Diane
"Don't worry about me." Uriel couldn't help but notice the conversational shift from her feelings to their emotions. It was the same problem— a subconscious diversion from acknowledging her feelings by catering to those around her. *Oh, Margo...* A voice in their head sighed. 

Now that they were looking at her, she was so much smaller than they realized.

"I'm proud of you, you know. For acknowledging your trauma, for introspection and admitting the source of the problem. It's... Most people don't get that far. I suppose it's admirable." Uriel pauses, allowing time for their train of thought to catch up to their mouth. 

"Hm, not *I suppose*. It is admirable. You're far, far stronger than you know, just by being able to admit that."

Uriel looked down at Margo with soft, warm eyes. For someone seeming so self-assured, she was surprisingly self-conscious. For what, they didn't know; when they looked down at her, all Uriel could see was *Strength*, the strength of facing her generational trauma head on.
Jeannie
◆ "No." She croaked back, fixing her gaze on the ceiling, and on the fire alarm that hung directly over her head. "Your feelings mean a..." She sniffled. "A lot to me too. Don't just pass your own emotions over, man, else you'll end up like me. Maybe."

□ Perhaps it *Was* The pot calling the kettle black, but... Who cared? Not her, that was for sure. She knew that she tended to bottle things up and only let out faint whispers in the form of jokes and laments, and that it wasn't good for her. But, even with this awareness, she knew she likely wouldn't change all that much just off the back of one depressive episode; change, as it turned out, was more painful than any tattoo needle she'd been under, and the pain wouldn't do her any good here aside from helping her heal.

▪︎ Healing sounded lame; she was *Sixteen,* Who the fuck wanted to bother with that at her age? She fished out her pack of smokes and dropped them on her stomach.

◆ "I guess." Sure, hearing someone was proud of her helped her aching soul, but it ultimately felt less like genuine pride and more like pity points, the one thing she didn't want. "But... I don't know anymore. I was talking to Owen, and I... Might be autistic? And then there's the news that my father is out of the hospital. My sister's also starting to testify against my... My father in an absentia trial, and that means I'm probably going to have to testify as well. It's just..." Worn-out hands gently manipulated the cigarette pack about, almost as if the whole being honest all at once thing was leading to some uncomfortable thoughts. "So much happened today. I don't know where to even start unpacking it... I'm sorry about just dumping, but it kind of happened against my will, so."
Diane
"If you're autistic, you're still *You*. Nothing about you has changed— you'll still be the same Margo you've always been. Just a little less confused, hopefully. I do admit, it's a lot to process, though."

Now that Margo mentioned the possible diagnoses, it *Did* Seem as if it explained a lot unanswered questions regarding Margo's behavior. There were a lot of similarities between the two— both Owen and Margo were passionate about their interests, to a point of hyperfixation. Margo liked keeping routine, and was prone to emotional outbursts, and did exhibit issues with sensory stimulation. The more Uriel thought about it, the more sense it made... *Hm.*

"Testifying... I thought the trial was over? Is that not why you're here? Or did something else..." As soon as Uriel voices the thought out loud, they almost instantly realize their mistake.

 They were *Prying*, asking a question Margo might not be comfortable with answering. Nervous eyes flit down towards Margo, carefully making sure Uriel hadn't stuck a nerve. They channel their nervous energy into doing what they did best— *Helping*, grabbing a lighter from her nightstand and lighting the cigarette currently in her lips. It wasn't a habit they particularly enjoyed seeing (or smelling), but the desire to do *Something* Outshone their ever-present concern. 

"Uhm, you— you don't have to... Answer that."
Jeannie
◆ "That's the thing though: isn't it kind of... A, uh... Never mind. I'll focus on that more in a bit, I guess." Margo spoke, still hoarse and dry from her sobbing spell earlier. "Because I haven't actually told you yet, but we're... In the process of building a case against my dad."

□ Casually letting the words slip free from her mouth, Margo continued to run her fingers along the glossy layered cigarette pack in her hands, finding a strange sensation from plucking her fingertip against its corner. Unknown pleasure, she halted herself after a few moments, and began to collect the words she was going to need in her mouth. After all, she was about to tell her roommate something she'd been sitting on for most of the week, waiting for a good chance to talk about it with them, and eventually with the staff.

▪︎ As it turned out, the prosecution just might have needed her back in America to testify in person. Surely that'd need the approval of the Deans.

