Cheryl
★ [12:03am...]

◇ Needless to say, tonight was a thundercrack of a doozy, and it was only natural that Margo had given up any chance of her night getting back on track.

□ First off, she had failed to fall asleep within half an hour, so she went for a walk. That walk, however, had been interrupted by Friday intruding on Cradle grounds, then a debriefing and conspiratorial meeting with Matti, bugging Valio's room, and finding out the dead truth about what was really going on. As it turned out, her suspicions were right, and she now knew at least half of why Annika laying low in Val's room had been kept under such secrecy. The angels wanted to kill her, from what she now knew, and that was reason enough to safeguard her.

▪︎ Of course, though, it didn't ease the pain of confirming that Uri, their closest friend at the Cradle aside from possibly Amelie, had been lying to her for over a month, in one form or another, so it was only natural that once she found them on the rooftop she found herself at once wracked with anger and also with sorrow.

◆ "Hey, Uri." She coolly announced her presence, if the telltale stink of tobacco didn't already give her away. Sitting down next to them, she had a can of OG Monster in her hand, and a cigarette balanced between her fingers, hand, and can, and while she seemed outwardly fine aside from being tired she bubbled inside with angry thoughts and the distinct dull stab of being hurt. "Trying to get away from all the strings, or whatever your powers run off of while people sleep?"
William
For a summer night, it was rather chilly. Uriel was thankful they'd brought their usual poncho— they'd briefly contemplated going in just their button-up undershirt, but luckily decided against it. 

A thermos of piping hot tea, their knitting materials in hand, a beautiful night sky... Uriel couldn't ask for more. Or, well, they could ask for *One more thing...*

Right on cue, the smell of tobacco hits them. They look up to see Margo's face, but— her expression is cloudy, the slightest pangs of *Something* Negative making her features tight. Taut, like a string under duress. 

She needed company, then. They smile, and gesture to the seat next to them. 

"Oh, Margo? I didn't expect you to be here. Come, sit next to me— it's a lovely night, after all. I'm simply here because it seemed nice from the window. I took quite a long nap through dinner, and so I don't believe I'll be able to sleep for a while." 

There was one more thing they could ask for, one thing to make this scene perfect: the company of a friend.
Cheryl
◇ Wordlessly, Margo took Uri's invitation, though she'd already planned on sitting down.

■ "Gotcha." She nodded, her face indeed tightened by stress and woe. Looking out over the edge, she let the cigarette dangle from lips cracked and plucked, its filter doing double duty as she thought about how best to bring it up. Ease into it? Or perhaps ask once more as if the solitude would finally loosen their lips? It was a matter of ripping the bandaid off, but somehow, as she glanced over at Uri, who had their knitting supplies in hand and a thermos of tea, she felt *Terrible* About having to confront them.

▪︎ But then, the pain of being lied to was ever-present, and soon overpowered any moral qualms she had.

◆ "Uriel..." She finally let out a sigh. "Why the fuck did you lie to me about Annika? About Valio hiding her? About the Angels effectively having a death warrant out for her? About everything? I just found out the truth, and... Man." Margo's voice cracked a touch. "Why wouldn't you just tell me the truth? Do you not trust me to keep my mouth shut? *Are we not as close as I keep on thinking we are?*"
William
*Clack*. 

Uriel's knitting needles, before moving with a slow yet steady rhythm, make one final noise before falling dead still in their gloved hands. She knew, *She knew*, and the realization made them freeze in fear. 

"I..."

They pause, their heavily accented voice dying in their throat. Uriel takes a shaky sip of their tea, the hot liquid providing much-needed nourishment from their suddenly dry throat.

She wasn't upset and looking for them for company. She was upset *Because* They were her company. 

"What did you know? Who told you? How?" A quiet mutter, barely above a whisper.

They can't bear to look her in the eyes, instead keeping their grey eyes steeled on the night sky above the two. Their gaze traces the bright pinpricks dotting the velvety black, the familiar motions a distraction from the pained expression Uriel knows Margo has, the expression *Directed at them*.

It's not an answer to her question. But... The thought of answering makes their stomach churn.
Cheryl
◆ "I..." Valio's words echoed in her head, paraphrased by the shoddy scribe in her head: *Don't be mean to Uriel.* "I'm not particularly mad at you, I'm just hurt."

