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Juris Doctor. Not quite as cute as what her own brain had invented, but quite a bit more sophisticated. Maxine didn't mind trading cute for sophisticated: it was about the same as switching her hopes for Gawain over to Aurum. One was a high school failure with a great smile: the other was getting his Juris Doctor degree. For the record, his smile wasn't all that bad, either.

Mmm, this chai was good.

"Have you started applying for the internships, yet?" Maxine asked. "I don't know about law firms, but it can get pretty rough in journalism. The good agencies usually have only a handful of spots between them every semester, and a few hundred applicants." She sipped at her tea. "Though I suppose for a local law firm, you wouldn't be up against national competition, right? That'll be nice."

A pen settled on the part in her hair; she idly shooed it to a more appropriate behind-the-ear perch. Under the table, another pen pecked lightly at the second screw as Rex dropped it on the ground. The quiet tink-tap-tap was covered by her voice as she continued speaking.

"So what's your 'big dream'—if everything goes perfectly, where do you see yourself in ten years?"

This was a test of the Maxine Long-Term Prospects System.

>> "Of couse. I've seen your show once or twice. You're good."

"Thank you," Maxine said, with a modest little blush. More from the compliment's source than from modesty, probably, but she could play up the rosy cheek card when it was dealt her. Her freckles darkened over her nose and cheeks.

Mmm, grad student confirmed. She gave an approving ooh as her brain raced to match up 'J.D.' to an acronym she knew. For all her law school idolizing, she really didn't know all that much about the major. Or the profession, for that matter, outside of Law & Order re-runs. Justice Defender, maybe? That couldn't be right. It was too cute. Her lips twitched: she approved of cute things.

Maxine lightly rested her elbows on the table, chai held under her chin. When in doubt, research. That's what good little aspiring reporters did.

"What's the J.D. stand for, again?"

A sip.

"Are you planning to work for the state, or with a private firm?"

A soft tink below them went unnoticed by the red head. Under the table, Rex had examined his newest toy and discarded it. The screw rolled over the floor as the octoclip turned its meticulous attention back to the other three.

Vega, Maya, and Ghost? Maxine couldn't remember if the woman was human or mutant, from the snippets she'd skimmed in the papers and watched in her daily personal crusade to keep abreast of the competition. Judging by those monikers, though, she was willing to assume 'mutant' until proven otherwise. Especially given that last one. A phaser of some sort, she'd probably put her money on. Or an astral-projector.

The rest of what Aurum was saying threatened to get drowned out by one word: lawyer.

Lawyer, as in law student.

Lawyer, as in that aspirational line on her mental checklist that she had never yet found.

Lawyer, as in take him home and don't let him leave.

"Investigative Journalism," Maxine answered, with a cool sip at her tea. "I'd like to move out of the fiery rhetoric camp at some point. It's just a way to get my name out there for now." And, hopefully, to make herself too valuable to Fox News for them to easily ditch when her internship was up.

"Defense attorney, huh? Very cool. Undergrad or grad?" She took another sip of her tea, crossing her toes for grad. He was old enough to be grad, but young enough to be either.

The Asian got it. With that level of basic intelligence, Maxine was sure he'd do just fine in college. At least at the social aspects.

>> “You sure, Shin? You don’t have to find it yourself. We can still show you where to go… you don’t need us to be there for your entire class sign-up session, right?”

Maxine put on her very best worried expression. "Are you sure, Shin? The offices are just down this hall and up a floor, but it's no problem to walk you there." Off he was going. "The coffee shop is in the basement, when you're done. Just follow your nose--you can't miss it." Unless he happened to take a few wrong turns, in the labyrinth around the school store. In that case, he might get slowed down just a bit. Shucks.

Maxine hooked her arm through Aurum's, with a smile. "Quite the independent friend you've got, there. Did you two go to high school together?" With a certain failing at ladylike demure, Maxine started leading the way to the coffee shop.

Rex sulkily trailed them, sticking mostly to the shadows under benches and behind potted plants.

Shortly after Maxine entered the lady's room, another girl left, looking rather hurried. Through the open door, the sound of metal clips on porcelain could be heard over the sounds of running water.

The scuffle was muffled by the closing door.

Later--a few minutes later--the hand drier started.

When Maxine emerged again, she was wearing that same beaming smile. A glistening pile of paperclips sulked under the door in her wake, staying near the wall. It clearly wanted nothing to do with the red head, or its own superbly cleaned shame.

