Diane
An eyebrow furled. 

A frustrated groan sounded.

Uriel never pegged themselves as an easily upset person. No, they prided themselves on waiting to react, not letting tempting negative emotions taint their mindset. 

*This plant really is pushing it, though.* 

They propped the back of a wilted leaf, trying (and failing) to get it to maintain a perky state. As soon as they withdrew their hand, the leaf shuddered, drooping back down. Alarm began to set in— if the plants died, not only would Uriel's source of caffeine vanish, but one of the last living reminders of their time back home would die, too. 

Uriel let out a grunt as they picked up both plants in their arms, using their hip to open their dorm door. They didn't know what they were doing wrong— perhaps the kitchen would have someone knowledgeable in plant care, or at least some materials they could use as fertilizer. 

It was a last ditch effort, but as they rushed towards the kitchen, they couldn't think of any other options.
Jeannie
◇ And as luck would have it, the plant doctor was in.

□ Or, well, technically present. Really, Silas wasn't actually thinking about tending to plants today. Rather, he'd just harvested a fresh crop of green onions, a favourite snack of his that was already growing in at least one planter regardless of where he was living or how his life was going. Stood in front of the stove, he'd been busy sautéeing some of his fresh crop, peckish butterflies nibbling at their belfry, a hum emanating from his throat as his admittedly spartan cooking knowledge was put to work. Clad in a strange mix of a proper slate button-up, a velvet paisley tie, and a black tiered skirt, he more than likely looked odd.

▪︎ And it was this oddity that was now on display as someone busted through the door, much to his surprise.

◆ "Christ, mate, be easy on the doors! Ol' Graham's already got his hands full cleaning up that fuckin' napalm mess from the other night." He jovially chuckled. "Want some onions? Just picked 'em, they're really good the way I cook 'em."
Diane
Uriel, a bit out of breath as they slam through the door, takes a couple of seconds to fully register the presence occupying the kitchen. If they noticed the peculiar outfit, they don't make it known— after all, Uriel is dressed similarly odd. 

Their deep purple woven poncho contrasts harshly with their pale and gaunt face. Stark white hair is neatly tied in a braid that hangs on their shoulder— perhaps the only 'neat' thing about their appearance. Large, grey bags hang down from their tired, half-lidded eyes. They're abnormally tall— around six foot — an odd contrast to the lack of presence that followed them like a plague. 

"O-oh." They look over at the man in the room, a bit confused at the voice. "I didn't expect anyone to actually *Be* Here. You said you picked those plants...?" 

Uriel lifts the two plants in their arms on the table, letting out a less-than-pleasant noise at having to heft them high enough to *Plop* Them on the table. 

"I know you're not supposed to move plants, but..." They yawn. "I didn't know what else to do, and I figured the kitchen might have some impromptu fertilizer."
Jeannie
◆ "Shit, mate, me neither." A pause, a chuckle, the faint sizzle of food being sautéed in oil in a stainless steel pan. "But, hey, life's as unpredictable as it is cruel, so don't let my presence throw your vibes off."

□ Speaking with a soft Manchester accent, Silas turned back to his pan of food, oak eyes inspecting the stalks for doneness. Figuring they'd be fine, he turned off the stove and evacuated the greens onto an awaiting plate, turning back to face the other lad when he mentioned he'd been having some sort of problems with his own plants. Looking at the plants in their pots, he'd frown lightly, eyebrows arching up a tad as, with his cooking done, he strolled over to get a closer look.

▪︎ Fashion wasn't his strongest suit, but plants...? He knew a fair bit more.

◆ "Ooh, yeah, mate. Hm. These pots... They give it proper drainage? You water them properly? That's a killer – plants only need water when the soil's dry, after all – , and it's a mistake I made before." Perhaps it was an incorrect assumption, but he felt he needed to address his initial concerns as to the care of the plant. "Don't worry 'bout moving 'em, they're already half-dead, and in all honesty I find that when plants are dyin' like this it's a good ides to put 'em in the shade. There's, er... A million different things that can kill a plant. Finicky things."
Diane
"Perhaps, I... Might have overwatered them." Uriel concedes, a little hesitant at admitting their own mistake. 

They brush a thumb along the stem of the plant, letting out a little sigh at the plant's poor state. It was a bit foolish, Uriel supposes, to get so attached to a plant. In Uriel's eyes, it was not only a key element in managing their abilities, but the one reminder of home they had in this desolate, foreign place. 