□ And, so she fell silent. At least, for a couple of moments. Uncertain hands toyed with the various straps and belts that hung off of her cargo pants, functionless yet aesthetic, and great for messing with when things were tense and she needed to vent it somewhat. Uri seemed to be at times surprised, upset, and worried, and while the rational part of her that won out much of the time said they were in the right to be so guarded, the emotional part of her that writhed in pain wanted answers.

▪︎ So, she'd get them.

◆ "I'm hurt, and I'm not keen on just telling you yet. I want to know: why wouldn't you just tell me, man? I... I thought we were friends. *Close.* I've always been honest with you, even when it's hurt, so why couldn't you just *Recognize* That I'm on the same side as you and Valio and just *Tell* Me anything, no matter how vague or cryptic?"
William
"I..." 

She's *Sad*. Her voice cracks, and it felt like an iron vice squeezing their heart.

"I trust you. I do, I... I see you as a friend, a close one. You're important to me, and... That's why I didn't tell you." 

White-hot panic flushes itself against Uriel's skin, and they do their best to steady their breathing. *It's not alright,* The voice in their head whispers, invisible talons clawing at the inside of their head. *You'll tell her what you did, and she'll realize the truth.*

*That you're a bad person, Uriel. That you're just like them.*



*She'll get angry, you know. She tried to kill her father, I wonder what she'll do to you, a wolf in sheep's clothing? A betrayer, a liar? You know what people do when they get angry. Even here, it's the same motions. She's still human, at the end of the day.*

"I.. I trust you. I trust you." They let out a choked noise, wiping away beads of sweat forming at the edges of their brow. Shallow inhales gulp down the cool night air, and Uriel can't help but feel as if they're trying to convince themselves of that fact more than anything. 

"I'll... I'll answer any questions. Truthfully and fully, so... Please, ask me anything. It's the least I can do, for the cruelty I've shown to you. You deserve the truth, the full truth..."
Cheryl
◆ "What? Didn't tell me that two doors down we're harboring a fucking stowaway?" Falling short of calling Annika what she truly was in case someone or something were lurking on the roof, her voice cracked and popped and whined with each word that left her mouth. "If you'd just told me, we wouldn't be here right now, having this conversation. I had to employ Matti to bug Valio's room, for fuck sakes, just to get a single answer about this whole existential angel mess. I just..."

□ Dragging on her cigarette extra hard, it was less as if she was smoking for pleasure and more that she was chuffing a dart down simply to keep her nerves in check and to keep up her word to Valio, who she honestly didn't know what to make of. Clearly protective and guarding of Annika and her existence, but also notably pacifistic from what she could gather. As it turned out, Val was a very mysterious girl, and information on her beyond her height, job, and room number was scarce.

▪︎ Then again, Margo didn't need that. She needed answers, from Uriel, and she had to approach it delicately despite her own heartache and the wrenching feeling of the knife being thrust into her ribs.

◆ "Moreso than anything else, I just want to know why you didn't trust me enough to tell me. You *Know* I'm airtight. The only place secrets leave me are into the pages of my journal, and even then it's hidden very well." She spoke, at once frazzled, pained, and utterly tired. "I just... Fuck, Uri, I want to know why you kept on avoiding my questions when I could tell you weren't telling the truth, and honestly...? I want to know what *You* Know. After that... I'll answer any questions, okay?"

• Her stomach tumbled over itself a thousand times a second, nerves threatening to evict mouthfuls of Monster and the leftover shrimp fried rice she'd had for supper out of her gullet and up onto the tiled roof of the Cradle. What a messy night; she'd need a drink when she got back, was what she'd have said if she had any.
William
What they know. From the beginning, tell the story about the angels. They could do that much. The beginning was the easy part, anyway. It was the middle where things became complicated.

"It started a couple of months ago. It was a cold night— I was with Owen, Finley, and Raizel when two angels broke into the Cradle with a dead deer. You've met Johanna and Frida, yes? Frida was wielding a knife, and they both claimed they were here to rescue their sister. Frida grew agitated, and I knocked her out before anything could happen. Then... Johanna talked to us, and said they were here to find their kidnapped sister, Annika." 

It was a factual, easy recitation of events. Listing off points one-by-one, checking off items on their mental receipt of events. It was easy. It was *Safe.* It was almost relaxing.

"And... I, I didn't tell you because of this next part." 

Familiar panic reignited in their lungs, and Uriel momentarily stuffed the feelings of sheer terror down to begin talking. It wasn't anything more than a patchwork job, their shattered composure a window taped back together and forced to withstand blow after blow, filthy word after word crawling out of their mouth.