Maxine held out her hand for the umbrella. "I'll take that back now. Thanks." She turned her smile on the dirty blonde. "Now where we, Aurum?"

Maxine enjoyed being hard to miss.

>> "Really, it's--No trouble at all."

She enjoyed it when people didn't freak out about her powers, as well. Most people on campus were cool about such things--college students tended to be liberals, and liberals tended to wet themselves at the chance to prove how tolerant they were towards homosexuals, endangered African flesh-eating spiders, and the world's genetic minorities. The fact that a flying pen didn't trigger most people's survival instincts helped. She had to admit: she was happy wasn't one of those mutants who looked like--excuse the popularist term--a 'freak.'

>> "Magical, that thing with the pens."

She smirked. "More like cheap theatre effects. I'm testing out a new stage prop for the theater club. It's a modern, abstractionist retelling of Macbeth." She loved saying these things with a straight face. While holding a horseshoe magnet, that was holding a quivering mass of anger paperclips.

>> "Hi. My friend here was wondering if someone around here might be able to show him around the campus. We're kind of lost, and-- hey. Are you Maxine Ralls?"

She was listening politely until the end. Then she was grinning. "Why yes, yes I am. And you are?"

Tall, dirty blonde, and handsome. Mmm. He was older than her, but not too old; taller than her, but not a girthed out like a football bovine. And he watched her show.

Maxine approved.

The Asian, by comparison, couldn't have been much more than her age. With her heels, he couldn't have been much more than her height, either. There was something weird about his eyes, too. She couldn't put her finger on what; they just didn't seem like they were focusing right. Was he high?

January 15, 2010: Unity

The red head wasn’t sitting at her usual desk: her usual desk, in fact, was unusually absent. Instead, she stood in front of an easel. It was the sort of cheap wooden stand used in high school art classes, or scrounged up at the last minute for a meeting. On its stand rested several brightly colored poster boards, stacked one behind the other. The one on top framed a blown up image of a fashion victim in red fur and a suggestive dress, speaking in front of a crowd at Times Square.

“This,” the red head stated, giving the woman’s questionably clad chest a tap with her Very Official wooden pointy stick, “is Pompei Yuen. She likes to be called 'Miss East' by us Western-folk. She's a businesswoman from Hong Kong, who came to America to fix our social ills. Thank you very much for that, Ms. Yuen. We sure do appreciate it.”

In a move she must have been practicing all day, the red head used her pointer to flick the picture forward, sending it tumbling off of the stand. It hit the floor below, face down. She tapped the next picture: an image of a walking armory with a young woman’s head attached.

“This,” the red head stated, “is a can opener. Some of you may recognize her: she’s stared on our show, before. Someone at the factory forgot to tell her that people are not cans. The poor dear has been clearly confused, ever since. The police want to talk to her in connection to several homicides, but I'm sure it's all just a big misunderstanding. Right, Swiss Army?”

Flick: picture number two fell down to join its predecessor on the floor. The next image was of the politician and the weapon walking down an isle of reporters together towards a black limousine.

“This,” the woman said instructively, tapping the appropriate areas of the photo as she spoke, “is Ms. Yuen. This is the can opener. This is Ms. Yuen’s private limo. This is Ms. Yuen and the can opener, walking to Ms. Yuen’s private limo.” The red head looked at the camera with the beaming smile of a kindergarten teacher. “What happens next, kids?”

Flick: Ms. Yuen opened the limousine’s door, and graciously motioned the bladed woman inside.

Flick: the knife store took her up on the offer, and packaged herself inside.

Flick: Ms. Yuen closed the door behind them for a private chat as reporters flashed photographs and a little boy stood nearby, looked a bit lost.

The red head turned back to her audience, beaming. At her feet, something metallic and tentacled was dragging that last picture off, out of the camera's frame. She didn’t pay it any mind.

“Silly Ms. Yuen. Didn’t they teach her in the Hong Kong Business School for Suave Young Ladies that she shouldn't publically cavort with suspected serial killers?” She batted her eyelashes sweetly. “It’s okay: I’m sure the public will forget all about it, before the next election. It’s not like you were going to run for Governor anyway, right, Ms. Yuen?”

“I hope we learned something today, kids: some of us are gifted with deeper wells of stupidity than others. Gratefully, do the rest of us turn to them for a drink.”

The red head dropped a smooth curtsy.

“Maxine Ralls, Wolf News.”