"Okay everyone! Listen up!" It had been approximately five minutes since the three of them had been escorted to the bathhouse-turned-dormatory the College had told them they were staying in for now, and somehow Maggie had already attempted to take charge of the situation. "Things are weird right now, for all of us. We hardly know each other, and half of us have never even spoken to the other half before, but we need to be on the same page. We should run a support group."

"You have got to be kidding me..." A quiet squeal of a groan came from the fruit bat leaning against a corner, as far as possible from everyone else. "Don't tell me you're one of those new-age feelings-guru types. Of all the people to still be able to talk..."

Ink-Talon couldn't help but side-eye the bat. They seemed to be the kind of antisocial loner type that could be a problem in stressful situations. He'd have to keep an eye on them.

"No, and seriously, hear me out. We've all been though some shit this past week. We're still going through that shit right now, and nailing down just who we are and what we're about is important." The myna shot a glance at Quiet-Dream as she spoke. "So that hokey 'sit in a circle and introduce yourself and your problems one at a time' format is actually useful here."

"I wouldn't mind giving it a shot." The giant salamander lounging in an in-ground bath gently slapped the surface of the water with a foreleg, finding that sound easier to express things with than what meager vocalizations they were able to make. "How about you, Swift-Paw?"

"If what you described is what a 'support group' entails, then it seems to be worth trying." The raccoon was the only non-human of the six of them, and seemed exceptionally attached to the salamander for reasons that were almost certainly tragic, given the circumstances.

"I'm fine with that," Quiet-Dream squeaked. He had been busying himself looking over the various fixtures to be found in the room, but Ink-Talon got the feeling that it was more to take his mind off of something rather than out of genuine interest. "Formalizing our introductions somewhat could help."

"Sure, why not. Let's get to know the the other inmates," the bat scoffed, their tone likely sarcastic. "At least then when one of us finally snaps we'll know why."

"How 'bout you, Inky? Feeling up to share a bit?" The question startled the crow, who had been too absorbed in trying to read everyone else as best he could that he had completely forgotten that he was part of the conversation, too.

"Oh! Yeah. That's fine."

True to form, Maggie introduced herself first, and set an example by sharing details of her human life she'd never felt the need to before. She had been working for slave wages in retail, couch surfing and taking odd-jobs to keep her head above water. Despite the dire description, she seemed rather nonchalant about it. She also shared her biggest struggle with their bizarre scenario, that being a lack of control. She was used to depending on friends, but she wasn't used to being unable to come and go as she pleased. Spending all this time being shuttled from place to place and being physically incapable of surviving on her own was eating at her. It was legitimately the most vulnerable she had been in the entire time Ink-Talon knew her.

"So, who wants to go next?"

"I would like to," the salamander answered.

She introduced herself as Song. Maggie was quick to interject, asking if her spoken name was "Carol," or if she was off. She declined to answer, insisting that "Song" would do just fine, for reasons that became clear as she continued to introduce herself. Song was hesitant to provide any details of her life, not because she was unwilling to share, but because she wasn't confident in how true they would be. She described her immediate head injury upon arrival, and afterward having odd, natural-feeling memories that she knew didn't belong to a human being, and how nothing about her form seemed to clash with her self-perception. She was unable to trust her own ideas and memories, wondering how much of her was human, and how much had blended with the salamander, Stream-Drifter. It was the kind of scenario Ink-Talon had nightmares about, but she seemed to be holding together, somehow.

The raccoon opted to go next. Its name was Scribe Swift-Paw, and it was record-keeper from a logging settlement along the border forest. It had been close friends with Guide Stream-Drifter, the giant salamander, who traveled the river the town was built near, making sure lumber shipments didn't get jammed and aiding the crews loading them. Stream-Drifter had been a solitary creature, keeping to itself in a shallower part of the river deeper in the forest when not on duty, as its body was poorly suited to communal living like the more terrestrial residents of the settlement. Swift-Paw often visited and kept it company, though, and on one such trip the raccoon had spotted blood in the water and dove into to rescue its injured friend. Direct and prolonged contact with the salamander's blood led to it being quarantined with the rest of them as a precaution, but it didn't want to leave its friend regardless. Song shifted as it said that last part, likely uncomfortable with being conflated with Stream-Drifter, but seemingly unable or unwilling to offer any argument against it.

"It has been very interesting meeting you all," Swift-Paw said in conclusion, seemingly genuine. "I hope that I can earn your trust. If the scholars would just spend some time with you, they would see that you're not dangerous, just lost. And if you were contagious, then I would certainly be affected by now."

Ink-Talon's own introduction was direct and concise. He had been unemployed, living with family, and confessed that ending up in this world is the most exciting thing to have happened to him in his entire life. His biggest struggle has been with the nature of his Attunement, and he confessed that it had taken two entire days of repeated effort for him to stop Understanding Maggie's name as "Pearl," much to his embarrassment.

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"Wait, hold up," the bat chirped, finally joining everyone else rather than continuing to sulk in the corner. "Her name isn't Pearl? And you're all just... hearing something different?"

"If it is any consolation, I am not either," Swift-Paw chattered, earning a frustrated glare from the bat.

"It took a few listens, but yes," Song chimed in. "Speaking her name in English really seems to change things, somehow."

"But not for me?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Ink-Talon cawed.

"I can't stop you," the bat growled. It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were about at the limit of their already strained patience.

"How are you at reading tone, as a bat? Body language? Other subtleties?"