"I... I did some investigating. I didn't— I shouldn't have, in hindsight— but I thought there was a *Young girl* On the line, and... I did something I shouldn't have." 

Their voice breaks, and the taped-together window breaks with it. Uriel *Shudders*, leaning their arms against their thighs and bending their head down in... Shame, at what they'd done? Grief, for what they were about to lose? Fear, for how Margo would react, her knuckles turning bloody and bruised just like the first time they had met?

.

It was funny, in an odd sort of way. With white hair cascading down their back, the moonlight barely illuminating their soft features, Uriel almost looked like they were praying. 

"I went into his *Head*, Margo. I— I saw the angels *Meant* Something to him, that he knew things about them, and I... Pulled those strings, and watched what I dredged up." 

Their voice is a little more than a whisper, not dissimilar to the cadence a sinner would have upon pouring their heart to a priest locked behind the tinted windows of a confessional.

"Horrible, ugly, awful things. Glowing stab wounds, angels cooing, bloodied mouths singing in front of a gutted, devoured corpse. Later, I'd meet him, and he'd tell me the context from those images— that it wasn't the first time something like this happened at the Cradle. Most of the things I told you from the briefing were from him, if you remember that." 

The briefing. It seemed *So long ago*, yet so recent, too. Uriel could almost laugh, a small, wrung noise that barely passed as a chuckle escaping their lips.

"It was an awful thing to do— he made sure I paid for what I did to him, but... Still, I... I didn't speak about it because I *Did something bad and—*" 

They choke down another burst of emotion, using the pained suck of air as an excuse to reach for their thermos. Uriel's head pops out from where it hung, and Margo's extra-perceptive eye can barely spot the pinprick of tears on their face.

"It... It was embarrassing, being that weak. Being that *Pathetic*, being toyed with in someone else's head, the feeling of bugs crawling inside of my eyes and under my skin, threatened with talk about CCTV and tracking down my friends to make me talk. I... I didn't want to talk about it. I *Don't* Want to talk about it, but I'm doing it anyway, because I *Hurt him*, and now I've *Hurt you*."

.

*You hurt Margo.* Margo, who had always been there for them; who had never once hurt them, who did her best to be a good friend. A constant presence in Uriel's life, a steady rock they'd grown to appreciate every day when seeing her sitting on the couch with a book, or feeding the reptiles, or talking about her romantic life. All treasured memories, now tainted with the bitter knowledge of how they treated her.

"You gave me the benefit of the doubt, and look what I've done with it. I've acted like people I've always sworn to be better than. I— I did something awful, and that kind of hurt can't be solved by pleasantries. It's *Harm*, harm I caused, harm I'm owed; That's the currency this world runs on, and I—" 

"I'm sorry. You didn't ask for this. You can decide what to do with me now, alright? I'll— I'll accept any treatment for what I've done." 

For the first time since they've been talking, Uriel turns their head and looks at Margo. Baleful eyes look into her mismatched ones, asking for one thing: *Please, use me for something.*
Cheryl
◇ And so, Margo listened the entire time in silence.

□ Silence, though, was not the same as inaction. Once Uriel began to spill everything as if their guts had been slashed with a knife, Margo looked over and observed them as they began to get into it, one night, one event, one string of atrocities at a time. The weird thing was that she already had pieced together a lot of the early stuff – the dead deer, Frida and Johanna being very proactive in trying to reclaim Annika for the cult, so on – but as things grew ever darker and tears dotted Uri's eyes Margo felt her entire demeanour shift from under her. No longer was she accusatory; she'd got what she wanted out of Uri, after all.

▪︎ However, now she could tell they were barely holding together, and naturally she felt as if she had to help somehow.

□ So, as the tears began to well she accepted that it'd be better to simply set all of the details aside into a folder of utmost importance in the filing cabinet that was her brain, and with the dossier thrown aside she wrapped an arm up Uri's back and began to massage their shoulder. Sure, she still ached a bit from having been kept in the dark, but the visions and dreams her roommate were telling me clearly unsettled her as well. Cannibalism, ritualistic murder, glowing stab wounds... The works. Every word that she hears solidified in her mind the truth she'd been mulling for weeks.

▪︎ The angels were much worse than she had expected, and if she didn't get that damn gun then she'd have been better off simply unzipping her throat instead of letting the angels touch her.

