Fairest of them all (Mirror)

“Well,” Maxine said, grabbing her purse and artfully ducking it under the tentacles, “either this Oracle will know their crap, or they won’t, Maya.” The red head smirked a little at the name. Maya. Why was that name familiar…? Something about white hair, and a Brit. Meh. It would come to her.

She shut the door behind her, and locked it. Oh, locked doors: possibly the most overrated security feature known to mutant kind. Still, it kept out the humans, mostly.

They acted like normal people in the stairwell—no running, no banister sliding—and found their way out onto a sunny side walk. The oppressive summer heat was starting to lift a little, heading into Fall.

Maxine brushed a paperclip tentacle out of her face like other girls brush out a lock of hair.

“Gawain. Maya, I mean,” she said, as they walked. “I know I asked already… but are you sure you want to keep poking into this?”

She said it like a girl who’d found something that another girl might not like. She might not like at all.

“No,” the redhead answered simply. What more was she going to say? Hers had not been a traumatic childhood. Three of her grandparents were even still alive, and the fourth had died before she was old enough to understand it. She had vague memories of cigar smoke, an arm chair with gray fabric, and a scratchy beard. Hell, she hadn’t even had a dog growing up, not that she’d wanted one. Slobbery, bitey mutts. She’d had Rex. Much more hygienic.

She took that for his—for her—answer, though. Not something Maxine was going to argue with.

The redhead stuck her hands in her hoodie’s pockets, as Rex stretched out a tentacle to wrap towards the other girl’s hair.

“All right,” she said. “Then I know where your mother is.”

Oh that reaction was cute. Not that she’d planned for it to be, not that this was a situation where she should be grinning at cuteness, not that Maya was someone who could even qualify for Maxine’s cuteness scales—

(Though out of the corner of her eye, it was easy to forget she was with Maya. All Gawain’s little quirks and mannerisms were there, and as adorable as always.)

--aaand enough of that.

Maya didn’t immediately ask where her mother was. That was good, because Maxine wasn’t planning on answering yet. As soon as Gawain—as Maya knew—she’d probably be on the next cab to the airport. Or the next mirror to the West Coast.

“We’re going to see the Oracle,” Maxine explained, with an air of great common sense, “because you and I are not exactly a combat team.” She didn’t explain that line. “If we can get a precog’s advice on how to go in, we stand a lot better chance of getting out of this alive and with your mom in tow.”

Of course, it was assumed that Maxine would be going as well. Gawain had enlisted her help: a little Maya wasn’t about to scare the red head off from seeing this through.

…The octoclip’s poke was met with a poke. If Rex could understand this sensation as familiar, then it certainly was… familiar. A bipedal who baffled its tentacles. But that other person was a male. This person was a female. This was the superior gender, in what passed for a tentacle monster’s mind.

Rex brought another tentacle to bear, and tried to get enough of a grip on Maya’s shirt to drag itself onto her shoulder.

>> "Yeah. Well, we'd better make damn sure it's a precog before we build a combat plan on what he says."

“And that,” the red head said, “is exactly why I’m not going to tell you anything. Fake precogs are like fake psychics—they work off what people give them. We’re going to have you sit in that chair knowing nothing, and I’ll see if what he’s saying makes any sense with what I know.”

It wasn’t fool-proof, but it was as close as she could get. They’d see whether this Oracle knew his stuff.

It was clear that Maya’s next question got Maxine’s attention. And her hopes up. “Do you know anyone who could help?”

Personally: Maxine didn’t. That was always the problem, when your day job included alienating every contact you made.

Two tentacles had failed. Rex retracted its arms, curling up into a brooding mass in Maxine’s hood.

Maxine smirked. “Rex is a lady’s octoclip. Really, you get off easy, when you’re Gawain. He’s usually not so friendly with the gents.” Thus began and ended her dating history. Minus a few nights where strong magnets had been involved.

“So. What does this other person do? Who is helping out with the investigation.” The redhead casually glanced at Maya, then turned her gaze just as casually ahead. It was the mirrorwalker’s investigation. He/she could invite in as many people as she/he wanted, and forget to tell Maxine about it if he/she/it pleased. No hard feelings. Certainly no pangs of professional competition.

“Did he find anything out?” Another casual, casual question.

Down the block, a sign board was coming into view: Future Sight.

“Right. What a good idea.” Maxine gave a little, I see what you did there smile. “Whoever came up with that must be one smart girl.”

The shop was in clear view now. It was a little place, maybe two stories, tucked in along a line of other businesses. Through the windows was a scene not unlike a lounge in a college dorm: bookshelves, tables, and mismatched overstuffed chairs were sprawled around. They’d be there soon.

“Is he decent in a fight, though? Any formal training?” Lion shifting—partial lion shifting, no less—was all well and good, but the people they were up against weren’t going to care how scary his kitten-growl was. If he wasn’t actually trained, they should probably leave him at home. A half-trained X and a journalist with pepper spray would be bad enough without tossing another amateur in the mix.

Rex was picked up. The writhing ball of tentacles transferred from hood to hands, and wrapped itself firmly in place, like a semi-sentient bracelet.