Maxine Ralls was enjoying her ice cream, and that was that.

It was a rather chilly day: definitely more towards Winter than Fall. No snow on the ground, yet, but all of Autumn’s leaves had been raked away; there were only bare branches and park benches. The sunlight seemed pale.

(The hotdog vendor was not screaming. She was enjoying her ice cream, that was that, and the hotdog vendor was not screaming.)

Maxine licked her cone, and turned it expertly to a new side. An amateur may tilt the cone in all manner of unspeakable directions, or—worse—simply eat one side at a time. This was the eating technique of a pro.

(The vendor was hitting something metallic with something else metallic, now, and cursing in fluent Italian. This, however, was no problem of hers. She was enjoying her ice cream, and that was that.)

Today’s menu: soft serve, raspberry and orange twirl. She shivered inside of her black fleece coat. Ice cream on chilly days: it was simply—

A passing jogger slowed down to that gawking-at-a-car-accident crawl. Above Maxine’s ear, a pen twitched against her hair with some sense of urgency. The red-head’s neck disappeared into her black coat collar. She was enjoying her ice cream, and that was—

CRASH.

“That’s right! Get outta ‘ere! Shoo! Scat!”

CLUNK draaaag CLUNK draaaag CLUNK draaaag

A paperclip tentacle proudly slid over her shoe, curling in her shoelace for attention. Octosaurus Rex was back from his adventure. Maxine stared down at the octoclip, her eyes rapidly narrowing.

Rex was babying a napkin dispenser in his arms.

This was all right. This was okay. Because Maxine Ralls—age twenty, Scorpio, blood type O, perpetually single—was enjoying her ice cream. That was that. She took another lick, and turned her cone. On the ground, the proud octoclip did nearly the same with his napkin dispenser: stroke, turn, hug.

Everyone was happy.

Today Juka was happy. There was no particular reason why he was happy, he just was. And really, did one need a reason to be happy? Couldn't one just be happy for the sake of happiness? If he really stopped to think about it, however, he might have made mention to the fact that, for the first time in a week, he had actually slept. Not that he had been feeling overly tired for all that not having slept for the past week, but he just hadn't. It was the weirdest and most inexplicible thing that suddenly he appeared to need far less sleep than he normally did but, and much to his everlasting joy, last night he had slept. And for an entire gloriously full 8 hours. So yes. Today Juka was happy.

To celebrate his newfound happiness and refound sleep, Juka decided that he simply must go to Central park, the most beautiful place in the entire city, and he simply must have himself some ice cream. It might have surprised some people to know that Juka enjoyed sweets, given the fact that he was nothing short of physical perfection and almost godlike beauty, but it was, in fact, one of his (very few in his opinion at least) vices. And so, humming under his breath, Juka made his way to Central Park where he knew of the most amazing ice cream vendor ever. Today was certain to be a very good day, as all days that start with ice cream must surely be.

Unfortunately upon arrival to Central Park and after paying his taxi driver most generously (no one would ever say Juka Miami was cheap) it appeared that his dreams of ice cream must be forgotten. Because for some reason the hot dog vendor, who happen to be located right near his ever so valued ice cream vendor, was screaming. And being attacked by something metallic. Or so Juka thought. He blinked confusedly. What exactly was going on again? All he wanted was some ice cream.

The attack had ended: Rex had clearly won. Anyone watching could have easily followed the paperclip octopus with their eyes, from red-faced hot dog vendor, across the browning grass and roughly paved park path, straight to Maxine.

The red-head was eating her ice cream like a combat veteran.

Briefly, her gaze met a quizzical jogger’s. To say that she glared wouldn’t be right; there was nothing angry or violent about it. Her pale green eyes were simply written with one word:

what.

Lowercase.

Period.

The jogger gave an almost instinctive ‘nothing, nothing’ shrug, and picked back up her pace. Maxine licked her cone, and kept assertively crowd-watching as the octoclip played with its shiny new toy at her feet.

If her green eyes happened to meet those of a certain Japanese singer’s, that same word would greet him. Yes, she had a land octopus. Yes, it was made of paperclips. Yes, it had attacked the hot dog vendor. So.

what.