◆ "Fuck, man..." Able to feel Uri faintly crying, she continued to massage their shoulder, only stopping short of pulling them into an embrace because, admittedly, she had no idea what their comfort language *Was.* She knew quite a bit about them, or at least thought she did, but when it came to times like these, when trauma and guilt both split the body and mind apart at the seams she didn't know how to actually *Comfort* Them. "My only question is... Who's this *Him?* It can't be the Big Sister, unless gender is kind of fluid for them... But that's nothing to worry about now. I'm... Sorry I forced you to dredge up all of those unpleasant memories, but it's also nice to know just how *Depraved* And wretched those nutjobs are, I guess." 

● "Anyways, why would I do anything to you? Yes, you hurt me by keeping me in the dark, but it sounds like you had a damn good list of reasons to. I ain't holding it against you, either, so..." She lit another cigarette and outed her previous one on the ground before tossing the whole thing over the edge. "How about we just stop talking about this for now? I'm... Going to be fine, but you aren't; do you... Want a hug, or something?"
William
"No, its alright. I'm— I'm fine. I can talk about this. Just..." 

Uriel takes a deep breath, and the panic once infiltrating their bones settles into the dirt. They were *Alright.* Their imagination had run off again and concocted a dark, twisted fantasy, one born from years of sleepless nights and righteous anger. 

They were afraid of Margo's reaction, more than the old memories. Fear, that she'd realize they went into someone's head, that she'd deem them a threat and turn on them like the blade of a knife. 

Unfounded fear, Uriel realized. *Paranoia.*

"You're a... Good person, Margo. I'm sorry for forgetting that." 

Uriel tentatively leaned against Margo's shoulder, eyes flickering up to meet hers in case the sudden motion is deemed unwelcome. The touch was... Nice, even if it wasn't something they usually favored— a solid, bedrock presence at their side, something there and *Dependable*. 

"The science teacher, strangely enough. Mr. Rask. I didn't expect it, either, but... Apparently there's a history between him and the angels. He said he saw it first hand. Saw people— kids like us— die because of them. They're... They're not safe, and to be honest, I'm not so sure Valio should be harboring Annika."
Cheryl
◆ "Are you sure?" Her voice hung heavy with concern. "I've never really seen you break like this, and... Man. As much as being kept in the dark hurts, it hurts more seeing you completely crumple because of what you know. I just... Worry about you, I guess."

□ Maybe it was a strange change of face, but she also couldn't bother herself with caring. Given what she knew now, the Angels were far more dangerous than her newspaper archive crawls had been able to ever convey to her, and if Uri knew all of these details as an outsider then what the hell did the Angels truly get up to behind the scenes? She grimaced. It all seemed so worrying, doubly so since the implication that Mr. Rask *Knew* And had butted heads with them before implied that this group were much older than she'd expected.

▪︎ She took a drag, her face sunken into one of caution, curiosity, and the faintest tinge of fear.

◆ "It's okay, Uri." Margo quietly replied as she felt their head against her shoulder, following in tow with an arm around their upper body that culminated in a light hug. "I don't think either of us are really *Prepared* To be dealing with this shit. You're... Already wracked with guilt. I'm effectively powerless to do anything to them except take the fall so nobody else has to be cannibalized and cooed over. We're barely even done being kids and there's already so much shit on our shoulders. Just... It's a lot, and you're not remiss to forget that at the end of the day, I'd kill for you. After all... I already tried to once. I don't think I'd shy away from killing one of those nutjobs if they had you in a halo hold or whatever."

○ "Anyways..." A few tense, quiet moments passed. "Do you have any idea how Annika managed to get out? Or if she's even being genuine? She seemed absolutely frightened when I was talking to her earlier; if it's a façade, then I think we all deserve to die for it, but it'd be hard to replicate that level of terror without being wracked with it..."
William
"It's... Flattering to know you'd kill for me, but I don't want anyone to die. Would you... Do the opposite? Show someone mercy for me?" 

A cold, slender hand wraps around Margo's forearm, pulling the limb ever-so-slightly to empathize how serious they were. 

Hm, yes, that seemed much more preferable. Uriel couldn't bear to see anyone be hurt for their sake— they already had enough weighing on their consciousness, and they'd rather not add a mangled corpse to join the skeletons in their closet. 

"Annika... Valio told me that they found her in a cave, with a cracked halo. The next time she went to see Valio, her halo was completely gone. It's logical to conclude that the halo is what was responsible for the mind control, and something damaged it to allow her to escape. However... Without having talked to her, it might be hasty to assume such a thing." 

