Jeannie
```[Day One...]```

◆ "Fuck."

□ At least it beat American prison... Even if having to move so much stuff in entirely on her own was proving to be a nightmare. Barely off the plane, she'd already had to load herself like a mule, strolling through the doors surrounded by stone-faced guards with guns and tasers akimbo in their belt, and the whole time all she had was what she was allowed to bring. Her pet bearded dragon had been allowed onto the plane with her, and sat in the gap between the neckline of her camo jacket and the skin of her neck, and in each hand were multiple luggage bags, varying sizes and makeups making for an interesting look. 

▪︎ And to think this was just a small part of it... Her mom had already agreed to help her furnish her prison room if it were allowed, and there already existed a shortlist of things she'd sorely need.

◇ For now she laboriously strolled down the hall, good eye and glyph eye scanning every wall, every corner, every table, trying to get an idea of the kind of environment Newton's Cradle offered. Sure, Scandinavian prisons were world-famous for being closer to five star hotels than the dingy slavery-filled mess that was American prison, but even then she wasn't sure why such a nice building was labelled a prison. If anything, it reminded her of hotels she'd stayed in on family trips, ones where she'd found literally any excuse to sleep out of sight of her father, even if it meant dragging a blanket out into the hallway and risking a trafficker snatching her up like a free paycheque.

• This was it. She was at her cell door, key card in hand. She opened it up and poked her head in, infrared sight already on to sniff out any cameras that might have been present to prevent any privacy for the prisoners.
Diane
The room was ...Well, it was pretty sparse. 

It didn't have the interior of a cell— in fact, with the layout of the beds, it seemed to lean far more into dormitory territory. It was a small relief, but a welcome one. 

What few decorations existed were all located on the right side of the room. Three potted plants sat on a window sill, their ceramic pots covered in miniature sweaters of different colors. A small, knitted rug laid flush on the ground next to the bed on the right side. Shelves of books were dotted with French titles Margo couldn't read and various thick, leather collections of fairy tales and fables.

The bed where someone currently sat on, said person tilting their head ever-so-slightly at the sight of the door opening.

Fair, smooth skin. Pale hair tied into a braid neatly resting on their left shoulder. Tired, grey eyes. Androgynous features perked up at noticing the unusual eye peering from the door, and they wave a polite gloved hand at the intruder. 

"Good morning. I suppose you're the next roommate?" Softly spoken words hit Margo's ear, the heavy French accent not unnoticed to the new inmate. 

Uriel had become rather nonchalant at the prospect of a new roommate— they had been assigned two other roommates before, both whom had kicked enough of a fuss to transfer out upon receiving wind of Uriel's abilities. Either the Cradle was incapable of learning, or their roommate was similarly hard-to-place. 

Whatever it was, they were sure whoever was behind the door wouldn't be here long.
Jeannie
◆ "Next?" She scoffed, a bit surprised. This lad, or whatever the snow-haired shade on the bed happened to be, had already ostensibly been through multiple roommates, so... "What's the catch, then?"

□ Obviously there had to be a catch. Her crime was a rather taboo, grisly one, so surely if this were a true prison she could expect that this guy, angelic and ethereal as they were, had done something truly awful. *No matter,* She thought to herself as she pushed the door open, *I'll fucking level them if they try anything.* And she wasn't misguided to hold such a brutal outlook. After all, her knuckles were still busted, patches of blood caked on her hands, defensive marks lined her face and arms, and truthfully she hadn't washed off the marks for that exact reason.

▪︎ She was in *Juvie,* Goddammit, and if those old mob films had taught her anything about the slammer, it was that hierarchies were a thing, and they were enforced through brutality rarely seen in the outside world, so she'd have to be tough.

◆ "Gotta say, though..." She'd speak after a few moments of setting her bags down, stepping out, and grabbing a few more, also seemingly bowing to an unseen force near a pre-installed TV stand. If her roommate were attentive they'd see a medium-sized pet bearded dragon slink out from her neck, scurrying onto the faux wooden stand, vacant eyes peering into their new dwellings. "Nice place. Much better than the juvie I was staring down in America..." She'd absent-mindedly talk. "Now... Let's talk. Get to know each other a bit. Are you a sleeper agent, as it were? A force of nature behind glazed eyes and a half-stapled soul? I need to know what the hell to expect from someone who burns through roommates like shitty double As. Kind of a matter of my own safety."
Diane
Uriel's eyes drift over her appearance, taking the notes of the various bits of information communicated by her attire. They make a small, displeased noise upon seeing the injures on her hands, and turn around to look in a desk drawer. 

