Morgan paces a little, limping slightly, but soon sits back down on her table, grimacing. She misses most of the cues that Rika throws, wittingly, or unwittingly, her way - she's too busy trying to place the other woman, and gauging how much trust to put in her. She seems to be a lot more ready to deal with the real world, of crime and abuse and violence - the world that Morgan needs to be able to deal with - than many of the other students here. To a woman, they seem to be victims, all willowy bodies, quiet, unthreatening personalities, and sad, cow-eyed miens. Rika's the opposite, strong and cynical, but she can't help but wonder if she's the other way. That's almost the problem - as she emotionlessly talks about gang life, and her trial as an accomplice to murder, Morgan can't help but suspect that it's all a front, from the studied dishevelment of her clothes to the deliberate and considered devil-may-care, bad-girl attitude. Maybe it's a facade, a learned pastiche that Rika projects to the world in order to ward off trouble - or maybe Morgan's just projecting.

When Rika's finished speaking, she whistles through her teeth. Is that the correct reaction? Some display of disapproval would likely not be taken well; sympathy or pity would doubtless be even worse, but she can't just let that story hang in the air. Instead, she settles for a neutral commiseration, something that doesn't seem to much like the average mix of the middle-class fascination and horror with the 'criminal classes'.

'I don't know what to say. Looks like the system fucked you when it worked like it was meant to; and even worse when it didn't.

I agree that it's rather odd you've been sent here, though. Did you hear anything about being sentenced to somewhere like here, or was it more of a surprise development? I can't say I like the sound of any of this.'

Rika cocked her head to one side, shrugging her shoulders briefly, "It's election year, so local politicians were looking for good publicity. Beforehand, we did fine. Plenty of police officers and such are willing to look the other way or bend the rules if they stand to benefit somehow.

"As for my sentencing, I was supposed to be sent to a facility for juveniles, for rehabilitation and education. They're designed to teach young offenders how to be a contributing member of society, as well as teaching them skills they'll be able to use in the work-force. Some of them are funding or sponsored by businesses. This doesn't seem like a juvenile detention centre to me."

Rika inhaled deeply, looking around the room for a few moments before turning back to her companion.

"We'll stick together on this, Morgan. See if we can arrange being put in the same dorm, and classes. If this place doesn't actually care much for it's students like you suggested, they probably shouldn't care too much about that."

She lowered her voice, taking on a slightly sterner expression, "And keep what I told you to yourself. If I'm the "odd one out" here, it'll be better for me if I don't appear so until we know what's going on. No doubt the staff will already be aware of my situation, but if we keep it from the other students, they won't pay as much attention to me. That may work in our favour."

'Oh, I'm familiar with the way that officers of the law begin to feel strange and powerful compulsions to do their job on a four to five year basis. Still, bad luck - or perhaps 'bad luck' doesn't cover this place, I'm not sure. It's certainly not a juvenile centre, or if it is, it's a really unusual approach to one, but it does seem like there's some sort of business concern or foundation behind it.'

Morgan curtsies sarcastically, flouncing an imaginary short skirt.

'Who else would set all the elaborate uniform arrangements? Establish the brand identity? Own all those non-school buildings on the island?'

And you don't need to worry about me blabbing any of this. For a start, I don't exactly feel like I've an awful lot in common with any of the other people here anyway, so who would I talk to? Besides, you've been honest and open, and it wouldn't be right to betray that. I'll look into dorms - I've been in temporary accommodation, at the edge of the forest, but it's, well, not particularly pleasant. Getting back to the dorm area would be nice. And what classes are you 'in for'? I'm mostly doing languages, but I can only trawl through so many lexicons before I pass out.'

Morgan's still not ready to tell the other woman about what went on last evening - she's not even quite sure she can admit it, whatever it is, to herself. What is there to tell, anyway - anything that Rika wouldn't despise her for? The other woman's maintaining her own guard, constructing elaborate fortifications of trust and secrecy around her, to protect her and her place in the world, vigilant against - what, exactly? Mockery? Loss of status? Physical harm? Oh well, she can sympathise with that.

The ghost of an extremely wry smile crossed Rika's lips for a moment, imperceptable to anyone more than a few feet away from her.

"Because you have so much in common with me, right?"

Rika regretted the comment almost straight away. She wasn't sure Morgan knew her well enough to distinguish the difference in tone and intent between that jibe and her earlier ribbing of "Blonde English". Oh well.

She headed back over to the couch she'd woken up on, and wedged her foot beneath her duffel bag. Flicking it into the air with her toes, she grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder in one deft motion, turning back to Morgan as she did.

"Languages sounds good to me. I wasn't too bad at languages," she said, in her excellent English, "but it might look good if I take some other classes too."

The delinquent adopted a far-away look for a few moments.

"...maybe something culinary," she mused to herself, before turning back to Morgan.

"Well, I'm sure I'll have things to deal with in terms of administration, so it's okay if I leave the matter of the dorms to you, right?"

'Oh, rather a lot in common, Rika. It's just that you got caught! I wouldn't know about gangs, per se, but my school-friends and I certainly had to dodge and evade the police; it's just that they were pursuing you and yours for property crime, petty assault and delinquency, and they were pursuing us for behaving immodestly and not wearing sufficiently frumpy clothing.'

Morgan grins, revelling in . It's not entirely without merit - the morality police could and would have brought her to trial, and she suspected that they were a little better at making charges stick than the Japanese police. Her smile falters for an instant as she remembers that they did, indeed, do just that with her mother; it ebbs further as she remembers what's happened to her at Shokushu. But it's good to have some human contact, someone to talk to, to interact with at even this awkward, circling level.

'I'll have a look into our various options vis a vis dorm rooms - there doesn't seem to be an awful lot of pressure on accommodation, so that should be possible. Culinary lessons sound good - I must confess I'm terrible at cooking, but I suppose that that's at least part of what one goes to college for.'

Rika nodded decisively, "I'll leave it in your hands then, Morgan. I'll find where I have to register for classes and get my uniform."

Her bag still slung over her shoulders, she slipped her hands into the pockets of her cut-offs and ambled towards the doors. Once she'd reached it, she paused for a moment, holding the door open as if she was unsure or apprehensive about leaving. She looked back over her shoulder at the other girl, brushing her hair out of her face as she did.

"I'll catch up with you later, Morgan. Take care of yourself, and..."

Rika turned away for a moment, wrinkling her nose and furrowing her brow briefly before looking back to Morgan.

"...and it was nice to meet you," she finished, before hurrying out and closing the door firmly behind her.

Morgan smiles wanly, and nods to the departing woman.

'Take care, Rika.'

Maybe, just maybe, she has an ally here - someone to watch her back a little. She humours herself that that's what her parting awkwardness suggests - or perhaps it's simply an effort to get away. Even so, it was nice to have her first proper conversation with another person - a real person, a whole person, someone who didn't have all sorts of terrible designs on her - since she arrived her. Despite everything, she's not alone.

Hauling her bag over her shoulder, wincing at the chafing pain between her legs, she stands, and makes slow progress towards the accomodation office. The woman running it is officious, but oddly apathetic, placing protocol above everything, and to hell with the rest. She listens to Morgan's hesitating explanation about wanting to be moved to a more permanent dorm, and could she possibly share it with Rika Inoue please, with a glazed-over expression, and then, after putting her through a number of Kafka-esque trials to test her bureaucratrobatics, signs off on the room change. She leaves a note in Rika's pigeon hole - did she even know to check that? - carries her modest hold-all to her new room, then slumps down on the bed, the life gone out of her, exhausted.