her voice dropped, and Fin stared up at her face, light brow furrowing at attention. A small stone dropped into his stomach. They remembered how Ares was when he came out of the basement — they wished now that they were close enough with Sig to feel comfortable checking on her. Fin shifted from foot to foot. 

"Armando," They told her, "Is just a little bitch."
Lyndia
"You've got your finger on the pulse, milord," She crooned, rolling her shoulders back. "I'm a far greater bitch than it is."

Finley's discomfort didn't fly over Sigrún's head. It was very clear, actually, as it would be to someone who had grown into her monstrous aspects as enthusiastically as she had; the sight made something in her gut coil the wrong way, though. It wasn't fun when it was someone she rather liked, someone she would like to comfort with her twisting shadow.

She let that last line ring as a reassurance, then. Finley didn't seem as sure, but Sig had learned herself some slightly madder things. Her smile lessened, but her eyes didn't dull.

"And, your secret is safe, for I confess— it's not the strangest to me."

Secrets of that nature were close to her, indeed. People saw bits and pieces of another's power, or their damnably mysterious and downright nonsensical existence and decided that it went all the way down. That was handy when it came to privacy, and scaring off people not worth her tears, but it did get stressful when her strength hadn't matched its cursed sight just yet. It was one thing to grow into your strength— a wild ride for her, one she took with gusto— but what a difficult thing, to encourage your strength to grow into *You*? What then?

Sigrún listed forward and clapped her hands over Fin's shoulders in one fluid motion.

"Lock-breaker, heart-jolter, *Dread sight* Of spiders... Your might is a growing thing, as is its wielder." The creature's voice was low again, sincere. Sigrún was ever the one to pick its words carefully. "It— you— are no small thing, Finley. Nor are you a lonesome one."
John
A smile fell onto their face, grinning at themself and Sig in the mirror. The Cradle was strange, off-putting, downright disturbing at times — it was only Fins connections within it that made the whole thing seem worthwhile.

 Really, he tried to reassure himself, he could reasonably sustain himself should he make it out at a near point. It wasn't really his fault the school's theatre had burnt up. *Right?* Right. If their powers didn't get worse, they could just skate through the rest of their time here in tact. No problems. Nothing to worry about. Except the horror festering in the basement, their tendency to set bins on fire, his sister's best friend who was still in the hospital and maybe hated him—

"Thanks, Sig. Really," They said, before glancing up at the blue blob their hair was still entrapped in. 
"I don't have a *Ton* Of people to talk about my powers or anything with. I mean, I have Ares. He knows. And Owen. He's my best friend, I think. Like my best friend in a long time. The two of us were working on a song for the person he's *Totally* Smitten for. He won't outright admit it, but it's so obvious to literally anyone with eyes. Like, so serious. It's nuts. But even then– nobody here talks about their powers. Have you ever noticed that? Except like. Five people. Including you."

Their rambling tumbled over as they resisted the very real temptation to scratch their still-healing septum ring. Not touching it was the most important rule Sergio had given him, but indeed, was the hardest to follow.
Lyndia
Sig cocked her head when Fin's rambling picked up the pace, watching a particularly amusing blue cowlick bounce in time to their happy stream of chatter. They were animated by short, sweet blooms of sparks, crackling and popping from their swivelling joints and their wide blue eyes.

"Yeah! Yeah, I have noticed that!! Like, I get 'tactical advantages' or 'secrecy' or whatever, but we live under the same roof now, so— I don't know!" 

Sigrún's legs, still dangling from the counter, kicked faster. Talking to Finley was like a breath of fresh air, a relief. At least one other person saw it as strange.

"If one takes everything as seriously as the people do here, they will drive themselves insane." Her strange eyes crinkled around the corners. "*Magic*, beyond any of our *Wildest dreams*, and people are fighting over who did what to which kitchen appliance! I didn't spend years of my life daydreaming about *Camp Halfblood* For it to be so... Hushed."

