Monique
Matti ground another mint to dust between their molars as they stepped out into the courtyard, eager to get away from "Their" Dorm as soon as possible. Even with the duffels that they'd packed now sitting completely emptied underneath the bad, the room was still sparse, plain, and smelling faintly of dust, and being inside it for too long made the hair on the back of their neck stand up. 

Slipping their earbuds in, they attempted to scan the large space for signs of other people. Their eyes soon fell into the familiar, automatic motion of searching as they hummed along to the instrumentals. When (unsurprisingly) no one stood out to them, a small voice in their mind gave a faux sigh. *Oh well, we tried.* Matti turned, ready to turn heel and run away to somewhere else, before they caught a flash of bright red hair in the corner of their vision. Colors were muted from underneath their sunglasses, mostly reduced to murky tints, but some colors, like this one, stood out all the same. *Interesting*. Or, at least, interesting enough for Matti to start moving over to introduce themselves, slipping through to stop a few feet shy of the stranger's space. 

"Hello, I'm Mattias. I'm new." Their voice was flat, even as they cursed themself internally for the awkwardness.
Roxane
• Courtyard, 4pm.

□ At this point, something totally unexpected had happened. Despite how viciously the pair had spat at each other and fought, Margo had finally forged an uneasy compromise with a certain Italian, and what she got out of that exchange was cigarettes, and it was cigarettes by the carton. Deep down she didn't know how to feel about the alliance, or truce, or whatever it could be called, but as she sat in the courtyard with a cup of tea and a gas station pre-made sandwich she was glad to have access to her old favoured vice again.

• Little did she know, someone was watching her from a distance, watching her eat an egg salad sandwich and smoke a Marlboro. She only became aware when she heard a voice five feet away; she looked up.

◆ "Hey." She calmly replied. "You just arrived? Poor bastard. Not really, but... It's a prison. The food sucks. Welcome to the Cradle."
Monique
Matti let themself grimace. The food had been the one tolerable thing at school back in the states— of course, they could cook fairly well, but having a good food source you didn't have to buy groceries for had saved them more than one hungry night. Hearing a quip about bad food was clearly another omen in a rapidly growing list, next to whatever (a mouse) was burrowing in through the building walls, hiding a small treasure trove of stolen crumbs, and the janitorial closet they had passed in the main facilities (one that they were adamant they would avoid at all costs, in the future). Prying their mind away from thinking and their eyes away from the (prohibited!) cigarette smoke, they attempted small talk instead. 

"That's a shame. About the food, I mean."

They paused, waiting, then swung out their hand in greeting, letting it hover in the air. "I should introduce myself formally. I'm Mattias Gates. Who are you?"
Roxane
◆ "You'll get used to it." Margo shrugged, raising her fingers to her lips and lifting the cigarette from between them. "And honestly it's not *All* Bad. Sometimes the cooks make this burrito thing with, erm... Okra and pork and other stuff, and they deep-fry the shit out of it. It's super good, actually. There's also a prisoner working the kitchen some days, and she's better than the actual paid chefs."

□ Once again, it pained her to even show the slightest admiration for anything this so-far unnamed Italian prisoner had done, but at the same time she couldn't exactly lie and say that the food Margarita put out was terrible. Minus the deep-fried burrito that made a weekly appearance the cafeteria's offerings were generally somewhat flavourless and dry, so it was always a welcome sight to see meatballs that actually juiced, or puttanesca pasta that nearly singed one's nostrils into a state of non-existence. 

▪︎ Speaking of food, she took another bite of her sandwich, a crumb of mayo-coated egg dropping down to the ground below.

