((ooc: Continued from Lost and Found.))

She’d gone with the suit skirt, black nylons, and a teal blouse; the jacket had seemed a little too much, though. She tossed it back on the bed, and tried out a scarf. Definitely not the green one. Red? No. Purple? Had she packed the matching earrings? No, but gold went with everything. In this case: little gold star studs. Let it never be said that Maxine didn’t go in for metaphors.

(Was someone knocking on her door? Psssh.)

Shoes next. The heels went best, but stilettoes? Not exactly good for running from homicidal mutants. Been there, done that, got partial amnesia and a hospital trip. But her flats were brown. Her nylons, if you’ll recall, were black. So was her skirt. Ick—just ick. She settled on her boots. A respectable heel, but platform. She could run in those. She was, after all, a talented young woman.

(Honestly, the knocking? Not going to make her move faster.)

Purse check. Little camera? Got it. Pepper spray? Hadn’t been allowed on the plane, but she’d found a local shop. A girl can’t be too careful; which was exactly what she was planning on telling them, if they searched her and found it. What else… pens, of course. And Rex, with orders to pretend they were on the subway, and just play dead. Lipstick. Cell phone. Compact mirror. A ziplock of paperclips. That was about it.

Maxine took a deep breath, and snapped it closed. All right. The lionman should have the camera equipment. Mirror should have his… mirrorwalking. And she should stop stalling.

She opened the door, flashing a brilliant smile. “Ready to go, boys? No wet feet, right Vince?”

It was a few days later, and Maxine Ralls had an interview scheduled for 7 o’clock.

It was needless to say that the past few days had not been Vicente’s favorite. The most obviously fact for his discomfort was his having to share a room with a teenage X-Man. As the days rolled by, he spotted gender change after gender change and it still slightly weirded him out. On top of that, Gawain/Maya was just an irritation to be around. Typical teenager doing stupid teenager things. Vicente would have only been too glad to run his head through the wall if that would have shut him up. But the assassin knew that would not do well for his payment.

So he dealt with it as best he could. Which meant the occasionally threatening look and growling. S/he really needed to learn to stop wasting so much time in the bathroom…

On top of that, the redhead, Maxine, was just as bad. Her sickening sweetness towards him also made him want to throttle her. Her constant allusions to his age and her need to treat him as if he were some invalid was truly most irritating. If during that fight, that was sure to ensue, she ran into his blade, well, so be it…

Next though was his disguise to find out where Gawain’s mother was. He sighed and shook his head. He was never going to forget this. Dressed in an open, dirty flannel shirt and with a black AC/DC shirt underneath, as well as dirty and faded blue jeans, Vicente felt as if he were some teamster. He shook his head and adjusted the backwards “Where’s the beef?” baseball cap on his head. He would definitely kill Maxine for providing him with his disguise.

Adjusting the professional camera in his fist, he growled as he pounded on Maxine’s door again. He wanted to get this over with and get paid. When she finally answered, there was that damn smirk and condescending town.

>> “Ready to go, boys? No wet feet, right Vince?”

He growled as he stepped back to make room for her to exit.

“Can we please hurry this up? I feel like I need to report to a union rep or something in this getup.”

It felt like a friggin' eternity.
All those days, gender-shifting at weird times (yay to time zones...), sharing a room with Vicente and his wet dog fur smell, waiting for Maxine to work her magic and finally get the whole thing moving. Mom was close, s/he could tell. And that just made the waiting a lot worse.

Finally, the day of the interview came. Gawain tried really hard to not giggle like a girl when Vicente showed up in his 'disguise'. That would have probably earned him a knife in the ribs. Vicente did love his knives.
And he did hate Maxine. Gawain made a mental note to keep an eye on those two.

"Ready" he nodded with a grin; he was also dressed for the mission, in his own way, which meant plain clothes, easy to move in. He didn't need a disguise. If things went well, nobody was going to see him at all.

The redhead didn’t waste time after stepping out of her room. They were on a time schedule here, people. Chop chop, and all that. She hadn’t wasted time inside her room, either—making the proper impression was half the job.

She only paused once, to look Vicente up and down, appraising his impression. Finally, she gave him a nod. “The smell’s pushing it a little, but not too shabby, Vince.” She gave him a solid slap on the back, and led the way out.

It had taken her a few days to set this up, and Gawain-Maya-Gawain-Maya had spent every minute of it twitching. Not complaining: Maxine gave the mirror walker that. But definitely, every time Maxine caught a glimpse of him/her, twitching.

A few days to set up an interview, though? From scratch? Several states removed from her own reporting turf? Maxine walked down the hotel hall like she owned this city, tossing a set of keys in her hand. Oh, yeah. And she’d talked the local Wolf News branch into lending her a van for the evening.