"It's extremely important that they stay alive. I know you recommended, ahem, putting them in the shade, and I'm certain you know more than me. But..." Uriel pauses, looking down at the pots. The ceramic pots were covered in a thick, woolen sweater, both knit by Uriel themselves. They were the first things they've ever woven, cautious hands guided by their more-experienced mother. 

It was a memory they fondly kept close to their chest, and it only strengthened their resolve.

"They're rather important to me. They play a... Vital role in managing my abilities." Uriel breathes out, opting to hide the emotional significance of the flora.
Jeannie
◆ "Shit man, then just... Lemme poke at 'em."

□ Without any confirmation as to whether he'd actually had been given permission to tend to the taller lad's plants, Silas set off on his quest, bottom lip jutted and curled over his top lip as he began to work at the first of the plants. The leaves were in varying stages of wilt, and while some were salvageable he could tell that some were beyond saving. "Sorry about this, mate.. " He uttered as a breath left his lungs, surgically removing several decayed, dead leaves at the base, making sure to cut them as neatly as possible to reduce the chance of the plants outright dying.

▪︎ And even with this emergency work, it was no guarantee that the plants would live to see another season.

◆ "Hmm, yeah... Overwatered. I can't promise they'll live mate, but seriously. Put them out of the shade, elevate them a bit, and apply fungicides to 'em." He grabbed a sprig of onion with his free hand and took a bite. "That's what's worked for me in the past. Fungi like humid, warm environments, and that's *Exactly* What ya get when it's sitting on a windowsill with too much water. I'm just... Do you mind if I lift them out a bit? The roots probably need to be pruned, lad, but as ya said, they're right important to ya, so I figured I'd ask."
Diane
Uriel simply watches as Silas begins to perform his craft— astutely observing his hands snip the various dead areas, lifting the various stems to observe the decay. It was... Fascinating, watching someone so intently analyze an area of study far out of Uriel's reach. 

"So long as there's a chance. I trust you with gardening far more than I trust myself, at least." They say softly, stroking the still-alive leaves with the back of their finger. 

It... Might be a bit hasty, to trust someone with their precious plants, but Uriel was good at sensing people's intentions. Perhaps it was years of studying other people, analyzing their behavior in order to understand what about others they seemed to be missing, the critical puzzle piece that made it seem like there was a gulf between them and everyone else. 

"Is... There a way to save the seeds, in case they do die? These plants are one of the only things keeping me awake throughout the day. I don't think I'd be able to function without them."
Jeannie
◆ "Aye, glad to hear it, mate. To answer your question, though... You could possibly regrow it from cuttings with a bit of know-how. It's a little complex, but fuck, I can help ya out."

□ Speaking without effort as he lifted the first pot out of its enclosure, his expression soured lightly, shifting from goofy yet observant to downtrodden. It was always a sad experience to see a plant's roots in such a state, but he couldn't quite blame the other, for he'd made the exact same mistake before. Beginning to trim with a little pocket knife he'd bought the day before, the roots plopped out, rotted material chucked into a half-drank can of Dr. Pepper he'd been sipping down before his services were requested.

▪︎ After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

◆ "Anyways, lad. Don't think it's quite right to do all this work and not at least get a name. Silas is the man working your plants, what's your name, king?"
Diane
Uriel blinks at the term of endearment— or, at least, they assumed endearment.

"King, lad, might I ask why you call me such names? I'm neither a king nor a lad, so you don't have to worry about such terms. Then again, I suppose it's my fault for not introducing myself earlier."

They eye the pocket knife with a cool gaze— *Interesting*. Were they prepared for a fight, or...? It didn't seem like the type of possession needed for everyday folk. Uriel would have to keep their eyes peeled, and try not to instigate anything. Hopefully, their prior track record would be proven wrong. 

They turn towards Silas, looking him in the eye and giving a small smile. "My name is Uriel, Uriel Melancon. It's quite nice to meet you, Silas."
Jeannie
◆ "We're all kings, mate. That's why." An awkward chuckle followed. "But if it confuses ya then shit, I'll cut it out."

□ Casually talking as his hands trimmed the rotted roots on their own, Silas had begun to notice that this man – Uriel, he introduced himself as – seemed to be a bit socially challenged. Perhaps it was a language barrier, or perhaps it was a mental illness, but whatever the case he made a note to steer clear of terms that could sow confusion. After all, he was more focused on offering salvation to a pair of wilted dying plants, and as long as he was in the presence of them he wasn't exactly going to let them go easily.

▪︎ He'd powered through so much worse with plants, but somehow he still worried that it was all for naught.