Uriel lets go of Margo, moment of comfort gone in favor of sitting upright in deep contemplation. It was... Interesting— they knew nothing of the angel's structure, or how Annika even managed to join the cult to begin with. Was she a damsel, taken into the cult for the promise of a home and turned into a killer? Or a killer first, angel second, who joined the group knowing their violent methods? They couldn't know, not without talking to her. 

"Although... I haven't had a chance to ask her what exactly led up to her escape. Or talk with her, at all— I suppose I've figured that with the curfew enacted that it wasn't my place anymore. God forbid I meddle, and I end up hurting someone else with my actions... It seems any further investigating would just be for my own curiosity, while putting people at risk."
Cheryl
◆ "Maybe." Margo hummed. "But, you know me... I don't exactly favour pacifism. It'd all be on my own judgment in the moment, and my judgment is always fogged over with a thin yet persistent fog of war..."

□ In the pit of her stomach, she could feel the words crumpling her organs into a nervous mess that poked and ripped away at her insides. But, who was she to lie to Uriel, now that the pain of being kept in the dark had been balanced out by being told *Everything?* The truth may have been uncomfortable for them both, but deep down she knew that she was entirely capable of killing, and the will was certainly there, but mercy? Mercy was something she knew very little about. She hadn't been shown much mercy in her home life growing up, and this had molded her into an unmerciful teenager who, when it came down to it, would keep on punching and kicking until she was either pulled off or the other person stopped breathing.

▪︎ After all, her father had only been spared because she'd been hauled off of him and held back by those pesky joggers. If she could kill her father in cold blood, or at least attempt to, then what was stopping her from doing it to some random person she knew nothing about?

◆ "I'd say those halos have *Got* To be the apparatus they use to break the wills of newcomers. It all makes sense, especially since, as you described it..." Margo trailed off, looking over both of her shoulders. "Annika was found with a cracked halo. I tried to talk to her when I was in Val's dorm earlier, but she could barely croak out a single word even when I was talking to her in Swedish, so... Maybe you should. You've been in this mystery longer than me, she might trust you a touch more. I know you're scared to hurt people with your meddling, but, man... Outside of Matti you're our best infiltrator by a long shot."

▪︎ "I guess what I'm saying is that, some day soon, you should try to talk to her again, and ask her how she managed to break free. If we learn how she did it, then our contingency plans would have more to work with, and we need all of the information we can get."
William
"You... You make a good point. I'm already entrenched in this mess, yes? I don't know how I feel about others stepping in and potentially getting hurt, so... Perhaps you're right." 

Uriel hums to themself, hands now idly tapping the railing alongside the roof. The nice, repetitive motion served as a good backdrop for their thoughts— loud, internal debates and now following a steady rhythm, able to be digested in the spaces between where Uriel's fingers impacted the cool metal surface.

"I'll tell you everything, once I do. Even if it's an unpleasant, awful truth. You deserve to know. You're not just my roommate, but... A partner, too." A soft smile. 

Uriel could safely trust Margo. It was a freeing revelation, one that made the ever-present weight pressing down on their back and squeezing the air out of their lungs lighten just a bit. 

Of course they could trust Margo. How silly to think otherwise. 

"Can you... Stay with me, though? I know it's late, and you like your sleep schedule, so feel free to leave whenever you want, but..." The tapping on the railing stops as Uriel takes a moment to look at the sky once again, tracing the constellations not out of anxiety, but out of appreciation for the wonderful sight. 

"The stars are nice, aren't they?"
Cheryl
◆ "Yeah." Margo hummed in agreement. "Unlike the rest of us, you can do your job from the comfort of our couch. You can delve into this in a way not even Matti can; I get that you're scared, and you have moral qualms about it, but think about the bigger picture, man. I guess that's it."

□ Falling quiet, Margo's lips pinched themselves against the butt of her cigarette, dragging out calm and peace of mind one puff at a time. Given how much shit was going on, and how much it felt like she was really in the depths of this angelic nightmare, she knew she needed anything she could get. A gun was still her top priority, but en lieu of that it was just her and the three other people here who knew the truth about this whole situation, and why the angels were still circling the prison like wolves at the doors.

▪︎ It wasn't ideal, but things rarely were when so many lives were on the line.

