Rebecca
You would think that Sergio would have these hallways down by now. The keyword being *Think*.

He was lucky enough to have Uriel show him where the kitchen was, at least now the kid wouldn't starve. But traveling on his own was never his strong suit. Despite being a small building, the hallways of the facility still seemed to wind around and around. Taking a deep breath, he cinched the ratty, nylon strap that held his guitar, a Yamaha F310, made of rosewood for the body and fingerboard, and on top was a panel of spruce, a bit scratched from years of practice. Making sure it was secured, he pressed on, hoping that he would find some sort of exit.

After what ended up being way. Too. Many. Dead ends, he would finally find a pair of double doors, breathing a sigh of relief, he'd push the bar of the doors, praying to whatever force that existed, that they weren't locked. To his surprise, they weren't. Also to his surprise was that the door was actually very well maintained, and didn't need so much force that he put on it. Sergio stumbled his way into a tranquil, quiet, courtyard on the roof of the facility. He scanned around and hoped that *No one saw that*. 

Not immediately noticing anyone, he dusted his jacket and walked over to a small bench. It wasn't too late at night, just past sundown, and it was starting to get colder. He swiped his finger over the bench to check for any condensation before sitting down. The dew had pooled against his finger as it moved across one of the bars on the bench. Wiping his now wet finger off on his jacket, he tucked his thumb underneath the nylon strap that was across his chest and left shoulder, lifting it, and the guitar that sat comfortably on his back up and over, set down on the ground as he took of his jean jacket, and laid it across the bench, letting it soak up the condensation before he sat down.

As he waited, he took a quick glance at the ground floor, the courtyard feeling so massive the first time he took steps onto the grounds, but from up here, it gives him vertigo just staring down at the grass. He stepped back, turning on his heels to face the bench again. Finally, he sits down on the bench, staring past the horizon, viewing the twinkling lights that lived far beyond our own atmosphere. 

And he gripped onto the neck of the guitar, lost in thought.
Maria
The cradle was never quiet. *Ever*.

There was always the creak of floorboards as someone made their way to the kitchen for a late night snack, the faint crackle of a tv in the other room, occasionally the faint strum of a guitar or other such instrument from the more talented members of the institute.
Usually, the constant hum of life was a balm to Lucifer. He'd rarely lived without the sound of life around him, had grown to enjoy it, find comfort in it, the way a child might gaze into a nightlight, tucking their feet under the duvet with the knowledge that they were safe, guarded by the gentle light even though in truth it offered no real protection.

Sometimes it did get a little too much. Sometimes the tv static was just a little too biting, the floorboards too loud, and the wash of music too lively or too sad, or just plain irritating. On those nights, Lucifer would hop out of bed, don a warm hoodie and jacket, several pairs of thick socks crammed into his warmest boots, and make his way to the Cradle's rooftop.

There was always someone lurking in the corridors, the kitchen, even the gardens weren't private, folks coming and going at all hours. But it was practically a guarantee that the roof was silent. Empty of any company except the chirp of crickets and the whisper of a breeze.

Or it had been every night he had been up there before.

Lucifer gripped his cane tightly under his arm as he pushed open the doors to the courtyard, the old hinges creaking in complaint, desperate for an oiling. He pulled his elbows in tighter, hunching his shoulders as he took a moment to acclimatise to the sudden temperate drop, the air felt wet on his tongue, the aftermath of a rainfall or the early threat of one, or both, though he couldn't tell. As he stepped further out onto the roof, he paused, turning slightly on the balls of his feet and cocking his head beneath his hood as he listened to the wet shuffle of steps a few paces away, then the creak of weight settling onto the old wood.
Luce waited silently, giving the other a few moments to settle so as not to startle them before intentionally taking a heavy step forward, boots splashing in one of the many puddles of water resting across the courtyard.

"I'm not intruding am I?"
Rebecca
The thoughts would pass through, one pleasant, one not as pleasant, and one that kept the surroundings in check. I met some people! I'm stuck in this place. Shoes are still tied.