Juka's continued staring of the scene before him proved to be most illuminating. Or at least, it would have proven illuminating had it made the least bit of sense at all. Apparently the metallic fiend proved to be a paperclip, or rather a bunch of paperclips. A horde of paperclips that looked distinctly like an octopus. But paperclips didn't magically animate themselves and then transform into octopi did they? Not in any world that Juka had ever been in they didn't and that included his own little world that he sometimes got stuck in.

But as Juka continued to stare, it became more and more apparant that said metallic octopus was not a delusion at all, or if it was it was a rather long lasting and bizarre delusion. Then again, weren't most delusions bizarre? But there was the problem that other people appeared to be seeing the paperclip critter as well and as far as Juka knew delusions didn't normally exist outside of one's own mind. He was, therefore, forced to conclude that somehow this bizarre creature actually existed. And having come to that conclusion, he knew that he simply must follow it to its source.

Decision made, Juka began walking, quietly and unassuming as possible (which was not very given that he was a stunningly gorgeous man in a dress who didn't even know the meaning of the word unassuming) he followed the impossibly animated creature. Which ended on the shoe of a girl. Juka met her eyes and smiled. He then proceeded, in all casualness and not caring that he was in the middle of a busy street, to bubble himself and, a moment later, to send out a tendril towards the paperclip octopus. He simply had to capture it in a bubble so that he could study it closer. There really was no other option. Tendril approached paperclips as a man in a dress floated in a bubble.

There was a man. In a dress. Molesting her octopus, with a tendril from his full-body man-sheath.

what. + tf?

The obvious display of powers didn’t put Maxine at ease. The notion of mutant camaraderie wasn’t beyond her; she’d heard of it, all right. Half of her hate mail threw that notion into her face, while dripping betrayed venom from every poorly-punctuated sentence. Basic grammar: something ninety percent of those who sent hate mail seemed to lack, be they human or mutant.

Maxine reached up a slow hand to her hair, and took down the black BIC pen that had been perched there. Her ice cream was down to the cone, now: with all due feminine grace, she shoved it in her mouth for safe keeping while she scrawled a quick note on the back of her hand: equal in stupidity—hate mail morons. That was a segment, right there. She capped the pen again, and let it go. It flew back to her ear.

Cone: removed from mouth. Green eyes: returned to the man in the dress, who was molesting her octopus.

Initially, Rex had ignored the tendril’s approach. Then, mistaking its aim as being for his napkin dispenser, he’d attempted to attack it: he’d tumbled forward in an angry burst of speed, and latched all his arms around the oncoming intrusion. Imagine his surprise when it... bubbled him.

Maxine took a bite off her cone, observing this scene. Crunch. Chew. Chew.

Rex scrapped his arms along the bubble’s inside, making clear his intent to destroy it. Once he figured out how.

Crunch. Chew. Chew.

Swallow.

“Can you keep him in there until I’m married?” Maxine asked, with only the driest traces of humor.

Carefully and ever so quietly, tendril approached paperclips. And paperclips, unfortunately, did not remain oblivious to said tendrils approach and turned, rather violently, on said trendril. Much to Juka's absolute amusement. He had never seen an animated paperclip octopus attack a tendril before. For that matter he had never seen anything attack his tendrils before. Nor had he ever seen an animated paperclip octopus. But, despite all intents of seemingly destroying his tendril, said paperclip octopus was nevertheless successfully bubbled. And it looked very unhappy for it.

In curiosity, and still ignoring the woman the paperclip creature seemed to belong to, Juka moved the bubble closer to his face in order to get a better look. Stunning, absolutely stunning. And very very angry. Finally he looked at the woman who, it seemed, had been speaking to him.

"I don't really think he wants to be kept," Juka stated matter of factly, looking from the paperclips to the woman and back again. "He looks rather unhappy being in a bubble." Perhaps not surprising; he'd probably be unhappy being in a bubble also. Or at least, being in someone elses bubble. He was quite happy to stand there floating in his very own bubble. "I can only assume that your a mutant?" He hoped she was a mutant, otherwise things just got a lot more confusing and they were all ready confusing enough.

People around the two of them were starting to mutter uncomfortably. Or perhaps it was just that Juka was starting to notice the muttering that had been going on all along. Belatedly he remembered that there was a reason he didn't tend to bubble in public. It made people nervous.

