Mimicry and Mockery (Chase)

Today, Gemma and Chase were taking the subway, just to shake things up. Chase had never been on a subway, which had somehow arisen in a conversation between Chase, Gemma and Jorge. Apparently, riding the subway was one of many necessary experiences for a native New Yorker, and it was something that Chase simply had to experience. Thus, they made their way through crowded hallways, purchased their tickets, and then descended deeper into the underground beneath the streets. Chase remained fastened to Gemma’s hand, for most of the way, his baseball cap pressed low over his eyes to hide his unshifted form from view.

The child kept his head tilted down, keeping to his mother’s side. As they walked, Chase spied a woman who was propped against a wall, strumming lightly at her guitar and singing.

“We’ll catch the train here,” Gemma announced, squeezing Chase’s hand. They were within eyeshot of the girl with the guitar, but the clamor of the subway made it hard to hear her singing.

“Momma, how long until our train arrives?” Chase inquired lightly.

“Twenty minutes,” Gemma replied, “How come?”

“Can I go listen to the lady with the guitar?” Chase begged, “Please? Can I, Momma?”

“Sure,” Gemma agreed, “Just stay where I can see you, okay?”

“Okay, Momma,” Chase agreed, releasing his mother’s hand. As he left her Adapted field, his guise snapped into place—the little shapeshifter once again assumed the blond-haired, blue-eyed equivalent of his appearance once more. Chase jogged over to the guitarist, beside whom was a bench, and he perched upon the bench, watching as a man walked by and gave her a five-dollar-bill.

“I wish people gave me money randomly like that,” Chase confessed aloud, though not directly addressing the young woman. He was a naïve sort, didn’t know that people were paying her to play her music. He thought that the lady was just playing her guitar, and had accidentally left the case open. And the grown-ups, being the silly grown-ups that they were, were tossing money into her open guitar case. Grown-ups were so silly.

Chase inclined his head as the girl laughed and answered him frankly. Maybe if he picked up on an instrument, someone would pay to hear him play it, one day. She went on strumming the guitar for a while, and finally stopped to take a sip of water. Chase was going to stop and listen to her play, but since she wasn’t playing anymore, at the moment, he’d feel no guilt in bothering her with questions.

“How long have you played guitar?” Chase inquired cautiously.

Whether or not the girl answered was up to her, but Chase would hurl another question at her, regardless.

“How old is your guitar?”

As he sat there, perched upon the bench, question boiled up within him, begging to be spoken, and Chase wasn’t about to make any attempt to silence them. Besides, she was talking to him, he had fifteen minutes to kill, and all that Gemma was doing was standing there, her gaze frequently drifting towards her son to make sure he hadn’t strayed too far.

The lady cautioned Chase to slow down on the questions, and Chase just smiled faintly, his expression a touch impish. The lady was answering his questions! Success!

“Your guitar’s name is Wilson? Why?” Chase inquired, tilting his head at the guitar. Grown-ups were so silly—why on Earth would they name a guitar.

>> “What about you? Do you play any instrument?”

“I could,” Chase said vaguely, much to distracted by asking questions of the girl before him to answer any about himself. While the reply would be considered petulant for a normal, human child, Chase’s answer was quite frank. He could play any instrument if he shapeshifted into someone who could play an instrument. But, he left that part out of his explanation, and carried on with his impromptu interview.

“How long can you remember? How old are you?” Chase inquired. Though these were stereotypically impolite questions, in Chase’s logical mind, they were very petinent to the answers that he was being given—her fourteenth birthday could have been five years ago, or ten, or twenty-five years ago. And she could only remember that far, or maybe she could remember all the way back to the day she was born. These were very relevant questions that simply had to be asked.

Chase's next question was hastily stopped-- he'd never heard of Cast Away. He was a nine-year-old, and beyond which, had been essentially living in a hole up until he went to live with Gemma. He didn't know any movies beyond those that came out during his short lifetime. And even then, there were some movies he didn't know.