◆ "I already grabbed an energy drink from June; I've given up on sleeping tonight." Margo plainly replied, raising her third-drank can of Monster up for extra effect. "The stars are indeed nice. I never really got to see them back home in Brooklyn due to how much light pollution was overhead, so... I like being able to see them here. It's part of why I get up so early..." She trailed off. "It gives me time to look out of the window, at the stars, and *Think.* Who knows how many days of thought I have left..."
William
*I get that you're scared, and you have moral qualms about it, but think about the bigger picture, man.*

Uriel shifted uncomfortably under those words. It brought back unpleasant reminders of their mom's face contorted in her sleep, the nightmares that plagued her as punishment for leaving the family a constant staple in her nightly routine. The bigger picture, the greater good— those justifications could be used to explain away any behavior. How long before words like those became crutches for immortality?

"My powers... They're hereditary. I don't usually tell people about that, because then they ask questions." 

A hesitant, unsure voice breaks the silence between the two. It wasn't a pleasant topic, one Uriel attempted to avoid like the plague. The less they talked about it, the more it would fade into the deepest recesses of their mind— a naive, fruitless hope, but one Uriel clung onto desperately.

*It's alright. Margo is... She's a friend. She'll understand. * An inner thought whispered, a voice oddly similar to their mother's. 

"They work with the government, and use these abilities for... Exactly what you think the government would be interested in. The mind can't lie, not like people can, and being able to rummage around in people's head from afar is a valuable asset." 

Uriel's eye twitched, and the hands resting against their legs tightened their grip. Anger... An uncommon, unfamiliar emotion, but one that always seemed to linger when talking about their family history. 

.

"I... They're horrible, utterly despicable." More hushed, quiet anger, the feeling tinging their tone in bitterness. "The family thinks they're inherently better than other people, that their ability to comprehend the fourth dimension that connects us all is a difference comparable to the one between human and cattle. My mom... She was disowned after having me out of wedlock, so I've never met them, which is... A small relief, quite frankly."

The little information their mom told them about the intricate nitty-gritty surrounding the clan had only made the boogeyman of *Them* Grow larger in Uriel's head. Even talking about the clan made Uriel nervous, checking over their shoulder to see if anyone lingered around. Margo was to be trusted, that they knew— but the capabilities of their cousins were a big mystery, and whether or not they could *Tell* Uriel even existed, or was here, made talking about people who could be potentially watching force a quick intake of breath.

"It... Worries me, doing the same things they do. It's a Socratic belief— people aren't *Good* Or *Evil*, but their actions are. If I start doing the same type of interrogation my family has inflicted onto people for decades, will I start to become like them? Even if my intentions are good... Those can only carry you so far." Uriel's continued on contemplatively, their thoughtful gaze drifting off to who-knows-where.

"I don't want to become like them. I.. Try my best to be a good person and avoid committing those inherited sins, but if I slip up even once... Who knows? Will that... Inherent nature finally show itself? I... I don't know, truthfully."
Cheryl
◆ "Oh, really?" A single eyebrow crooked up a semitone in surprise. "Huh. Sorry, keep on talking, man, don't give yourself time to clam back up."

□ Interjecting for a split-second, she excused herself and let Uri keep on talking. As they spoke, she listened, and what she heard confirmed some long-held suspicions about rumours she'd overhead in the rare letters or phone calls she'd shared with Mary. Not only was Uriel's dreamweaving not exclusive, but it was spread out over an entire family, and possibly had been for centuries. It was a lot to take in, but given how much shit was going on her mind was already in survival mode, so a lot of the darker implications were set off to the side automatically as she continued to rub her roommate's shoulders betwixt the blades.

▪︎ It was a lot to take in, but what wasn't in a place like this?

◆ "Explains why my sister said she had another vision from God a few months before I got sent here." Margo hummed. "Maybe it was one of your kin messing around with the nuns. Apparently most of the sisters there have regular angelic visions, but knowing what I know now, I doubt it's from God, just someone with a God complex. Not to insult your family, but the extended part sounds *Fucked.*" She laughed, as if trying to defuse any building tensions. "Interrogators traditionally can only break bodies and spirits, so with them being able to peek in unobstructed like that, well... No wonder they're all loose upstairs. It's a power trip, they get to meld and break minds at will, I doubt i'd be a good person with powers like that."

● "But, Uri. You're gonna be fine. I get that you're frightened of slipping and becoming the same sort of evil that your extended family are, but the fact that you're willfully fighting against the whims of fate means that you're doing way better than any of them. Maybe, then... Hm." She took a drag. "I dunno. Deep breaths, man... You'll be fine. We'll be fine."