"Are you... Alright? You're injured— hang on for just a moment, and I can patch you up. I'm unfamiliar on stitching others, but I don't believe the methodology is too different." They hum after they finish talking, procuring moments later with a med-kit. 

Uriel remembers being handed a couple as they entered the hospital for the first time, a slightly-frazzled nurse instructing them how to use the various supplies if they ever found themselves on the ground with a bloody forehead again. It was... A bit embarrassing how often their abilities seemed to injure them, but it did provide them with some useful skills.

"Some people are... A bit unsettled by me and what I can do. If you're wondering whether or not I'm a cold-blooded killer, you may rest easy. My only conviction was of disturbing the peace. In fact, most of the children here haven't committed any crimes — with whatever charge they've received simply being a cover-up. You're safe here, so there's no need to be so tense."

They stand up from their bed— tall, but not unnaturally so. Uriel stood like they were several inches shorter, attempting (and failing) to shy away from the amount of presence being such a height naturally garnered. Grey eyes drifted over at the animal on Margo's shoulder, and they smiled ever-so-softly. 

"Ah, my mother would scold me for being so impolite— I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Uriel Melancon, and you are?"
Jeannie
◆ "I'll tend to my own wounds. Don't worry." Still visibly tense, the knowledge that this guy, this unassuming soft-spoken seraphim, had went through multiple roommates seemingly stuck in her mind. "These are just surface level wounds anyways, so... Y'know."

□ Speaking cautiously and quietly, she set into one of her luggage bags after she turned down the medical assistance. Pulling out one record after the other, within two minutes she had quite a pile on her bed, and it was with this pile at the ready that she turned to look for something, anything, that could be used to safely keep a bunch of vinyl records. Displeased with what she saw, she grumbled under her breath and began to put the records back into their specialized carrier as her roommate – Uriel, she now knew – spoke.

▪︎ Disturbing the peace seemed a mite minor for a stint in juvie.

◆ "Uriel... The angel of repentance. I see. Hello." Rather than wax poetic about the blistering summers spent cooped up in her room with fans blaring and the Apocrypha on her desk, she simply commented on the biblical origin of his name. "It's interesting that Archangels aren't a part of Catholic canon outside of the Ethiopian Orthodoxy's Book of Enoch. Orthodoxy in religion is generally pretty interesting like that. I'm... Margo." Stilted in tone, she moved carefully towards another suitcase, this one full of clothes for the dresser she'd been supplied. "And obviously I just arrived. What's this place like?"
Diane
Uriel's pale eyebrows pinch in worry, but they relent and hand the medicinal supplies to Margo. While they were a bit worried at whatever caused the girl's condition, they felt it prudent to allow the girl her privacy.

"You're religious? I'm not particularly, though my mother is, but I do quite like my name. It's... Fitting, I suppose." They make eye contact with the quizzical animal on her shoulder, letting out a tiny laugh as it snuggled into Margo's shoulder. 

"What is this creature? It's funny." Uriel remarks, dark, exhausted eyes wide with a childish wonder so rarely seen in the facility. They raise a gloved finger to the creature, waiting to see how such a thing would react. 

"This place is... Well, everyone here including the staff wield the same abilities you and I possess. People can be a bit... Unique at times, but other than that, it's a friendly, welcoming place— though not one without friction at times." 

It wasn't hard to notice the girl's unusual eye, after all. While Uriel would love to enquire a bit more about such a mechanism, they were painfully aware that asking such a question would only illicit the same one in response. They didn't plan on hiding their abilities, but establishing a bit of who they were before revealing their true nature seemed wise.
Jeannie
◆ "Nope. Not quite." She flatly replied as she lobbed a "Though I've been seriously considering converting to Buddhism... Or perhaps Shintō. I mostly just read about religions to broaden my horizons, you know? Also, that funny creature is Cosmo. He's an adult bearded dragon, and... His head is, without a doubt, empty."

□ Still guardedly watching every word that slipped loose from her tongue, she became aware of Cosmo wanting to curl back up to her as he managed to scurry onto the bed and nudge against her hand, and with a scooping motion she whisked her beloved beardie back into the warmth of her jacket. Once there, though, Cosmo looked at Uriel, his wide eyes peering in two different directions yet staring directly into their soul. Unmoving, he simply watched as his owner went about sorting her clothes into her dresser, and curled back up into her warmth after a few moments of staring.

▪︎ A lizard of few words.

◆ "...What? This is a prison, what in the hell?" Clearly surprised, she paused what she was doing for a moment to process what Uriel had said. "I came in here expecting hierarchies and violence, not... This. I dunno. Seems weird."