"Uriel, eh? Seventh of the Septims... Nice. I knew a guy name Uri... Ulyss... Fuck. Those aren't the same names..." Trailing off, he stated intently at the root system, testing each remaining end with pinched fingers to test for health and rigidity. "Don't mind me, not great at focusing on two things at once, mate. Now, *This* Plant, as long as you keep it in the shade and take care of it, it'll bounce back, hopefully. Guess I gotta look at the other... Want me to preserve a few cuttings in case these ones don't make it?"
Diane
Uriel nodded, humming idly as Silas continued to talk. 

"It would be quite the gesture if you did keep some of the clippings. I'm not too sure about the origin you're thinking of, but my mother named me after the fourth archangel, the angel of repentance. It's a bit of a shame— it's a very pretty boy's name, and I feel a bit bad I didn't end up being one. I've decided to keep the name, though."

They let out an appreciative noise at seeing the health of the still-alive roots, tilting their head to examine Silas' handiwork from all angles. 

"I wouldn't be surprised if your ability had something to do with plants— it already looks much healthier than when I came in. I'm... Rather impressed." They're apprehensive to touch the plant, but give a small smile towards Silas. 

It would be best to try and get to know this man, considering the extreme likelihood of Uriel damaging their plants in the future. Uriel... Wasn't too skilled at talking, they knew that much. They took just a tad too long to respond, and their ever-pallid face always seemed to unnerve others. What they did enjoy, however, was *Listening*.
Jeannie
◆ "Keep a few? Alright." 

□ Tongue poking out lightly and pressing itself against his upper lip, he began to take a few cautious snippets, setting each one aside with intentions to chuck them into a propogation bath later. Of course, though, something that Uriel said stood out to him: *"It's a very pretty boy's name,"** The words echoed in his head, **"And I feel a bit bad I didn't end up being one."** Silently cursing himself for unintentionally misgendering another what he could only assume was queer person, he looked up at them, hands expertly wrapped around the plant and knife.

▪︎ Well, shit.

◆ "Felt that." He nodded. "Silas is kind of a traditional name in the family, and it's seen as some huge masculine badge of honour for some bloody reason, so let's just say my grandfather in particular, uh... Every third word out of his mouth in my direction's a slur." Chuckling, he finally set the first plant back into its pot. "So, mate, whatever you identift as, just lemme know what'cha want me to use for pronouns and shit. Wouldn't want to misgender ya and all that. Anyways, er... Yeah, it's a lovely name. Better than a lot of biblical names... Jacob this, Esau that, Mark the other... Bloody hell."

▪︎ "Also... Not quite." A light smile graced his facial features. "This is just years of gardening as a hobby. You learn a lot over the course of a decade or so, huh?"
Diane
Uriel feels a bit guilty upon seeing Silas tense up at their words. It's a bit unfortunate— they were never a fan of direct confrontation. Whenever they did correct people about their pronouns, it always made others defensive. No one *Likes* Feeling like a bad person, and so any attempts to gently correct people were usually met with hostility and awkwardness. 

However, Silas' response was... Refreshing. They let out a small noise of approval, and seemed to relax at the lack of an abrasive response. 

"You too, then? I use they/them, but I dislike correcting people. Thank you for asking, though." 

At hearing about Silas' family, Uriel pats them on the back— delicately and a tad bit hesitant, but most certainly *There*. 

"I... My only family I grew up with is my mother, and she accepted me rather easily. I, ah, haven't met my extended family. The kids my age never really seemed to understand what I was, so I relate in that aspect." Uriel shifts a bit, feeling obligated to respond in turn but a bit wary at mentioning their extended family. It wasn't a subject they particularly *Enjoyed* Talking about, is all. 

"I'm sorry for what you had to go through. Having family turn against you seems... Awful." Their voice is soft, and bleeding with sympathy.
Jeannie
◆ "Gotcha." He nodded, his hair bobbing ever so slightly with the miniscule motion of his head. "Guess while we're on pronoun terms, he/they. Easy enough, I suppose. Also... Don't be afraid to correct people. It's *Your* Identity, don't let 'em walk all over it. Now..."

□ Turning to face the other plant, Silas' eyes trained their focus on the leaves first, admittedly in better shape than the former had been. Clipping a few leaves off, he could already tell that this one wasn't going to need quite as much work, yet it still showed signs of overhydration, or perhaps a bit of subterranean mold gnawing away at the roots like termites. Nodding occasionally to show he was listening, a pang of envy tugged at his gut, the knowledge that he'd been born with just one life and was forced to spend his formative years in a house that barely accepted him, let alone supported him.