° A damn white lie, but oh well. She needed to convince herself more than anything else that this would all be fine in the end.
William
"No, please, feel free to insult them. The God complex part is simply accurate. They're... Apparently, people with abilities like mine tend to be on the.. Unstable side. Having too much empathy for the emotions of others might drive you mad, and having too little turns you into a monster, like them. It's a bit of a tightrope walk— lose your humanity, or have it consume you?" 

It was an interesting thought, one that toyed with Uriel's mind. *To be human, or to be an angel, to forsake humanity, or have it devour you whole...*

"It'll be alright. There's— there's a bright, happy future waiting for you. I can tell. It... Might be rocky, and a bit clouded now, but... I truly do believe things will be alright in the end." Uriel gave a small, reassuring smile to Margo.

It was a motivating idea. A beautiful, fairy tale ending for everyone at the Cradle... It was a perfect idea, one they took solace in. They'd have to wait the darkness out, but dawn would come eventually. 

A happy ending was so, so close. They could almost feel it.
Cheryl
◆ "Yeah, I getcha." Margo nodded, letting out perhaps the world's longest sigh of the day. She was in survival mode, yes, but survival didn't mean she was operating off instinct and nothing else. "It's a metaphorical shoestring above the Grand Canyon, so to speak, having abilities like yours. Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, isn't that how the old adage goes? You're doing a fine job so far, I'd say."

□ Retracting her hand, she let it loosely flop into her lap, her other hand naught but a holder for the remainder of her cigarette and its cherried cancerous end. Given what she mow knew about Uri's family, she almost felt as if she trusted them less, but at the same time it was clear to her that every fiber of their being was wracked with generational guilt and inherited moral quandaries rarely ever experienced by anyone else. The fact, then, that they were actively trying to strike a balance between wanton godhood and humble humanity was enough to remind her that they were trustworthy, even if her soul still ached from being kept in the dark so long.

▪︎ She couldn't exactly blame them, but still, it *Hurt.*

◆ "I sure hope so." Margo replied in turn, her voice warbling and dipping towards the distance rather than the rooftop. "Because right now, it feels like I've gotta watch over my shoulder all the time. Those freaks in the industrial park have my name – my scent, so to speak – and they're poking around here all the time. Did I tell you I'm..." A cursory peek over her shoulder. "It's so bad, I'm losing so much sleep over this, that I'm looking into buying a gun? Maybe it's the American in me," She chuckled, "But I don't think I'm going to feel safe until either those angelic nuts leave us alone, or I have a heater in my waistband. I really just... Hope this is over with soon, man."
William
"Me? A crown? It's a bit amusing coming from a potential multi-billionaire— it seems you're much closer to 'royalty' than anything I'd ever hope to achieve." Uriel lets out a small laugh, looking over at Margo with an amused smile.

Royalty... A warrior-princess, perhaps? It seemed straight out of a story— a well-off princess, running away from her kingdom to pick up her sword and fight with the common people. Not that Uriel would ever voice that comparison to the other— in fact, such a gesture would most likely be met with ridicule or anger at treating her life like a storybook. 

Still, the comparison made Uriel smile. 

They didn't comment on Margo's desire to get a gun, instead humming noncommittally. It was an idea Uriel was *Staunchly* Against, an idea with a list of cons so large it could fill a phone book. Margo wasn't exactly someone who possessed an even temperament, to put it lightly, and escalating the levels of potential violence to lethality was an idea that filled Uriel with dread. 

"I don't think you'll need a gun to be safe. We are in a prison, after all— a couple of frail women with wings were nothing to security staff who've been trained to deal with paranormal inmates. The ones I've met have been teenagers— if the staff are meant to stop people on the level of Valio, I doubt they'd fall prey the likes of *Them.*"

The Angels, for a group of vigilante murders, didn't seem to be the most competent of forces. Especially with the likes of the people in their ranks... It was confusing how a group like them could be responsible for the horrors seen in Oliver's dreams.
Cheryl
◆ "Oh, right, maybe that's not a saying in French." She doubled back upon hearing Uri take her little saying literally rather than as the metaphor it was. "You ever hear of that idea? That the heads of royalty always hang heavy because the Crown atop their heads are festooned in riches, and thus people look on enviously from all corners? It's a saying that's always stuck with me; it just makes sense. Anyways, I'd say I'm far from royalty; wealth doesn't exactly equal royal status, but... They're pretty closely intertwined most of the time. Threads of fate, I dunno."