The girl snorted, and leaned back on her hands, one of her fingers picking up an errant smear of blue.

"Gabriel uses his powers to cheat at *Smash Bros* And it's the most at home I've felt here."
John
"He does??" Finley said. "I knew it, that absolute fart. He seems like he'd get into a good acting program and get some poor lass to fall for him, and immediately never speak to her again after it's over."

Their words fell into grumbling, half-hearted muttering to themself as he scrunched his nose up in the mirror, even more muttering — *"You know, this kinda looks like my pride flag, sorta."* — before they glanced up at Sig, blinking a few times before staring off at the bathroom counter, a gear or two slowly cranking in his head.

"Hey, Sig, question. Like real talk question. What do you think is going to happen with Armando, really? Like, I hope it just stays gone. I don't want to-... I don't want anyone else to get hurt. That things dangerous, and I'm worried about-... About everybody, but especially you, and Ares, and everybody who keeps running at it like moths to a burning shed. It's just – we can't get lucky forever, can we? I wish I could have been there, and analyzed it more myself, but I also want to *Never* Go near it, but also the people I love keep going near it and—" 

*Breeeathe, Carlisle.*

"— Thanks for, um. Listening to me talk. I think. I'm just worried.:
Lyndia
"He.. Probably would do that but *Isn't it oddlyspecific-*"

Sig trailed off at their continued grumbling. Her roommate was certainly a character. The musically-voiced man with the comics under his bed and a considerable skill with *Street Fighter* Playing said character was cool, though. She wished Fin knew him better; perhaps they'd drag him into some good trouble.

"...Too cliché to say 'I dunno'?"

She tilted her head back, and squinted against the fluorescents. The colours over the bridge of her nose and cheekbones splintered, the wavy slits of her pupils clenching into thin cracks.

"It's... Thrilling. I know it has more to say than it already has, and we have more to say to it. No one *Wants* A haunted house- well- a lie, I do- but there's always a locked chest or a hidden diary or a file untouched by the ooze that wraps it all up; if I have anything to do with it, we will find it."

Sigrún was not yet to the point of wishing it gone, and knew not to tell them as much, but...

"It's getting sore, though, isn't it."

She leaned back down and squeezed his shoulder. Her expression of sympathy wasn't exactly a smile, but it was tender.
John
"Sore's one word for it," They said. 

They let out a long, languid sigh, a hand raising up to run through his hair and pausing at the realization that that (generally) wouldn't be a good idea. Fin glanced up at Sig, studying her. She had been down there the most, apart from a few others, and instead of fear, her eyes shone with a sort of curiosity that Fin had to respect. 

"You're braver than I am," They told her. "A lot braver, I think. I just - I'd rather it all go away. I don't know if I want to hear it."

*Awfully cowardly of you, isn't it?*

Fin bit the inside of their cheek. He looked down from Sig back at his hands, rocking back on their heels. 

"But," They said, "If you wanna go, Sig, and look down there in the void, and, and if Ares wants to, too - I'll go with you. I'll go with both of you. I can't let you go alone, even if I'd rather run away to Greenland with Val than ever see those creepy-ass staticky plates again. Still can't figure out why it would *Throw* Shit, *Mon dieu.* You're my friend. Vi's... Not my friend, but Margo's pretty cool, and she's Marg's girlfriend. And Ares is-..."

They cleared their throat.

"...He means a lot to me. And if helping you deal with Armando's fuckery is what needs to be done, you've got the most reluctant backup on your hands. I'll shock 'em if you want me to."

Although their voice wavered, Fin seemed sincere. They took a deep breath as they spoke, steeling his shoulders and nodding, affirming their own thoughts to himself. He even tried for a smile, though, it was watery at best and, at worst, a nervous spasm of the face.

While the dye set in, Finley had no idea what would come of it - 'it' being the Cradle, Val's departure, any of their circumstances - but, they were nothing if not a loyal friend. He'd stay by his loved ones's side, no matter what.