Never underestimate the human (and mutant) ability to only give a passing interest to someone else’s day. Mutterings? Sure: there was a paperclip octopus attacking a bubble, and being attacked in return. That was mutter-worthy. There were mutterings over by the quick-sketching man down the path and the scruffy guy with the guitar on the street corner, too. A couple of people—mostly the younger ones—pulled out cell phones and sent pictures to their friends. Then they walked on. New people took their place. Mutterings: anyone doing anything out of the usual could expect mutterings.

A little boy laughed and pointed at them: his mother frowned, and hurried him on. In a city were a good percentage of mutants took mutterings as intensely personal, Maxine couldn’t blame her. She did shoot the kid a quick grin over the last bite of her cone, though.

>> "I don't really think he wants to be kept. He looks rather unhappy being in a bubble."

“Doesn’t he just?” Maxine replied, with all due satisfaction. Rex seemed oblivious to the face in front of him: the bubble was his foe, not the man.

>> "I can only assume that you’re a mutant?"

“Nope,” Maxine replied, popping the last of her cone in her mouth. Crunch. Chew. Swallow. “I’m a product reviewer. That’s Sony’s latest attempt at an animatronic pet. It rather fails the cuddly test, don’t you think?” She took a napkin out of the dispenser at her feet, and wiped off her mouth.

Rex had figured out his adversary’s weakness: by focusing his tentacles on one area, he could start to break through. Suffice it to say that an octopus made of paperclips didn’t need a very big hole. As soon as he was out, the bubble attempted to escape him by collapsing. The octoclip was not to be fooled by such a trick: it latched onto the tendril that had originally attacked it, and sought it to its source.

The mother of all bubbles.

For a moment, the octoclip paused. Its tentacles explored this new surface: gentle nudges and slides. The bubble gave slightly before its clips; little indents were formed by the pressure of his explorations. That was all he needed.

At a furiously renewed pace, the octoclip climbed up the surface of the man’s bubble, until he reached its pinnacle. There he sat, tentacles writhing, as he searched both the bubbly surface below and the empty air above for something he could properly punish. As to the man, whose head was about a foot below him: Rex did not seem to understand the connection between biped and bubble. That was probably just as well.

“Name’s Maxine,” said the redhead on the bench. “You?”

The paperclip octopus was, Juka decided, a most curious beast. Clearly it did not like bubbles and, upon breaking out of said bubble (a most impressive feat for a pile of paperclips to do, in his esteemed opinion) it became equally apparent that the creatue did not like tendrils either. Even the voracity in which it attacked was rather impressive.

“I’m a product reviewer. That’s Sony’s latest attempt at an animatronic pet. It rather fails the cuddly test, don’t you think?”

Juka grinned, immediately taking her at her word. Why, after all, would she lie to him? "Then surely you can get me one of my very own since we are now such good friends, darling?" It didn't occur to him that you couldn't become good friends after only knowing someone for a couple of minutes. Nor did it occur to him that it might be inappropriate to even ask if he could have his own animatronic pet. It did, however, occur to him, a moment after the words were out of his mouth, that something didn't quite add up. Even an animitronic pet couldn't be made out of paperclips, no matter how advanced, could it? No, that didn't make sense at all.

Realizing his error and the fact that the woman was clearly pulling his leg, Juka giggled. "Oh, my dearest, you had me there for a minute. What a darling little creature he is though." By this point the paperclip octopus had skittered to the top of his bubble and was, apparently, trying to destroy it, though he didn't appear to be having much luck. "But do you think, lovely paperclip girl, that you could remove your charming pet so that I might dismiss my bubble? People appear to be staring."

Juka bowed low and elegently. "It is my absolute pleasure to meet you Maxine. I am Juka Miami."

>> "Oh, my dearest, you had me there for a minute. What a darling little creature he is though."

This guy was for real. Wow. Maybe that should have sunk in a bit sooner: the dress, the foreign accent, the floating. The expression of near-delight as Rex indirectly wished death upon him. The giggling. The believing her.

Yeah: this guy was for real.

“You aren’t from New York, are you?” She asked, in that tone it would take someone who wasn’t ‘not from New York’ to fully appreciate. Not that Maxine was, herself: she’d been born and raised outside of Philly, in Pensy. Apparently, though, she was more of a
New Yorker than this guy was.