Needless to say, the redhead drove.

The interview was at an address they already knew, from New York; setting the interview there hadn’t been hard. The hard part had been making her contact think it was his idea.

About a block out, Maxine glanced over at Gawain. “Probably about time for you to get in the bag, right?” The mirror that was in the camera bag, that is. After a moment of thought, she just had to ask, with appropriate concern: “Will that make it heavier for Vince to carry?”

Vicente said nothing.

The smell comment, well, that was normally enough to warrant a good sock in the teeth to the person who dared to utter such, but Vicente was simply in no mood to mess around with these two right now. He knew he couldn’t hurt them, at least not until he got his last payment from the kid. In the mean time, the only thing that would keep them safe is if he occupied his mind thinking to himself about anything and everything.

So he didn’t argue when Maxine said she was going to drive, though he probably should have. Instead Vicente ushered himself into the back of the news van she had borrowed and readied himself by going over his own store of weapons.

Underneath his shirt he had a plethora of ceramic throwing knives, as well as a surprise or two hidden in the fully working camera. He doubted he would have much us for any of it. Especially since he was more than certain that this entire goose hunt was going to end in Gawain being absolutely wrong about the whereabouts of his/her mother. But it never hurt to be prepared.

So he sighed as he sat in the back and held on as Maxine drove…

>> “Probably about time for you to get in the bag, right? Will that make it heavier for Vince to carry?”

Vicente did his best to ignore them as he sat in the back of the van. He still could not believe that they had allowed the redhead to drive. He struggled to keep in an upright position as he was lurched from side to side, trying to hold onto the camera equipment.

He didn’t think it were possible for him to be more irritated with these two characters, yet here they were…proving his initial thoughts wrong…

Maxine was acting like she owned the city. After those long days of excruciating boredom, Mirror would not have been surprised at all if she did. Not. In the least.
He also wondered if they would get through the mission before Vicente made his move to murder Maxine. It was clearly only a matter of time. Mirror, like a true hero and a knight, was ready to step in if that happened, although he was still unclear on his chances against the Lion King...
He was pondering that for the hundredth time in a few days when Maxine spoke up.

>>“Probably about time for you to get in the bag, right? Will that make it heavier for Vince to carry?”

"No, I don't think so" Gawain smirked "never quite had that before, but... nah, he should be fine."

Even if he did lend some weight to the mirror, Vicente was strong as a bull. Or, a lion, at least.

Once the mirror was handed to him, he held it out in front om himself, making sure once again it was big enough (of course it was), and then lacing it on his lap he touched the surface, and then he was gone, looking up at Maxine from the other side.

"Ready, steady." he grinned "Don' screw it up."

Screw up? Her? Time to watch a professional at work, part-time ladies and elderly gentlemen.

Maxine parked the van on the street across from the place. She paused a moment to recheck that Gawain was snuggly in his mirror, and the mirror itself was snuggly in the camera bag’s pocket, with a bit of foam packing peanuts around it for safety and comfort. They hadn’t really gone over what would happen if that mirror broke, but she assumed it was a bad idea. Putzing in the camera bag had another purpose: it gave Vicente time to have a breather before they went in. Poor guy seemed to handle car rides about as well as planes. When it looked like he had his land legs back, she flashed him a grin. “Off we go, teamster.”

From the moment her heel hit pavement—from before that, even—they were being watched.

On the bright side, this meant that two fine gentlemen met them at the doors. They looked quite upstanding, in their suits. Not at all like members of a successful mutant criminal organization. Especially not the one with the slicked back hair and the monkey tail. Who ever heard of a mutant criminal with a monkey tail?

“Ms. Ralls?” He inquired.

“In the flesh.” She offered her hand, as if for a kiss. The man laughed and shook it.

“And you must be Vince,” he said, nodding to Vicente. “Come inside. We’ve got a room set up.”

Maxine flashed a grin over her shoulder at the lionman. So far, so good.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally arrived at their destination. Vicente had been able to track the kid’s mother to this point but he didn’t really know what was going to be waiting for them when they finally stopped. Just in case for metal detectors, though, he kept graphite knives handy in his belt as well as one strapped to his leg. They were not as strong but they could still get the job done. They did not have the rigidity metal but their breakable design could cause quite a serious wound. They would have to suffice until he could get a good look at what a mess they were getting into.

The van came to a stop, the kid was nestled inside of a mirror in his camera bag, and the redhead looked like she meant business. He hoped that this meant that her snarkiness was going to come to an end and he wouldn’t be tempted to kill her.

>> “Off we go, teamster.”