▪︎ However, this wasn't just about him, and the hand between his shoulder blades reminded him that the young queer experience wasn't just one isolated tale of frustration and repression, it was shared in part by everyone who lived it.

◆ "Probably for the best you haven't met your extended family. In my experience they're either really cool or really fuckin' weird, and it's not worth testing the waters." He grumbled as he tested the dirt, sniffing it and seeing if anything about it smelt off or unwell. Perhaps unscientific, but...? "It sure the fuck is. Mom tried to understand, but she's old-school. Raised Roman Catholic, was a missionary at one point. Dad's just... He's a Mexican trades worker. My identity just never goes through his head. It's... Whatever." A somber sigh passed through the air. "I know who the hell I am, mate, and that's enough for me."
Diane
Uriel stands up a bit straighter at Silas talking about being able to police their own identity, almost like a child being caught with their hand in a cookie jar. They let out a defeated sigh, and fold in on themselves. 

"I'm sorry— I suppose it's a force of habit. Having to play around other people's feelings, that is." They let out a small laugh, if only to clear the air and lighten the mood from the sudden intimate confession.

As Silas went on about his family, Uriel made sure to nod their head in agreement and listen intently. The sorrow in his tone almost seemed alien to the ever-optimistic Uriel, but no less real. A small part of them—albeit selfishly— were glad to be deemed worthy of such trust. A larger part felt a suffocating guilt at not being able to reciprocate in kind. 

*I'm sorry, Silas, but there's things best kept secret.* 

"It's.. Quite hard to love people, sometimes. Family can be a difficult thing to deal with, is all." Whatever Uriel intends to say further is almost abnormally clipped short, a slight bit of whiplash as they change the subject. 

"Do you have any other hobbies? Besides gardening, that is." They adjust the 'sweaters' on each plant, making sure each pot is dressed in their best.
Jeannie
◆ "Aye, fair." A brief pause. "But you've also gotta learn to stand up for yourself, mate. It's a good skill to have."

□ Up went the inner basket, and his fixated gaze with it. There were still mushy roots, sure, but it wasn't quite as bad as the other pot, wherein over half of all the roots poking out of the bottom needed to be trimmed if not removed entirely. Simply nodding as Uriel spoke, he could tell that the conversation had reached the apex of its intimacy, all deep feelings exhausted in a breeze of confession. So, rather than comment on it some more he simply fell silent, humming as he trimmed off a few dead roots, dropping it back in place afterwards and taking a small clipping.

▪︎ Now, hobbies...

◆ "Oh, yeah, I've got a few. Uh... Let's see... I tend to an aquarium. I've dabbled with enclosed terrariums but don't have the space for one right now... I write and compose music, mostly piano but also some guitar, I love messing around with chemistry, and I'm." A stifled laugh followed. "I'm fucking *Cracked* At FPSes. Like, seriously, I ever decide that chem isn't my career path, I could deadass just go pro in, like, Valorant or CoD or something. It's nuts. How 'bout you?"
Diane
At that, Uriel raised their eyebrows in interest. 

"Oh, if you're interested in chemistry, Newton's Cradle actually has quite the arsenal of supplies. There's a whole chemistry lab, filled with top-of-the-line materials and whatnot." 

*And actually... This might actually be useful.* 

A small, almost sly smile appears on Uriel's face for the briefest of moments. If one didn't know Uriel intimately, they'd just assume it was part of their natural range of expressions, failing to notice the slight glint of interest in their eyes. At worst, their idea was a good thing for Silas. At best, it was mutually beneficial. It was hard to argue with that logic, and besides... Even if they didn't have ulterior motives, they'd most likely recommend the same course of action. 

"There's a man who works with Newton's Cradle, named Oliver Rask. He's the local chemistry teacher here, and you might find it useful to contact him with some inquiries about learning while you're here." 

At the second part of Silas' sentence, Uriel scratches the side of their face, feeling a bit abashed. "I'm not too knowledgeable on video games, but I suppose I might find some enjoyment watching you play. As for me, I'm rather good at weaving, knitting, and making tapestries." 

Uriel continues, smiling at Silas' laugh. "I know you didn't intend to accept payment for your help, but I feel obliged to offer something of equal payment. I don't have much in terms of money, but I could help you out in... Another way?" 

They've learned rather quickly that most residents in Newton's Cradle tended to have trouble sleeping— either due to regular insomnia, or by nightmares of their prior lives haunting them. Perhaps a good dream might be of use to Silas— or maybe they'd prefer a pair of gloves.