Usually he'd be able to practice by now, but something kept him stuck. Maybe it was the dead quiet, or the fact that the stars weren't... Perfectly in view. Something about the lights even up on the roof made the sky seem empty in comparison. But, he was usually hiding out in the parks to see the stars *Like that.*

Something nags at him as he thinks. The last time he did this whole ritual properly, he realized he was back at home. It already feels like it's been forever. As he remembers how the tune in his head went, his fingers grip against the neck of the guitar tighter, the mix of brass and steel strings digging into his calloused fingers. Something wells up inside him. An emotional cocktail of one part words that will never have a chance to be heard and two parts now empty rooms. Shaken well. Pour over a short, "Wishes he could be angry" Boy. It makes him want to scream in agony, as he tries to fight this urge back it almost-

Was that a voice? 

He jumps, his fingers letting go of the strings plays the world's worst B♭. "Oh, I uh." He stumbles over his words, trying to find the correct one to start off this sentence. "Sorry, I'm new here and was just finding a quiet place to think." He gives a quick smile, it's goofy and uneven, but fits well on his face.

"I don't know how long I've been here but if you want to be alone I can get out of your hair." He looks back out to the sky, waiting for the other kid to answer. For a spare moment, he wishes he could reach out to them, finding if they too are as bright as the one that his world orbits. He snaps his attention back to the other, waiting for their answer.
Maria
Lucifer was good with names. Exceptionally so even, or at least he liked to think so, it came with the territory afterall, and he knew most of the voices in the cradle by now, having met them in passing or chatted in common rooms, but he didn't recognise this one.
At first he couldn't place the accent, but after a moments thinking he considered the quick-paced voice to be- Canadian maybe? Alberta perhaps.

"You're fine! I uh, just didn't want to interrupt any deep emotional turmoil you might be having- only that that's pretty much all I've ever seen people use the roof for, I mean. I'm not trying to suggest anything about you or, um..."
He decided to simply close his mouth and stop deepening the hole he was digging for himself, instead he stepped a little closer, reaching out to grasp the back of the bench furthest from Sergio and gesturing to the empty space with a "May I?".

After no audible complaint from the other he settled himself in the seat on the opposite end, tucking both his feet onto the bench cross-legged, leaving a comfortable foot or so between them, keeping his head turned slightly upwards, as if admiring the stars in tandem. He could practically feel how tense the other boy was, a little too quiet and tense, like a negative space, a blackhole, and after a moment enjoying the silence he offered out a hand.

"I'm Lucifer, Otieno. Or Luci, or- Anything works actually, just don't call me late for dinner"
He grinned, dimpled and with a little too many teeth, but genuine, eyebrows rising up above the rim of his glasses. He cocked his head then towards Sergio's lap, having heard the discordant strum of strings.

"You play?"
Rebecca
Sergio blinks at the other, a bit in shock from Lucifer's own verbal gymnastics stumbling on the final landing. He takes a decent look at him, taking a mental reminder of how the white haired fellow looks. Something about him feels similar, but he doesn't truly recognize the man in front of him. He certainly wasn't with the other group he first met in the common area.

 "Oh, I'm... Fine." He spits out, realizing he's been quiet for a tad too long. He continues to size up the other. Did they have some ulterior motive? *Did he walk into the wrong part of the facility?* He didn't want his... 4th day here? Ending with a fight. The hands with slight indents now tapped at the strings that were aching for a real strum, wondering what Lucifer's next words would be.

Wait. The fellow wants to actually sit down next to him? A pleasant surprise washes over him, as well as a sigh of relief. He hasn't fucked up any first impressions so far here, he thinks. "Yeah, I don't mind, just mind the dew, th' bench is a bit damp." By this time, Sergio realizes his posture has been in the same tense, pre-breakdown position as before. He sits back up, relaxing his tensed up shoulders and resting his hands on the sides of the guitar. "Name's Sergio Antares, nice to meet ya." He offers his own hand, Lucifer would feel the roughness of his fingertips on his left hand, as if the confidence of even actually taking a guitar outside didn't already show his experience with one. The other boy's smile almost felt contagious, and he couldn't help but feel like he needed to match it.

"Yeah! I've played since I was a kid. I might be a bit rusty though, I haven't been able to find time to practice. Thought that I would start again after I got my bearings here." Instead, he decided to skip that part and get to practicing again. After all, it's not like there's much to do after hours, from what he's seen.

"Have you played anything? I'm always trying to find fellow music players. I like to pick their brains about their reasons to play." He asks, readjusting once again to properly hold the guitar, slowly turning the tuning keys back into their places, strumming the string at least once or twice to see if it was one was in its proper place.
Maria
Rereading and seeing I said names not voices