Jeannie
◆ "Alright." Well, this was good news. Even with her doubles accommodation, she'd mostly have the room to herself. Great. "I don't have any reason to... You know, fuck with your stuff, so long as you don't fuck with mine. Feel free to read the books on the shelf, just put them back exactly where you got them."

□ And things were warming up, if ever so slightly. Still working through the suitcase of books, she found herself working up a sweat and thus off came her camo jacket, unveiling, among other things, a very well-defined muscular back, and several tattoos that ran up her left arm and neck. With her coat off she kept on working at it, humming a funky tune while her roommate began to divulge some rather peculiar information about themself. Good to know, as she'd come to realize, but still...

▪︎ Narcolepsy was definitely a strange sort of burden to bear.

◆ "Hm. Narcolepsy... You ever try guarana? It's an old-timey folk remedy I heard of at one point, and given how much of the stuff is used in energy drinks I think it might be worth a shot." She suggested, hoisting another suitcase up once she'd finished the first. What was inside? More fucking books! She'd been cursed with an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and that manifested as a colossal amount of non-fiction books. "But yeah, thanks for the heads-up, I suppose... Now." Turning around, she grabbed her tea cup and took a careful sip. "Mind answering something for me?"
Diane
"Don't worry— I have my own remedies." Uriel lifts up their own cup of tea, as if to emphasize the point. 

They were a bit excited at the prospect of allowing to read *Any* Book on the bookshelf— a majority of the titles were foreign to Uriel, and they buzzed with a childlike sense of wonder at the idea of learning more. 

Hopefully, this roommate would stick around. Having a library in their dorm was very exciting. 

"Please ask away. It's part of getting to know each other, after all." 


The bitter, smooth taste of their tea hits their tongue, and a wave of comfort and relaxation hits Uriel. They can feel the effects immediately, the ever-present pulling of strings a bit less taut than it usually was.

It was a precaution, in actuality. With new people came new strings, and with new stings came more pulling— and Uriel would rather not accidentally make a guest appearance in Margo's dreams on the first night.
Jeannie
◆ "Guess I can't fault you. Tea *Is* Pretty good for just about every ailment." She hummed, working through her pile of books one heavy hardcover title at a time. Slowly, the library was starting to come together... Good. "And this oolong's pretty damn good too. Nice job."

□ Truthfully, she felt as if there was something a bit off with the taste, but she wasn't in a particularly rude mood. Still somewhat tense and distrusting, yes, but not outright irritable or wonky. Occasionally sipping her tea as she worked, she put on some Johnny Cash after about five minutes, and with the soft sound of 60s country she continued on with her work, humming and sorting out her books.

▪︎ Not much to say. She simply had a lot to do.

◆ "You said something about two of your previous, er... Flatmates. I think it's right to call this room a flat; much too nice to be a prison cell." Her voice rumbled deep, hearty and woody like beef stock and cognac. "Was it your own doing? Or were they both released? And if it *Was* By some fault of your own, then what did you do?"
Diane
Uriel hums in happiness when Margo compliments the tea. They rather enjoyed the feeling of being useful, whatever form that took— being a shoulder to lean on, helping troubled people achieve a good night's sleep, making a good cup of tea. 

They *Liked* Doing something good and seeing someone smile because of them. And, perhaps a bit selfishly, Uriel enjoyed looking at whatever positive influence they had, the small bandaids of good deeds providing a small form of relief when tacked upon their scarred soul.

"I didn't do anything towards them. However, they were both a bit afraid of what I could do, and so they felt unsafe. They kicked up a fuss, and moved out."

Uriel takes another sip of the tea, the warmth soothing the anxieties bubbling up in their throat. They didn't enjoy recounting such memories, the bitterness of their past roommate's feelings causing them to draw in on themselves. 

"You don't have to worry, though. I would never hurt someone intentionally." They offer a small, placating smile towards Margo. Hopefully, the sincerity of that statement would strike a chord within her.
Jeannie
◆ "That's exactly it." The snap of her fingers rang out like a bell over Johnny Cash's gloom-ridden voice. "They felt unsafe, and... I need to know what made them feel that way. You're... Not at all a physical threat, so it must be your abilities. Has to be."

□ Piecing things together on the fly, she strung the metaphorical newspaper clippings on corkboard into a cohesive theory mid-sentence. If Uriel's past roommates had both kicked up a fuss and been moved out due to something they had done, then it only served to hint at something truly terrifying beneath the lidded eyes and detached voice. For now, though, she kept on sorting out her books, most of the way through and finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

▪︎ But then she'd have to sort her comics, and she didn't even have a proper stand; she'd handle that at another point.

◆ "You know if the staff lets us bring our own furniture in? Because I really need a stand for my records and my comic books... And a sofa. A large enclosure for Cosmo. I need a lot of shit, fuck..."
Diane
"Oh, ah. Well, it's not too big of a secret around campus, but I felt it a bit impolite to jump into such topics immediately. Especially when adjusting to such a new environment, it's enough to come to terms with the fact you're in a prison. Sometimes, the 'powered' talk comes a bit... Later." 

Uriel sits down on their bed, two hands wrapped neatly around their now-empty cup. 

"I'm a dream-weaver. I can create and enter dreams, and put people to sleep. It's not much, but apparently the thought of sleeping near someone with that ability unnerved some people." 