>> "But do you think, lovely paperclip girl, that you could remove your charming pet so that I might dismiss my bubble? People appear to be staring. ...It is my absolute pleasure to meet you Maxine. I am Juka Miami."

...All right. For that bow, she could be convinced to move from her seat. Juka Miami, huh? He was cute. Like a baby rabbit in the Cat Lady’s house.

Maxine move over, and stretched up her hand. “Down, Rex.” The octoclip kept thrashing the air and its bubbly foe: the red head narrowed her eyes. “Octosaurus Rex,” she snapped, “you get down from there right this second, or I’m sticking you to the refrigerator magnets when we get home.”

The thrashing came to a wary stop. The octoclip’s tentacles wiggled against the bubble’s top. Then, with all due sulking, it slid down the back of the bubble and to the ground. Maxine dropped her hand with a glare: it crawled in a wide circle around her, and returned to its napkin dispenser to defiantly brood.

Well then. Good. She turned back to the transvestite’s bubble, with a tight smile. “All better,” she declared.

“You aren’t from New York, are you?”

"Why of course I'm not from New York, why ever would you think otherwise?" Juka asked with a self indulgent smile. He really had found himself an odd one, he decided, though clearly she had a sense of humour and he could get behind a good sense of humour. Only, sense of humour or not, it was such a bizarre sense that he couldn't quite deciede if he liked it or not. First animitronic paperclip pets and now this most obvious of questions. And, if he was not entirely mistaken, he thought he detected a hint of a self righeous attitude in her too which was certainly not at all appealing. But her power did involve pets and, even if paperclip octopi were a far cry crom kitties, that fact still held solidly in her favour.

"Oh, Rex is his name!" Juka grinned happily and, upon the paperclip critter skittering off of his bubble, dismissed the bubble and landed, once more, gently upon the ground. "What a pretty little...octosaurus." Pretty didn't quite seem like the right word to him but what word did one use to descripe an octosaurus made of paperclips? It seemed as good a word as any he could come up with at just that moment.

"Oh yes, much better," Juka agreed whole heartedly. "Except one tiny little problem. I came down here to get ice cream but when I discovered screaming and animated paperclip monsters I got sadly distracted." Unfortunately a common occurance as he would admit to anyone who bothered to ask him. "As such I still have no ice cream." Which was a tragedy in his mind and he pouted approriately.

>> "As such I still have no ice cream."

That was a tragedy. That was a tragedy Maxine could relate to: her own cone had disappeared, somewhere between her mouth and belly. Ice cream: it was not a subject one should take lightly.

“You poor, poor man,” she said. “Come, Juka. We shall fix this at once.”

She didn’t go so far as to wrap her arm around his and drag him off to the ice cream cart; he was still a bubbly man in a dress. There was something too perfect about him that did not invite casual pouncing: it would be like turning a Ming vase into a piñata. She did, however, take strides to lead their march.

In an instant Juka's opinion of Maxine shifted in a most posative of directions. Not only did she approve of the plan to seek out ice cream but she took initiative in leading them to a place where ice cream could be gotten. Surely someone who understood all of the many benefits of ice cream, mainly its col delicous flavour, had to be a good person. Evil people simply couldn't apprecite the finer things in life and there was nothing finer than a wondefully sweet ice cream cone.

"You are such a darling wonderful woman," Juka stated, follwing with a happy grin. "Truly you are worthy of both my company and the ice cream which I will generously offer to buy you." It seemed to go without saying that only people worthy of him should be seen in his company. He was uncertain if she qualified for a time, but her respect for cold deserts affirmed her worthyness in most definitive fashion.

>> "You are such a darling wonderful woman. Truly you are worthy of both my company and the ice cream which I will generously offer to buy you."

He had her at ‘offer to buy you.’ Any man-creature in a woman-dress who offered to buy her iced treats was, without a doubt, a friend Maxine was willing to keep. At least until said deserts had disappeared again, or someone she knew came along and started raising eyebrows.

Valiantly, she led the way to the ice cream stand. (Less valiantly, she felt Rex behind her, dragging himself somewhere to sulk—probably under the bench. Or into the bushes behind the bench. From the heavy way he moved, she presumed he took his napkin-teddy with him.)