"What are you even talking about? Nobody is speaking, so nobody has a tone. Same for body language. What am I supposed to get from things that aren't human-shaped?" The bat turned around and began to crawl away, their frequent stumbling over their wings only adding to their frustration. "Forget this! You all keep having your little therapy session, for all the good it will do you. Not like I have anything to contribute, apparently."

"I'll have to talk with them." Ink-Talon clicked softly as they walked away. "I think they're experiencing the same things I am, only they didn't have anyone to conveniently explain what was going on and why. No wonder they are so hostile. We all must seem so emotionally cold and distant..."

"I had not considered the possibility that it was Attuned to something without realizing..." The raccoon slumped back on its haunches. "I have treated it very poorly, in that case."

"Don't blame yourself for an honest mistake," Quiet-Dream chirped, placing a supportive paw on the raccoon's side. "Just apologize later and be kinder in the future." He looked at Ink-Talon, communicating entirely with head movements to prevent the others from overhearing. "Go ahead and have your chat. You don't need to hear my introduction, and I'm sure the kits will take a fair bit of time to introduce and re-explain my feelings about."

"Got it," the crow nodded.

The bat was laying sprawled out on their back at the far end of the room, their wings unfurled as they stared at the dimly lit ceiling. Things were clearly not going well.

"Hey, got time to talk?" Ink-Talon cawed, cautiously approaching.

"Do we have anything besides time?"

"True enough. Is laying down like that comfortable?"

"No, but it's the only way I can relax without... feeling these things wrapped around me." The bat tilted their head to stare at the crow. "Just get to the point. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm... familiar with what you're experiencing. Everyone's voices feeling muted, or dull. I want to help."

"You can fix it?" The bat rolled onto their feet, genuinely excited by the prospect. "Please. I don't want to keep feeling like this!"

Ink-Talon cringed at the plea, now needing a way to let them down gently.

"There's no 'fixing' it, because we're not broken. We're just... specialized." Ink-Talon did his best to lay out what Mindful-Sight had explained to him nearly a week ago. What it meant to "attune" to something, and the deficits that it caused. The bat remained uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke, letting him trail off into awkward silence when he finished.

"That explains the numbers, then," they finally said, things clicking into place.

"Numbers?"

"I just... count things. Constantly. Without even trying. I thought it was just a 'bat' thing, somehow. How dumb is that? There's no way a bat would naturally know that there are one hundred and seventy two bricks comprising the walls of this room at a glance. Or that it's been seven days, two hours, and fourteen minutes since I woke up like this. I'll spare you the seconds and smaller, but I know those too."

"To be fair, you had no way of knowing you were experiencing anything different from anyone else. I can't imagine how frustrating..." Ink-Talon trailed off before cocking his head in confusion. "Wait, you can tell time? How does that work?"

"It's just math. As soon as I experienced two sunsets, I could divide the time between by twenty four, then sixty, then sixty again, and so on. That comes just as easily as counting, it seems. Of course, I have no way of knowing exactly how long a day is here, but it doesn't feel any different than I remember." Something changed about the bat's demeanor as they explained their process. Their posture relaxed, and they lost much of their confrontational edge. Ink-Talon knew that feeling all too well, of just being able to let a bunch of thoughts out to a willing listener. Infodumps were exceedingly cathartic. "How do you deal with the drawbacks, though? I've never had to just guess at things like this before. Everyone feels so... monotone? Not the right term, but it's the closest I've got."

"Actively looking for cues from others takes practice," Ink-Talon croaked, glancing back at the rest of the people in the room. The discussion over there seemed to be winding down. "I just have a lot of experience trying."

"We've been here the same amount of time, though." The bat froze for a moment, and the crow could almost see the gears turning. "Is this what it's like to be... 'in special-education?' Wait, that phrase got translated weird. But you know what I mean, right?"

"Neurodivergent."

"Divergent brain?" They were clearly unfamiliar with the term, and it was getting mangled by their Understanding as a result.

"Close enough." Ink-Talon sighed. "And no, this isn't 'what it's like.' Not entirely. As far as I can tell, none of us are thinking or processing things any differently than we used to, it's the way we perceive the world around us that's changed. But paying close attention for subtle social cues that are intuitive to most other people is a useful skill for both."

"Sorry, I barely passed social studies last year, and I can't take psychology until my senior year." The bat mimed shuddering, playing up a disdain for school as joke. The revelation that they were just a teenager, however, hit the crow like a brick to the head. Of course the person whose first instinct when faced with something clearly unfair was to complain and sulk was still in high school. He was actually thankful that they weren't able to pick up on body language right now. "Or, 'couldn't,' I guess. I don't think I'm ever going to get the opportunity to graduate, and I doubt this 'College' we're trapped in has a GED program."

"Hey, don't worry about it, it was a fair question." They were just a kid. One put in a far tougher situation than even most adults could be expected to handle. They needed guidance, and Ink-Talon realized that he was likely the only one in a position to give any right now. He had no idea how, but he'd have to try. "Feeling up to rejoining Maggie's 'support group?' I think giving everyone a proper introduction could help get them on the same page, and I think Swift-Paw wants to apologize."

"Sure, it's worth a shot. I was kind of a jerk, too. If we're all going to be crammed in this room together, the least I could do is try getting along. Easier to organize a rebellion that way." The bat shot him what could only be an attempt at a smirk, which just looked goofy with his big eyes and snout. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

You know what? This kid's alright.