◆ "*Gates?* I'm sure Bill isn't happy you're here." She joked, dry as ever. It was almost her signature, dry jokes crooked out with a wiry grin and a chuckle undercurrent. "But seriously, hey. Name's Margo, here for attempted murder. What got you sent here?"
Monique
Mattias bit the inside of their mouth. In some ways a prisoner working in the kitchen made sense— after all, it seemed that most of the wards here weren't exactly model students. It wasn't necessarily the rule-breaking that drew their worry, though, more the fact that someone had been imprisoned. Matti had met criminals, had (indirectly) helped with some captures, and in the process learned to be very glad they shut up more often than they spoke. There were some secrets, they found, that could end up with them *Disappearing*. Of course, this likely wasn't something huge and horrific- at most, the prisoner had probably been picked up for something like breaking and entering. Still, they resolved to find out who Margo was referring to, and stay away. And with the rest of what she had said, it might have even been a joke— surely she hadn't actually tried to kill someone. 

*Yeah. It must have been. A joke.*

After waiting a few more moments, they let their outstretched hand fall lamely to their leg, hastily shoving a it into their pocket to mask their discomfort. The lack of contact was fine- they could always get the full name later, through normal, verbal means.

"They say it's because I skipped too much class-" For a moment Matti tried to copy Margo's smirk before their face collapsed back into its neutral deadpan. "-but it's probably because my parents don't want to deal with me."
Roxane
◆ "Oh, shitty parents? Felt that." Margo spoke, a vein of mild anger running through her voice. "But, hey, the Cradle isn't the worst place to be. We're actually more or less free to do whatever the hell we want here, as long as it isn't directly harming someone else or drug-related. I know, rich coming from the dyke smoking a cigarette on prison grounds, but what are they going to do? *Send me to prison?*"

□ Smugly railing off the last words, she took another bite of her sandwich, the chilled egg and mayo filling splurting out with each chew. It was admittedly a light supper, but she was already planning on going to the cafeteria once she walked inside, and given how bland the food tended to be she had decided that going out of her way to get a decidedly low-quality product was preferable to a full meal from the prison staff. It also had occurred to her as she'd been out earlier that maybe she should learn to cook for herself, but a lifetime sucking on a silver spoon had left her noticeably inadequate at many of adult life's simplest tasks.

▪︎ Cooking was only the beginning of it. She had a *Lot* To learn here.

◆ "I noticed something though just a moment ago, in your body language." Margo commented after a few moments of silence. "It's not a joke. I attempted to beat my father to death. Hiram Abernathy, Wall Street's sixth richest man, and a very recent billionaire, now rotting away in a hospital bed. I'm sure every newspaper in America's got at least one story on the whole case right now; not every day a billionaire is left disfigured, blind, and brain damaged by their own kid, but the fucker deserved it. In case you're wondering, though, I'm not going to just randomly try to kill you. He had it coming for a long time, far as I'm concerned. You smoke?"
Monique
Whatever Mattias thought about their own "Shitty parents", they suspected it didn't really hold a candle to what Margo was referencing. After all, Matti's feelings were more attributed to apathy. Their parents didn't care about them, and they didn't care about their parents. It was more of an acquaintanceship by chance, and honestly they hadn't had enough direct confrontations with the couple to say that they *Really* Hated them. On the other hand, there was tangible malice when Margo referenced her past. It was enough to spark Matti's curiosity, but not so much as the idea of being in a prison stomped it out. Trading one holding cell for another was, in essence, what they'd done. *Net gain- 0*.

Matti went rigid at the mention of near-murder, then desperately tried to relax into what they called the Blur (the way sometimes people paid a little less attention, found their answers a little too easy to accept. Willing and ready to brush them off) and hide their nerves. Paranoia pulsed under their skin. They tried to open their Sight, just a little, to see whatever weapon Margo had stashed and was probably about to attack them with, only to slam it shut against the wave of *Abughidinginthegrasssquirrelstoringfoodinthetreewhispersthenextblockover*. They fumbled with their small side bag, throwing a mint between their teeth and relishing as it splintered into pieces. 

There had been some air, that she had been hiding *Something*, in the few seconds that Matti could See, but— as they realized abruptly— not much. Margo had openly confessed what others might have called a dark secret (what others might have *Concealed*), had done it without expectation or twisting words. She had been, much to Matti's surprise. Honest. *Sincere*. 