He growled. Maybe not.

They approached a building where they were met by a pair of men. He arched a brow. It looked pretty nondescript. If this was just the face of their operation then they certainly knew how to keep themselves hidden.

He remained silent, the camera on his shoulder, as they greeted Maxine.

>> “Ms. Ralls?”

>> “In the flesh.”

>> “And you must be Vince…Come inside. We’ve got a room set up.”

Or this is a set-up, he thought to himself.

He simply nodded and decided to follow along but keep his senses at high alert…

Gawain stayed in the mirror. It sucked; it was dark, and he did not see much, and she could only kind of hear what was happening outside. Maxine was using her nice professional voice (if she used that with Vicente every once in a while maybe he did not have to anticipate throwing himself between the two of them).
No problems so far. His powers were pulling at him, letting him know there were other reflecting surfaces in the area. Good. Once they were inside, he would find one to slip into. After that, it would be up to Maxine to win him as much time as she could.

Fortunately enough, Maxine was good at talking.

Vincent had his grumpy-face on. Poor guy—that camera really was heavy. It was a standard shoulder-mount, with a tripod folded up in one side of its bulky bag, and a growing teen in the other. She would have offered to help, but... well, stars don't help the help.

Sorry, Vince.

As they walked down the hall, the man with the monkey tail was nothing but smooth manners. "How are you enjoying our fair town, Ms. Ralls?"

"Oh please, Mr. Vice, just call me Maxine." The floors were polished concrete—easy to keep clean and tidy, cheap to put in. The hall was well lit, and lined in closed doors that didn't have windows looking out, or in. No decorations, no tastefully bland abstract paintings, broke up the monotonous white of the paint.

"Right through here, Maxine," he said, with a flash of sharp teeth and a bow over his arm, holding the door open for her. He stepped inside on her heels, letting Vicente the deal with the rapidly shutting door himself. The second man followed behind Vicente, making a sort of idle humming in the back of his throat—a familiar tune, just below hearing, too quiet to really recognize.

The room was tastefully decorated, with two beige arm chairs and a low coffee table between them. None of the furniture looked like it belonged here; the room was too empty around it, and the floor that same polished concrete.

She stepped over a dark stain on the floor as she entered. Ignored the smell of fresh paint on the walls. She hadn't actually stopped to wonder before what this building was used for. A slight oversight, perhaps.

"How does our humble stage suit your fancy, Maxine? I must apologize—you gave us rather short notice." The sleek monkey-tailed man said, flashing another smile.

"This'll do fine. Why don't you set up there, Vince—we can start with the sound checks." They could get at least fifteen minutes out of that alone.

Good luck, Gawain.

Whiteness, cleanliness, sterility…that was the only way to describe the interior of this place that both Vicente and Maxine had been led into. Vicente remained the silent cameraman, but the whole time that they were being led within, all Vicente could do was scan his environment. He took in every doorway, every vent, but the most startling part was the complete lack of windows. Whatever the reason way, they certainly didn’t want anyone looking inside of the building. That alone was suspicious.

But the assassin made no outward notice of that. Instead he merely took mental notes and did his best to keep an eye out.

The further they walked in, the more unsettling of a feeling that began to form over his stomach. This all felt too much like walking into a trap and he didn’t like that. But this was the irritating redhead’s how. He would follow her lead. The second their lives were in danger though…he was stepping in.

They were led into another room and Vicente hefted up the camera…

>> "How does our humble stage suit your fancy, Maxine? I must apologize—you gave us rather short notice."

>> "This'll do fine. Why don't you set up there, Vince—we can start with the sound checks."

“Yup,” was all Vicente said as he began to unpack and step up the camera and microphones. It was time to give the kid his chance…

>>"This'll do fine. Why don't you set up there, Vince—we can start with the sound checks."

Annnd, the clock was ticking.

Gawain couldn't help but smile to himself, listening to the converstion. Now that they were in the middle of it, he suddenly realized that Maxine was only doing this for him. (And probably for the story. But mostly for him.) Vicente, he was working for money, and probably to hurt Maxine in the end.
Still. Two people were doing dangerous things to help him find Mom. The best he could do was to use the time they won for him well.

Slipping out of the mirror in the camera bag, he tried to find a reflecting surface that wasn't in the room. The moment he found it, he peered around; he saw a corridor, long and empty, and sensed a few other mirrors nearby. Good.

Ready to slip into any reflection that would show up before their owner noticed him, Gawain started walking. From mirror, to mirror.

Some rooms were empty; most of the corridors too. He saw people twice; they could have been security, but they did not wear any uniforms. Gawain moved in a traight line; whe he got to the end of the building, he turned and started again. Quick, silent. He would know Mom when he found her.