So. Many. Flavors. Apparently they’d imported some kind of Japanese ice cream machine—instead of the usual American set up, where the machine came stocked with x or y flavors and couldn’t make anything else without being cleaned out and switched over, they had all the flavors in little cups, ready to be loaded in cartridge-style and twirled out in proper soft serve form. It let them keep a glorious mix-and-match of flavors in stock. Naturally, there were toppings, and a display of hard serve ice cream, as well. (With rather fewer flavors, but excellent options.)

Having already had her soft serve, it was to the display of open ice cream tubs that the red head gravitated. Something nutty? Something chocolaty? Something with caramel swirls?

Something with someone else buying, so something with three scoops?

Three big scoops.

She nodded, mind clearly decided, and turned to the woman waiting behind the counter. “I,” she declared, “will have a sugar cone with one scoop of fudge-ripple cookies and cream, one scoop of raspberry truffle vanilla, and one scoop of black walnut caramel. Dipped in chocolate, please. With almonds on top.” A moment of contemplation: “Also, sprinkles.”

A sweet smile over at her patron, as she waited to see what he would have.

Juka knew very well how to make friends. If they weren't enchanged by his looks and personality (hard to believe that they couldn't be but there really was no accounting for taste in some people) then they were surely to be hooked by his undeniable generosity. And what could be more generous than offering to buy a cute mutant girl and her paperclip octupus a serving of sweet delicous ice cream? Clearly nothing.

Juka followed his new friend for ever, Maxine, one step behind her as she lead the way to the ice cream booth, only looking behind them once to see the little paperclip creature trudging along behind them. If he wasn't completely mistaken he might even say that it looked like it was...sulking? Now there was an obersvation he never thought he would have to make. A sulking animated paperclip octopus. Would wonders never cease. "Um, he doesn't want anything does he?" Juka asked, pointing behind them. What did paperclip octopi eat anyway? If they ate at all. There really was so much to learn.

After listening to Maxine order her cold delicous treat, approving whole heartedly of her definitve choices, Juka prepared himself to order as well. Until, that is, he felt something strange. Something in the pocket of his dress. Trying to escape. He blinked confusedly, quite certain that he did not have anything in his pocket that was alive and able to move. All he had was a pen and a small packet of sticky notes. One never knew when such things might be needed, after all.

Confusion mounting (even the ice cream vendor was giving him strange looks by now), Juka opened the pocket of his dress and, before he could react, his purple inked pen came flying out. It flew several circles around his head, looking quite agitated (could pens even look agitated?) before settling upon Maxine's shoulder. Once again Juka blinked and then proceeded to wibble. How was he supposed to react now?

Octosaurus Rex sliiiid (CLUNK), sliiiiid (CLUNK), sliiiiiid (CLUNK) himself (and his napkin dispenser) across the ground, clinging to the edge of the path as if he were about to sulk into the bushes at any moment. Maxine soundly ignored him. Her new found ice cream philanthropist was not so wise.

>> "Um, he doesn't want anything does he?"

“Only your soul,” she replied, with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Don’t give it to him. He’s spoiled enough as it is.”

Then there was chocolate dipping and three scoops in a sugar cone being handed across the counter to her. The chocolate wasn’t even fully hardened yet—it still had the liquid wax look, that was so deliciously tempting to lick. She resisted, knowing full well that chocolate dips were best for crunching. Particularly when there were almonds involved. Also, sprinkles. She accepted her treat with both hands, and took a happy step back, allowing Juka room to order.

Juka did not order, though.

And something settled on her shoulder, with an affectionate nudge at her neck.

Maxine cast a suspicious look down. The purple pen tilted its cap inquisitively up. The vendor politely found something else to stare at, and Juka wibbled. Well. She should have seen this coming.

Quite literally—she had a sight, or a touch, or a feel, or a something-or-another for the office supplies she could affect. Like any other sense, though, it worked about as well as the attention it was paid. Maxine’s Good Day did not include paying attention to all the pens that passed by, trapped in purses and pockets; therefore, she’d been ignoring them.

Therefore, she now had a wild pen on her shoulder. That was life. Her narrowed eyes relaxed into quasi-innocent orbs.

“Friend of yours?” She asked, with a sweet blink at Juka.