Margo's question shocked them out of their revelation. "No- no sorry, I don't smoke."

They paused.

"Do you want to be friends?"
Roxane
◆ "More for me, then." She raised the cigarette to her lips again, nestling it to one side and lightly pinching it in. "Anyways... *That's* Your question, man? Guess it's not like you wanna hear about my shitty past, man, but kinda feels like asking about friendship's an elementary thing."

□ Now that she'd told her story once more, she was faced with a question: *"Do you want to be friends?"* The question hung in her skull like an air freshener, its scent uncertainty and mild horror, a strange mixture but one nonetheless. Rather than give any sorta answer upright she instead reached out for her tea, taking a sip out of a rather plain green metal Thermos and letting out a faint sigh afterwards. With the hot weather approaching and catching her off-guard she'd taken to cold drinks rather than hot, and if Matti were listening he might have been able to hear the soft clacking of ice as she lifted and set the vessel down.

▪︎ Then again, clacking was sort of her signature noise, so it was only fitting.

◆ "Anyways, not to just pass over your question, but... It feels kinda clunky, man, to outright ask about friendship. That's sort of a thing that's already happened." She calmly spoke, the tail end of her sandwich pinched between her fingers like a wad of dough. "Like, I told you in detail about what I did to my father, and you didn't immediately run. I think that counts for something. I don't wanna dwell on it, though, so. You in a single or a double?"
Monique
"A single." Matti replied without hesitation, and if Margo had been able to see behind their dark shades she probably would have figured something out from the shine in their eyes- a brightness that wasn't quite supernatural, but more from genuine joy. Being called out for their poor interaction skills wasn't exactly what they had been hoping for, but all the while Margo hadn't been pressured into saying yes, or saying no, hadn't resorted to platitudes or social convention. She had been honest (and yes, they knew 'do you want to be friends' *Was* Clunky, and awkward, but they hadn't been able to think of anything else). 

Matti hesitantly brought out their notepad, scribbling down a score. *Margo Abernathy. 2/2. Honest.*

Plus, the criticism didn't necessarily mean that Margo had rejected the offer— in fact, she had implied they had forged some sort of connection already. By virtue of... Matti staying? To listen? It didn't seem like an especially difficult or strange requirement for friendship

"Do people usually run? When you tell them about trying to kill your father, I mean."
Roxane
◆ "Lucky bastard." Margo spoke, popping the last bite of her sandwich between her teeth and starting to chew. A few moments later she swallowed and looked back over at Matti. "I didn't get a choice because of how violent my crime was. They, uh... They organized everything behind the scenes while I was sitting there with my lips stapled shut for the first four or so days I was in custody. I *Wanted* To make sure I got at least one more good meal before they sent me off to prison, but then I also missed out on being able to barter for a single, so now I've got a roommate. Oh well, Uri's pretty cool, and they don't mind feeding my kids when I'm out, so it's not *All* Bad."

□ Shrugging, she raised the cigarette, now half-smoked, to her lips. Puffing lightly, there was a certain element of pleasure in it, even if realistically it was terrible for her health and terrible for her lungs in particular. Not like she cared, though; *Live fast, die young* Happened to be one of her mottos, albeit one she often forgot about when the topic of the future came up. Now faced with another question, she looked off into the distance and hummed for a brief moment.

▪︎ It was just to regulate her thoughts; they were awfully discordant today.