It took him another round, and another floor (this one underground) to find the rooms. They were more like cells, except cleaner and more comfortable; they even had mirrors.

"All right, that should stay on," the redhead said, adjusting a clip-on microphone to the esteemed Mr. Vice's suit lapel. "Say something."

He flashed a smile, with sharper than average teeth. "Something."

She smirked a little; a that's cute. "A little more. Give us a sound bite. How long have you worked with Edict?"

"You could say it runs in the family." His smile got wider, if anything.

Maxine turned to Vicente. "How's that sound?" Re-adjustments and more sound bites followed, stopping just before it became absurd. Her own microphone was awfully tricky, too—they used a different model out here on the West Coast, you know. Not at all like in New York. This was clearly not a stall tactic, as her endless stream of casual banter clearly demonstrated.

"All right, you're all set. Let's get your friend hooked up—"

The man waved both hand and monkey tail in joint dismissal. "Don't worry about Minstrel. I'll be doing the talking."

The other man, still at his spot by Vicente and the door, hummed a little louder as if in reply. The song sounded familiar—it wormed its way into the back of her mind, like something half-remembered.

"Well," Maxine said, her stalling at an end. "I suppose we can get started—"

Tail and one finger twitched upwards. "A moment," the black haired man said. "First, a few questions for you, Ms. Ralls."

She raised an eyebrow, but could see nothing particularly sinister in his smile. Or his first question.

"What's your full name?"

"Maxine Ralls," she said, bemused.

His tail gave an ah-ah-ah twitch where it lazily draped over the back of his chair. "I said your full name, Maxine."

She rolled her eyes. "Maxine Meredith Ralls." Meredith: some great aunt's name, who had died before she was old enough to remember. She'd never really liked the name—too old fashioned.

"Is the sky green?"

Her lips quirked. "Not usually. Is this going somewhere...?"

"Just one more," he smiled back. "Where's the Morris child that flew in with you?"

"In the building," she answered, "looking for his mother. Will that be all, Mr. Vice, or is it my turn now?" She asked, with an indulgent sort of tone. His smile really was cute; those teeth could be a problem, though. Note to self: be careful when frenching.

His tail lazily curled from the tip. "By all means, Maxine. I'd say this interview is ready to begin."

Minstrel's low hum wrapped around the room. Her mind reached towards it, twined with it—if only she could place it. It was such a nice song.

>> "How's that sound?"

Vicente pretended he actually knew what he was doing and gave Maxine a thumbs up.

>> "All right, you're all set. Let's get your friend hooked up—"

The microphone was actually transmitting the sounds so he assumed that meant it work. Besides, what could he really do other than give her a thumbs up? His job was to remain the strong and silent type and that was it. If heads needed to be busted in, well then, that would be his job. But for the moment, since everyone was acting so nice and accommodating, then he would remain silent.

But maybe, just maybe, they were all acting just a little TOO nice and accommodating. He arched a brow as he continued to pretend he was working.

Then, for whatever reason, the conversation switched back to Maxine. At first he was ignoring it, thinking that it was for nothing but playful banter between interviewer and interviewee, but slowly, as he caught more snippets of the conversation, be began to realize that it was a lot more than that. He raised his gaze and watched as the scene unfolded…

>> "Just one more…Where's the Morris child that flew in with you?"

>> "In the building…looking for his mother. Will that be all, Mr. Vice, or is it my turn now?"

He growled under his breath as he glanced to Maxine out of the corner of his eye, still feeling the humming guy directly behind him…

>> "By all means, Maxine. I'd say this interview is ready to begin."

He still kept his cool but his hand secretly slid to his sleeve where he kept one of many of the graphite knives he carried with him. He really, really did not where this was going…

Some cells were empty. But most of them had people in them; one person in every room. Sleeping, reading, working out, playign around with powers. Gawain only had to take a glance at each. If Mom hoped he would come, she would be her own self. And everyone who displayed visible powers was not her. And because some of the most dangerous powers are invisible, he made sure not to spend too much time in those mirrors either.

Walking from one mirror to the next, slow enough to look, fast enough to go unnoticed. Seeing all kinds of mutants. Men. Women. Something in-between. Teenagers. A kid. Grown-ups. Wings, claws, tails, ears, fur, insect parts, and a tank full of water. All kinds of mutants for all possible schemes and purposes. A shapeshifter would be very useful here indeed.

So, where was she?

There were rows and rows of rooms, both sides of the hallway; just like there were rows and rows below. The clock was ticking. Gawain moved faster. Maxine could only stall in interview so long. He needed to find Mom before they ran out of time.

Or before he ran out of mirrors.