They offer a polite, airy laugh, if only to clear the air. It wasn't funny, not really, but there was etiquette needed when talking about such topics.

"I've never intentionally went into my roommate's dreams, though. It's rather immoral, after all." 

Uriel's hands fiddle around the base of their cup. They couldn't help but be nervous at how Margo would react, especially with her initial mistrust and suspicion. 

"While on the subject, might I ask about your eye? What can it do?" They clear their throat, brushing stray strands of wispy hair out from their eyes. 

It was convenient her powers had to do with her eyes— it gave Uriel a good excuse to gauge her reaction, half-lidded eyes scanning her face for any sign of the usual tells. Would her eyes narrow? Eyebrows knit together? Whatever micro expressions would contort her face, Uriel made sure to gauge them with the same, impassive expression.
Jeannie
◆ "Well then." Huh. Eyebrows flicking up a semitone in surprise, she took a moment to parse what she'd heard and process it. Uriel, this quiet, ethereal lad, was a dream weaver... Hm. "That's all I need to know... Thanks for indulging me. Could tell from the microscopic shifts in your face that it wasn't exactly comfortable to talk about."

□ Perhaps she *Was* Being too harsh on this lad, but at the same time she could see why their previous roommates had been so unsettled. However, this moment of discomfort soon dissipated as, in a split second, she already had an idea of how to trip Uriel's dreamweaving up. It was just a theory, but for a few moments she thought on it, her brows knitting themselves together, lips tightened into a thoughtful scowl, and as soon as it came it left and she went right back to sorting out her stuff.

▪︎ Thankfully, by this point she had most of her important stuff settled out. All that was left were her records and comics, and neither could be dealt with until she got the right furniture for it.

◆ "My eyes are exceptionally weird, man. My right eye, though it looks normal, can zoom it to around eight times, and the zoom's tied into my left eye as well. Speaking of which..." A hum followed. "I can see far beyond visible light. Those small pupils circling the main one let me see in infrared, ultraviolet, and x-ray. It's actually what I was doing when I first opened the door, looking around for any infrared signs of hidden cameras or whatnot. Also... Apologies for being so harsh. I'm just... Not where I feel like I should be."

• "I deserve to be in maximum security; Paradise isn't built for patricidal hand grenades like myself."
Diane
Uriel didn't sigh in relief, but they did visibly relax— tight, drawn in arms now hanging loosely at their sides, cup discarded onto their bedside table. 

"That's... It's nice to hear. Thank you for that, then."

Her reaction wasn't *Negative*, and at the end of the day, that was all Uriel really needed to know. How lucky— with how much stuff already moved into their room, it would be hard to move it all out if she did end up leaving. 

"You haven't been harsh at all, simply cautious. It's not an unexpected reaction, especially in a place like this." Uriel's soothing words aren't overly cushy or particularly saccharine— they're plain, simple, sentiment delivered directly to the door rather than hidden behind veils of overly emotive speech. 

The features of Margo's eye is fascinating, and Uriel makes sure to convey an appropriately interested hum when she mentions her capabilities. It's not hard—- being able to see in infrared and x-ray vision was astounding, in and of itself. A small part of them couldn't help but internally sigh in relief at the fact they had nothing particularly odd in their drawers. 

"Patricide, hm? If my English is well enough, that means to kill one's own father." Uriel's hand teases with their chin as they mull over the unfamiliar word, a completely placid expression present on their face despite the context of what Margo's words. 

They didn't know the context of why Margo would murder her own father. It would be hasty to assume a poor character, especially when the circumstances of her life were so shrouded in mystery. It didn't seem right that a girl speaking about deserving a worse punishment with a wistful, forlorn tone would murder someone in cold blood. 

"Well, so long as you don't plan on killing again, I suppose I have nothing to worry about, do I?"
Jeannie
◆ "Yeah, no problem... I guess."

□ She still wasn't at all okay with how laissez-faire the prison was, but maybe, just maybe, things would be better in a few weeks, a few months. Placing the last book onto her shelf she let out a sigh and stretched, the muscles in her back and arms twisting and tightening in response like worms lay under the surface. Finally done the first leg of her unpacking journey, she promptly shut all of her suitcases and stuffed them under her bed, leaving the still-full numbers off to the side, to be unpacked after a trip to IKEA. Finally allowing herself to sit down, she grabbed her cup of coffee again, and dug out a long roll of gauze and some tubes of salve, seemingly intent on dealing with her hands.

▪︎ Good thing she was sitting down. She had a lot to say; she took a sip to wet her throat.

◆ "Yeah, I... I'm not gonna spare the details. I nearly beat him to death in a fit of blind rage. I'd have finished the fucker off too, but a pair of joggers heard the commotion and called the cops, and since we lived in a gated community those fuckers spawned on top of me." She chuckled, nonchalantly finding amusement in how she'd nearly killed the man who helped bring her into the world. "It was justified, and... I still think this place is too lenient. As soon as I stepped back from his bloodied body I accepted that I'd be spending a while in a strict prison, but here I am, in an environment that's much more welcoming than I thought it'd be. It's just... A lot." She'd begin to wrap the bandages around one hand, pulling the stuff in such a way that it was clear she'd patched herself up many times.

◆ "And as for you...? Unless you can fit fifteen years of trauma, neglect, and abuse into a few short days you'll live. He had it *Coming.*"