◆ "So, when I was in... Jail, right? I told the cops *Everything* My father had did that could have counted as... Y'know, abuse, neglect, assault, so on and so forth. They brought those claims to my sister Holly, who's already in Bedford Hills, and she corroborated all the details and then some. They also got to my brother Ben, and... He said the same shit, though apparently he was really tight-lipped." She hummed for a moment. "Anyways, with so many corroborating stories they're helping us build a case against my father, and apparently his crimes weren't just in the family. I'm... Probably going to be in touch with them a lot through this, but it feels kinda fucking *Weird* To be bringing this against my father, you know? Like Zeus and Cronos, I suspect I'll be queen by the end of this."
Diane
Uriel froze. It was... A lot to take in, and the prospect of Margo *Leaving the Cradle* For the case hit them like a wet towel to the face. 

Margo would be back, most likely, but someone being able to leave this prison, even if temporarily, was unheard of to them. The outside world had kept moving, while time seemed to stay still in this sleepy Swedish city. *Everything had kept moving.*

"It'll be a change, that's for certain. It... It seems that it'll be tough, recounting everything that happened in your childhood. Even if the end result is locking him up, getting there is going to be... Difficult."

Uriel shivered. They've always had an active imagination, but sometimes it seemed to do more harm than good. Images of a young, bruised Margo conjure themselves into their mind, far too young to deserve such treatment. *Abused. Neglected.* The breath catches in their lungs, and they silently mourned for the childhood that was unjustly ripped from the girl in front of them. 

"Have you reached out to your siblings? It might be easier to talk to them about everything you endured, before you have to do so in front of a grand jury. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you all— I know you're talking right now, but, ah, if you need anything from me in the future... Please don't hesitate to ask." 

It was a meaningless platitude. Margo already *Knew* Uriel would always be there for her; it was whether or not she even needed help with something Uriel could do that was the question. Still, resorting to the soothing reiteration helped quell Uriel's nerves more than anything. A reminder, they thought. Not a reiteration.

"I... I hope the trial goes well. He'll receive justice, I'm sure of it." They offer, the optimistic reassurance possessing a bit more energy than usual. 

*He will. He'll pay for how he treated Margo and her siblings, I'm sure of it.* As the thought enters their head, they can't help but feel as if they're trying to convince themselves.
Jeannie
◆ "It's a good thing... Uh... Yeah." Rather than try to twist it into a joke that would deflect her emotions, she decided to just be truthful for once in her goddamn life. "I've been talking to my siblings, or at least the ones I can, and... None of us are happy to have to bring this up to him, but it feels like it has to be done. It feels *Right,* Despite also feeling like a moral trespass."

□ Letting out the mother of all sighs, Margo sat up, also taking a moment to fish out a cigarette and slip it behind her ear. Dropping the half-empty pack in her pocket, she took a few moments to observe how her hands moved, seemingly reaching out on their own for something — anything, honestly — to grab onto. Finding only the material of her pants, she watched as her hands kneaded them lightly the same as they'd kneaded the pillow earlier.

▪︎ Sure, her eyes were still bloodshot and sunken, and residual bubbles of snot bubbled out of her nostrils with each breath, but she was alive.

◆ "As far as I know, Ben's reluctant to testify, I'm working with the NYPD on this, Holly is as well, Ginny's took two weeks off next month to come and give her testimony and whatnot, and Mary...? She's still in that fucking abbey. Nobody's heard from her in years." Reaching towards her nightstand as she spoke, she picked her distinctive yellow-lensed glasses up, put them on, and then in what must have been the weirdest move she wrapped her arms around Uri and gave them a hug. Not a long one, but a meaningful one. Letting go after about two or three seconds, she rose to her feet and looked down at them.

• "I'm gonna go have a smoke, now that I'm not a pressure cooker bomb waiting to go off. Thanks for being there, man, even when I was telling you to leave me be. I appreciate it, and you."
Diane
It takes Uriel far, far too long to respond.

Anyone who's familiar with Uriel knows about their poor reaction time; they're constantly drifting around, as if in a waking dream, to a point where the happenings of the world around them seem to be forethought to whatever goes on behind their half-lidded eyes.

Margo hugged them, and by the time they properly process what exactly is happening, she's already out of their arms. Whatever train of thought they had about the trial, about her diagnoses, about *Anything* Dissolves into oblivion as the air is sucked from their lungs. Their vision *Swims*, and the room distorts as if a funhouse mirror replaced the edges of their vision. 

*Tap. Tap* Droplets of wet fall onto the back of Uriel's hand, and they suddenly realize they're crying.

*Not a funhouse mirror, then,* They think, turning their head away from Margo to stealthily wipe away the emotion spilling down their cheeks.

"I— um, yeah, that seems like a good idea." Their voices cracks, painful and rough and full of emotion as the whirlwind of feeling consumed them. 