[CW: mentions of physical and verbal abuse, dysfunctional family]

◆ "Not really. Either they're shocked, too scared of me to run, or they think I'm an asshole and hate me. Whatever, man, I did what I did, and I did it for a damn good reason. You ask any of my siblings and they'll all tell you the same thing: our father was a neglectful, abusive bigot who only really cared about himself and his public image. ||He forced us to smile while we were out, and then he'd throw vases at us at home and scream into the wee hours of the morning if we didn't, or if we did anything except what he told us to do. I know I'm trauma dumping, but fuck, man, Hiram's awful, and I don't regret what I did at all. He isn't my father anymore, as far as I'm concerned."||
Monique
Matti was grateful, somewhat, for having a single dorm. They weren't sure they could handle the stress of living with another person, especially not with a *Liar*. A better person like Margo might have been alright, but from what they'd heard it was mostly randomized, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't be paired with someone who'd expect them to behave normally. 

They raised their eyebrows in alarm as Margo talked about being put in custody- their surprise just barely hidden by their hair and glasses. "Did they actually staple your lips shut? I'm fairly sure that's against the law... Or was that a joke." 

It was probably a joke. But then again, that's what Mattias had thought about the attempted murder, so they couldn't be sure. Even though they didn't have the opportunity to talk much, the thought of that ability being restricted was unsettling. Their shoulders tensed, cold like someone was holding a freezing iron to the back of their neck. Matti shook the idea off and distracted themself wondering about Margo's "Kids"- pets, probably, she didn't seem nearly old enough to have a child, and if she'd really been convicted she likely wouldn't have had custody.



Hell. From Margo's story, he was certain her father wouldn't (shouldn't) have had custody of her either, if any investigating had been done. There... Had been days like that. || When kids came to school and it seemed like only Matti's eyes could see bruises barely concealed by oversized t-shirts. Sometimes, they'd send a few texts to the police. If they thought it would help. It usually didn't. Then, sometimes the kids didn't come back. So Matti stopped. And buried the sick feeling somewhere deep in their mind, where they couldn't see it. ||

When Margo spoke, she talked of "We" And "Us", and silently Matti wondered if she had siblings somewhere else on campus, or outside of it. It might have been nice, growing up with siblings. Maybe.

"I wouldn't have done what you did, but I don't necessarily think it's wrong." They offered the sincerest opinion they could, though they felt Margo wasn't exactly fishing for consolation.
Roxane
◆ "Thanks." Margo spoke, though a bit distant and also laced with the thinly-veiled sort of anger that always came up when her father was mentioned. "But if God was good he'd be dead."

□ Rising to her feet, Margo made sure to scoop up her travel mug as she did so, hooking her fingers through the floppy green handle and clenching lightly on the filtered end of her cigarette. Now that she had food in her stomach she felt as if it was time to head back inside, maybe pester Uriel about some show she'd been watching, or maybe she'd be better off seeking out Amelie for a nice afternoon chat in whatever corner she'd poked herself. Whatever the case, Margo was about done talking for now, and she made it clear through motions rather than words.

▪︎ At least, for a moment. Then she spoke.

◆ "I'm gonna go find someone to bug. Curfew's 10pm right now because of the angels out in that industrial dump, don't get caught out if you gotta go out past then." She looked back at Matti, offering up advice that came from a place of awareness beyond what most might have expected. "And also, no, they didn't actually staple my lips shut. I'd have slashed their throats with my nails if they did that. I just wanted a Halal Guys chicken and rice platter before I got shipped off to juvie, and I kept my mouth shut until they bribed it open with food. They got their information, I got my food, everyone was happy. Well, aside from Hiram, but fuck him, he can choke. Catch you around."
Monique
Matti nodded a goodbye, feelings complicated and caught up in their stomach. Absentmindedly the scrawled "*Stapled mouth shut- not literal action*" In the corner of their hand notebook. Then below it, hesitantly— "*Angels? 'industrial dump'. Curfew 10 pm*". It wasn't their business. And it *Definitely* Wasn't going to be good to involve themself with. A gut feeling told them that whatever "Angels" Meant, it was at least as bad, if not worse, than whatever the school was hiding in the janitor's closet. And if there was a curfew, it was probably a danger to the students. *12*. Exactly the kind of thing they should be avoiding at all costs. And yet.

And yet.

"Goodbye." They called softly, mind whirring as they left the courtyard.