"But if I wait to ask my mom, I'll forget by then," Chase pointed out with a faint huff. The girl went on to answer the other questions, confessing that she wasn't sure how far she could remember, but she was twenty-years-old. The girl tucked her water away and began to strum, at which Chase merely lingered nearby, not moving as the gears turned in his little head. He seemed to be connecting the dots-- then, something dawned on him.

"Does that mean you don't know how long you've been playing the guitar?" Chase gasped. It was a piece of flawless juvenile logic-- she'd played guitar for as long as she could remember, but didn't no how long she could actually remember... which meant that she didn't know how long she'd been playing the guitar. How horrible.

"That's probably a really important something to remember," Chase informed the young woman, his voice dropping into serious tones, "You should think about how far back you remember, just in-case someone important asks you. That'd be really embarrassing if the President asked you how long you've played guitar, and you didn't know, don't'cha think?"

Chase's curiosity made him more bold. If the lady hadn't piqued his interest, the child probably would have ignored her-- he was a shy kid, usually, but when faced with something peculiar, his inner inquisitive tendencies were externalized. In some situations, it was good, but the newly-acquired audacity probably came much to the chagrin of the young woman.

The display of power did cause Chase to pause, and he recoiled at an instant, his eyes widening. Did she just…? No… That girl had sounded just like him. Chase did seem thoroughly alarmed, and he started to make a quick retreat, getting out of the girl’s face. Her voice reverted to normal as she told Chase to run along and leave her be, and Chase just stared, his eyes still wide. It was weird to be on the receiving-end of someone mimicking your voice.

But, rather than scampering away, Chase answered back with his own show of power. A mischievous flicker of burnt orange and red overwhelmed his eyes, as the guitarist’s voice answered from his own mouth.

“Just your luck, you will meet the President!” Chase retorted in the guitarist’s voice, “And won’t you look silly when you tell him you don’t remember.”

All full of childish indignation, and with a streak of impish delight, the shapeshifter hopped off of the bench and turned his attention towards the crowd, looking rather smug. But his face fell when he realized that the crowd had grown. The train would be there soon, and he couldn’t see his Mama anywhere. But, he couldn’t very well stay with the guitarist, not after he’d been so impolite to her… yet there were so many people…

“Mama?” Chase hollered, his voice swallowed by the din of the subway. He still spoke in the borrowed voice of the guitarist, at which the human-shifter cleared his throat, and attempted again, this time with his own vocal chords. “Mo-o-o-om?”

Chase was filled with childish pride, but when he realized that he was lost, the feeling of victory quickly left him. His brows furrowed, and his face fell in fear. Where was she, anyways?

“Mama!” Chase attempted to holler again. The guitarist came up behind her, and quietly inquired if Chase wanted help looking for his mother, and the child looked up bashfully. He shook his head, hesitantly at first, and then more enthusiastically.

“You’ll tell on me,” the child muttered crossly. He looked around, eyes perusing for his mother as if to dismiss the blond-haired woman. When he realized that he still couldn’t see her, he looked back up at Lizzy, biting his lip.

Chase stared at the blonde woman for a few heartbeats, color-changing eyes flickering with uncertainty.

>> “I won’t tell her. I used my powers too, so I don’t think it’d be fair if I told your mama.”

The child was reasonably skeptical—big kids always tattled on little kids that had given them too much grief. He wedged his hands into his pockets uncertainly, dropping his gaze. Her logic was sound, but he still didn’t believe her.

>> “Now, think real hard. Do you remember what your mama was wearing today?”

Chase scrunched his face contemplatively. What had his mommy been wearing?

“A pretty blouse,” Chase murmured, “A white-ish one. Nice black pants. Sunglasses.”

Yeah, that sounded like Gemma’s outfit. The child rolled his lips together, and after a moment of reflection, added on, “She doesn’t look like me. She has darker skin, and black hair.”

Just as a point of clarification. Gemma was, after all, Chase's adoptive Mommy.