Michael
*M shrugged once more, it was a basically a magic juvie for the troubled parahumans. Well... It's not like M wanted to be back home. But it did hurt to be somewhere that they didn't know or feel like they fit into. But who cared? M sighed and leaned into their nook in the tree and closed their eyes.*

"I mean I was going to be in juvie either way, so I guess it's better that I'm here and not in some other place. But I'm M, as in the letter. Not Em, as in short for Emily. Thought I'd clarify. I've had a few people call me Emily mistakenly and it pissed me off."

*M opened their eyes and looked over to Silas. They could share a little about themselves. It was a thought. Make at least one friend. But there wasn't much to say right now.*

"I guess I'm a music enthusiast. I have a record collection of like classic rock in my room that I got to bring with me. I don't sweat in multiplayer games. I play little indie tittles and what not."
Charles
◆ "M...? Gotcha. Sounds like a non-binary name, jeez..."

□ Maybe it was a bit rude to be so presumptuous about such a small detail, but it was a genuine remark. In his lived experience, the non-binary people he'd known and grown with had almost all adopted odd names – nouns were the hot commodity, as it turned out – and thus a name being as simple as a single letter seemed to fit the bill. Of course, though, he didn't see it fit to assume any further; not his spot to. So, he fiddled with his lighter while M spoke, nodding lightly to show he was listening.

▪︎ Then again, hard to ignore someone who's talking in such a quiet place.

◆ "Records? Christ, you must have been paranoid about them on the way here. Feel like planes gotta be *Awful* On vinyls... Or maybe not. I've never actually bought records, so." He shrugged. "Still a cool hobby though, shit. Also you're better off that way honestly, I nearly burst blood vessels some nights, but yet I can't get myself to relax. Something about being the best appeals to me, so... Y'know. I sweat like a slag at Sunday confessional. Fun. You smoke?"

• If questioned he could always just claim he was eighteen, so where was the harm in offering one up?
Michael
*M furrowed their brow. It was an accurate statement. But perhaps a little blunt to say the least. M was just the initial of their first name, well dead name. They didn't really try to make it anything that was out there or obviously stated their gender. It would have gotten them tons of shit back home. People would complain. But it seemed that it was rather stereotypical for such a name in the non-binary community.*

"I guess you could say that. I tried to make the fact I am such a little less obvious. Didn't need even more reason to be ostracized."
 
*The tone they took when responding was... Peeved to say the least. Not something overtly hostile or upset. Just peeved is all. But the mention of their hobby and collection made M forget all about that. Something more interesting for the brain to focus on.*

"It wasn't too bad. Just put them in individual envelopes. I don't have too many records now. So It was easy to get like a few things to slip them in and then store them in my suitcase. But to answer your other question, yes. But I don't smoke cigarettes."

*M seemed very nonchalant about that fact they smoked, presumably, weed. They didn't try to hide it under badly veiled turns of phrase or beat around the bush about it. They spoke the truth and left it at that.*
Charles
◆ "Oh, right. Probably pretty rude of me, sorry." He rubbed the back of his head, pangs of slight regret nibbling on his gut. "But yeah, that's fair. Pronouns, by the way? Just so I don't accidentally use the wrong ones."

□ Maybe it was even weirder to be asking for pronouns after making quite the leap in terms of identity assumptions, but it *Was* A well-intentioned question. Coming from someone who'd also underwent multiple pronoun sets over the years, he knew how bad being referred to in the wrong way felt, and he figured the least he could do was try and make sure it didn't happen. Anyways. Digging into his pocket he produced a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, and nabbed one with his teeth while the other tentatively flicked the spark wheel of his lighter.

▪︎ Self-destruction never felt so liberating; he cupped his hand around the tip and lit it.

◆ "Fair enough." He spoke through a thin cloud of smoke. "Figured I'd offer. Anyways, aye, good that you managed to get them over here in one piece. I had to leave my entire chemistry setup and my beautiful baby grand piano back home, but I *Did* Get to bring my Nord Grand, so that alleviates the pain a little. Just a bit. Nothing beats playing on a fucking *Steinway,* Y'know?" He chuckled. "But oh well, my Nord's got a lot of cool shit too, even if the keys just don't feel the same."