□ Shrugging lightly, she took another puff and exhaled, thin wisps of smoke making their way out and filling the air with that signature stench of tobacco and several hundred carcinogenic substances. Perhaps, a year prior, she'd have cared more, but with all of the angelic nonsense whipping around her head at the best of times she needed something, *Anything,* To keep her stable.

▪︎ Sometimes self-destruction *Was* The best way to stay afloat, like amputating a gangrenous limb before the rot spread past the point of salvation.

◆ "But, you told me yourself the nightmares you saw in Oliver's head. There's something foul going on beneath the surface with them, and it's something that transcends the fact that they're malnourished, ratty, faux benevolent vigilantes." She trailed off for a moment. "But you're right. If the staff here are trained to handle behemoths like Valio, I guess they could handle the angels. Then again... Oliver is a crank. He's not someone who seems like he'd be easily scared, so if those freaks and their cannibalistic rituals and glowing slash wounds unsettled him that much then... Man. Maybe there's a lot about them we don't know. Are their halos even the hard light objects we think they are? How does the brainwashing work? How the fuck have they been active for over a decade without the police cracking down on them? There's just... So much we don't know, and I think that's what unsettles me the most."
William
"It's... Odd, certainly. There's a lot of puzzle pieces we don't have."

"But.. Is it a puzzle we're meant to solve? Would solving the puzzle even be worth the potential sacrifices? We could solve it, yes, and look at the entire picture we managed to piece together, but is that feeling of satisfaction worth anything to anyone but ourselves?" Uriel's eyebrows furrowed together in deep contemplation, and the grip they have around their currently-empty tea thermos tightens.

It would be self-serving to continue to meddle. Uriel had to see things through, yes, but that took the form of making sure no one would be hurt by the angels in the future, and doing their best to support Margo and Matti. *Not* By playing detective despite the potential risks. 

It wasn't difficult to think, either. Uriel had no intention of exposing themself to any situation that could possibly lead to mind-control. Once that concept had come into play, they had silently vowed to distance themselves from the situation as best they could. 

"Oliver... Isn't someone who's easily scared. It's a bit strange— I don't know too much about the man, aside from our... *Encounter*, which is an odd circumstance to meet someone in." There's a small sheepish hum upon elaborating on the complicated feelings they had towards the man.

"That, coupled with the classes I take with him, and the various times he sees me passed out on the floor while doing janitorial duties, and it's always a bit awkward and unpleasant. It's the one thing preventing me from asking about more information regarding the Angels, actually— I remember, the first class after we had detention, he gave me an entire unit regarding the ethics of invasion of privacy." 

Uriel lets out a small snort. "In a *Chemistry class.* It's a bit funny, looking back."
Cheryl
◆ "Maybe not." Margo hummed in light agreement. "But at this point...? I'm not entirely sure it's answers I want."

□ Silently, she contemptuously stewed on a concept she'd been mulling ever since she'd seen how freakishly terrified Annika had been. Clearly, whatever had happened while she was under the halo had scarred her deeply, in ways that she was perhaps just now consciously processing, and that sort of amnesiac brainwashing unsettled her so deeply that, combined with the dozens of victims she'd tentatively pinned to the cult, she knew that playing Murdoch wasn't enough. She had to bypass judge and jury, as they'd clearly been bribed to look the other way. Morality was fickle, and she knew her own held many different shades of grey, veritable television static crackling alongside the constant tea kettle whistle of anger that resided within her at all times.

▪︎ *"God, if you're listening..."* She thought, *"Give me a gun and one of those fucking freaks in an alleyway and you'll have another angel to sing your praises."*

◆ "Jesus, he gave you that in the middle of a *Chemistry* Lesson? Fuck, man, he must have really wanted to tell you to stop meddling." Margo reconnected to the channels of the living breathing, her previously glassy yet furious gaze softening as the heat of reality washed over it again. "But, shit, he's both grumpy and weathered, so I don't blame him. Just... Remember, man. If those freaks get me, you know what to do. *Snap.*" She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "Death's preferable to becoming a tool for them to deploy, like I'm their Scarecrow waiting in the wings. I... Know it's hard for you to hear this, but I feel like we really do have to prepare for the worst with this shit, y'know?"
William
Uriel nods, understanding. 

"It'll be alright, you know. I just... I can feel it." Their words are soft, and as they watch the darkness slowly turn to dawn in silence, Uriel couldn't help but feel as if things were only going to get better from here. 

—————