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This stain was never coming out, Angharad sighs to herself, looking at her now-ruined shirt. She's changed, and she has plenty of shirts, but this one in particular isn't coming back.
The door opens and instead of looking up, she tosses the ruined shirt into the trash and sits down on her bed. Owain's here to scold her for being a bitch, and she doesn't want it. She rests her hands on the bed behind her to look up at the ceiling, "Winnie, do we have to do this now?"
"Rowdy," they reply, their voice a dark warning that says this is happening no matter what Angharad wants. She sighs.
"I just don't like her, Winnie." That….woman knew things about Owain Angharad never would. Held pieces of them she could never get her hands on. She hated it.
Owain's silence demands more. She flails for the only truth that might help her.
"And she doesn't like me, either!"
"I did notice that." Owain's voice is dry enough to use as sandpaper. Angharad doesn't wince, but only because she's well-trained. Also, she hates that woman so much, she could….do something horribly rash.
"...I'm not apologizing."
"She probably won't, either, but that doesn't make either of you right."
She hated it when they were right. Angharad heaves a sigh and looks at Owain, who's giving her a look that speaks volumes about their disapproval. She can't bear to face that, averting her gaze with a frustrated groan.
"Fine. Fine! I will try. It's all I'm promising."
"It's all I'm asking. She means a lot to me."
"I know."
"So do you."
But not like that, which makes Angharad sigh again, "I know, Winnie. You mean a lot to me, too." And then, to lighten the mood, she adds, "I'll have you know that shirt cost me quite a bit."
They chuckle and roll closer, "That wonderful piece?" The question is mocking, but in the sort of way that harkens back to times gone by. The shirt was objectively horrendous. That said, some items were so horrific they came back around to being incredible. Once upon a time, Owain would have worn something similar, and Angharad would have had the same type of mocking commentary.
If it was anybody else, it would have been an insult, but it was the two of them. It wasn't the same. Even if Owain had changed so much. Even if Angharad had, as well.
She sets those thoughts aside and huffs out a laugh, tapping her foot into the side of Owain's chair, "Wonderful like you, my dear."
"This, from the expert? Consider me stunned by the breadth of your generosity."
They're being rude like old times. It makes her heart ache. To cover the feeling, she sucks her teeth at them disapprovingly, and they softly laugh in response, acknowledging what they've done without words. But Angharad has to concede here. She was in the wrong, after all.
She rests her elbows on her knees. "It's all so different, Winnie." Her voice sounds so tired. Probably because she feels tired. Owain's face softens.
"I know. But they're good people. Give 'em a chance."
"I'm trying."
"I know."
That was all there was to say on that. She idly taps her foot into Winnie's chair again, a quiet tap, tap, tap as they exist together in silence for a bit. Something else new they never used to do. She should say something. If she's quiet too long, Owain will deem the conversation over and leave her alone again. Only, she doesn't know her Winnie anymore. She can't think of what to say.
Eventually, Owain gives her knee a pat, then backs up and heads for the door.
Angharad doesn't stop them.