God, they shouldn't be crying like this— it was Margo's night, and by the embarrassing show of feelings they were only detracting from her struggles. They knew that, and yet... The phrase *I appreciate it, and you*, and the barest traces of her touch around their waist seemed to catch their heart in a vice-grip. 

*Is this what it felt like...?* Uriel never knew a simple sentence could make them feel so strongly. They *Were doing something good. They were being useful.* And because of their servitude, they were being *Loved.*

 A pleasant blossom of emotion swelled in their chest at the realization. 

"Ah, before you go..." Even though they're still facing away from her, Uriel lightly tugs on the end of Margo's shirt, if only to get her attention.

"Thank you." It's faint, barely a whisper, almost as loud as the hum of the now-fixed air conditioner whirring away in the corner of the room.
Jeannie
◇ Unexpectedly, Uri had began to cry, and she only realized after a few moments.

□ At first, she'd been on her way out, but a feeble pinch nabbed the hem of her shirt. Turning, she saw the familiar trails of tears flowing down their cheeks, and she realized that for all their airiness and distance from the human world they were still very much human. So, she turned back around, and sat back down, and crossed her legs again. Once there she put a hand on Uri's shoulder and hummed.

▪︎ A moment of silence, in case they needed it.

◆ "No worries." She spoke, still frail and hoarse but overall more Margo-esque than before. "But you're crying, man... You need me to stick around a moment?"
Diane
"No, no, I'm..." Uriel's shoulders shoot up at Margo noticing their tears, and they forgo all subtlety in order to hastily wipe away the remnants of the heart dripping down their face. 

"I'm good. Just... Happy to hear that I'm useful. And that someone would deem me deserving of such kindness. I'm... Happy. Very happy." A nervous exhale-turned-laugh escapes from their lips, and Uriel replays Margo's words over in their head. *I appreciate you. I appreciate you.* *I * **Appreciate** *You.* *I * *Appreciate* **You.** **I ** *Appreciate* *You.*

The soundbite is something they'd treasure forever, Uriel decided. Dusting off the trophy room laid deep in the atrium of their heart, they'd place the memory alongside the other memories they treasured deeply. Trinkets on a shelf, all important, ones Uriel would often look back on and hold in their hands when times were rough. These good times with Margo would not last forever, certainly so, but those three words and the traces of her embrace would forever line the walls of Uriel's heart. 

"That's all. There's no need to worry about me." Their eyes are still red around the rims, but they offer a small, faint smile at Margo.

*Thank you so much. Thank you so much.* ."...Thank you so much." Uriel didn't notice when their internal monologue broke out into the real world, their loud thoughts becoming a quiet, breathy mumble. How long had they been repeating those words? Uriel couldn't tell.
Jeannie
◆ "You sure? You look like you ain't doing so hot, but..." What did she say? Did she insist on sticking by until Uri felt better? Or did she listen to what they were saying, as they'd done to her, and go out for a bit? "If you insist. I'm sure you'll be fine, anyways; you always seem to be."

□ How much of that was genuine mental wellness, and how much was the heavy dreamweaving crown that likely lay atop Uri's head, she couldn't be certain. However, just as she'd sobbed her heart out and then had a little confessional with her room, Uri would be fine too, at least after a little while spent with whatever text they'd been reading. Speaking of which, she rose to her feet once more, ruffled the snow-haired dreamweaver's hair, and made her way to the couch.

▪︎ A curious hand reached out for the book; a smile crept upon her face.

◆ "Gallo-Romance und whatever this title says... Can't be fussed. Interesting stuff... It talks about the origin point of French as a common language. Nice to see my books aren't collecting dust." Dropping it, she made her way to the door and slipped her boots on. "I'm gonna get out of your hair for real now, but... Thanks for being there, man. Like I said, I appreciate it."

• And with that, she was gone. A phantom, so to speak, leaving the faint scents of tobacco, vanilla hand cream, and emotional turmoil in her wake. Hopefully Uri would be alright.
Diane
A click. The door closed, leaving Uriel alone in the room. 

What to do now? They thought to themselves for a moment, pondering their next move. A midnight stroll to take advantage of their curfew immunity, or perhaps they could finally finish the scarf they'd been working on for Ares. 

What to do, indeed... So many things, but the only thing Uriel wanted to do was sleep. 

And so, they did. They changed into sleepwear and crawled into their twin cot, layering numerous comforters and blankets on top of their lanky, thin form before weaving themselves into a deep sleep. Oblivion took them almost instantly, and as slumber held Uriel's mind in its clutches, those three words repeated over and over in their head. 

Yes, it didn't seem as if there was a point to being awake any more today— after all, the highlight of their night had already came, and they'd rather savor the memory while it was fresh than waste their time lumbering through the waking world. 

—