Xaviers!

"Oh don't you worry, I will bring it."

"Good, it tends to raise eyebrows at the door if you don't."

"You did not. No way. Not buying it."

"...well, a few people have seen me look like this."

Miriam catches a brief flash of Sam clad only in warpaint. At least, one would think it's warpaint. It's a rather deep red.

"Is that..." she shakes her head as if to clear it. "No, doesn't matter. Kudos, I wouldn't have thought you'd have the guts. I suppose I'll have to actually try." she's quick to put her smug facade back up.

"Should we set a theme for the outing, perhaps?"

"Maybe. This feels like you're trying to screw me. I can't change what style suits me as much as you can."

"I'm letting you pick."

"Oh-ho-ho, now we're talking. Certainly not your outdoorsy wild-hunt chic, but I don't want it to be too easy either. No Victorian gothic and no all-blacks. How about... Elaborately Modern."

"That's frustratingly vague, isn't it?"

"Is it? Most modern styles are simple, straight-forward. And you want some room for interpretation. Think... Met Gala. Or did you mean theme as in costume?"

"Mostly I just want you to still feel like you had a good time, aye?"

"I don't need to win to have a good time, Sam. But it'll help."

"So I'll put it a different way: What do you want to see me in?"

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you're being dreadfully uncreative. But very well... I want to see you try and pull of classy. Not prude, just none of this wild energy right out the gate. Sophisticated Beasts."

"But still beasts, then. Just... restrained. I can do that."

"I said sophisticated. Cutlery, not dog-leash. Unless you're into that. No judgment." she says in a tone that clearly implies a little bit of amused judgment.

"You'll just have to be surprised," she smirks.

"Very well then." she says, sauntering over to the mirror and gently tapping it with her fingernail. "Will? I need a dress, would you kindly send out one that's brimming with all your fashion sense?" she asks with a sly glance over at Sam. She's not certain that's even how it works but it amuses her that it might.

The surface of the mirror rippled and shimmered as Miriam tapped it.

We were listeningwatchinglaughing the chorus of telepathic voices answered.

A little competitiongameflirting never hurt anyone. But all our fashion sense? We're not sure you could handlesufferenjoy that, so we need to ask if you are surepositiveprepared.

"Who's being lazy now?"

"Lazy?" she asks before turning her head to look at Sam. "Not at all. I'll make my own design with Will's expertise and leave you with the rest." she smirks and presses her hand flat against the mirror.

Come with me and we shall find out.

A hand reached out to take Miriam's hand. And then another. And another. And another...

"Be careful what you ask for, eh?"

"At least I'll leave a fabulous corpse no matter what." she says and starts withdrawing her hand to pull the Will(s?) grabbing her out.

For a second, it looked like Miriam was going to draw a set of Wills out, to primp and preen and properly prepare her for the ball.

But, like most of Miriam's life choices, she had made a mistake here. The hands around her gripped tightly, and instead tugged Miriam in, the surface of the mirror rippling wildly before calming down. Sam's Willified-reflection in the mirror now had a touch of goth to it -- just a hint, a streak of black in the hair, a little pallor to her complexion, but a definite change.


As for Miriam, the experience was...overwhelming. The muffled and hum of Will's normal resting state in the mirror, like a babbling brook of indeterminate thoughts, became the rushing blaring of a busy downtown as she was pulled inside; dozens, nay, hundreds, nay, thousands of voices, all thinking their own things and with their own ideas of how things should be done. Reflection after reflection after reflection of Will, all those competing thoughts and ideas and impulses all having their own proper place in the mirror. There were the same pressure and warmth from the last time she had been inside of Will, but the intrusive thoughts weren't nearly so bad. They were still floating through her own mind, and differentiating between them and her own thoughts took conscious effort, but the added space, order and structure of the mirror had given Will's intrusive thoughts their own places and niches to exist in. The harmony, the overtone of the various thoughts, feelings and desires were more in sync now -- proof, perhaps, that what she and Sam had done in the Point had worked on a deep level.

So, that was the good news.

As Miriam looked back, she could see the rippling surface of the mirror; could see Sam looking on in mild surprise and bemusement as she was pulled in. And she could feel herself standing there, watching her get pulled in. And she could feel the sensations of being the carpet underneath Sam's feat; trod upon and supportive. And the cup of coffee Sam was holding, warm, but cooling off. And the front door. The television. The couch. Simultaneously experiencing all the feelings and sensations of the outside world -- she was reflecting them all as part of the mirror. They were a part of her -- no, a part of Will. Will was doing that. She had to remember that...

That was probably overwhelming, though it calmed down as she turned around and looked deeper into the....whatever this was. She could see, down below, the faint outlines of Will's mindscape that she had become familiar with. But branching out from that, stretching out into the void as far as she could see, there was just...more. The village growing into a massive city; the factory being just the end distribution point of smokestacks and conveyors and farms and roads as far as the eye could see; the jungle stretching out and wilding as it bordered an ocean, a desert, a mountain range... there was just more Will here. You could get lost if you went down there.

But she didn't have to go down there; at least, not right now. She was soon surrounded by a number of Wills, in various elaborate fashions, all arguing and disagreeing on just the right way to make Miriam 'presentable'. They mostly ignored her attempts to butt in, instead forcibly removing her bathrobe and trying to dress her in...well, everything. An elegent, gothic lolita petticoat. Groovy '70s pinstriped bell bottoms. A 1950s swinging poodle skirt. An '80s houndstooth jacket. Scarves, glasses, earrings, about three different styles of makeup, as they pushed and pulled and tugged.

Apparently 'all' of Will's fashion sense was just as chaotic as the rest of him. Too many cooks (or too many kooks)...

"...did you just eat her?"

So easy to forget just how many facets Will now holds. Too easy. Still, there's no need to panic, she's been amidst it all before and it's nothing to fear. Maybe if she sank deeper. But as long as she has her wits about herself she's safe. Which can't be said about her dignity if the various clothes being shoved and pulled and wrapped around her are any indication. Reaching for the mirror her hands thrust out of the surface, flailing for a moment to find the frame and soon she tumbles out, spilling onto the floor. In an outfit that looks sewn together from a dozen different bits and pieces that most certainly do not work. Shades that are one lens over-sized sixties, the other modern wireframe. One pant-leg is corduroy, then leopard print, then silk, then jeans. The other legs just sticks out of several layers of different dresses and so on.

"...well, that'll certainly get some eyes on you."

"More than one could handle," Will said, coming out of the mirror in a snappy vest-and-slacks combo. "Like plugging oneself into a live wire.

Very Stanton-like, if you ask me, so I must say I approve of the fashion disaster's choices," he said, with a slight smirk.

Miriam groans, more at the commentary than from any physical discomfort, and pulls herself to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up you two."

"Could be worse, aye?"

"Mmm," Will agreed. "I suppose the lesson for today is 'be specific'. Or 'don't bite off more than you can chew.' Or possibly, even 'still waters run deep'."

He grinned, clearly very pleased with himself. "Well, don't worry, we'll get you all cleaned up for the ball," he laughed. "Unless you really do want to be on the cutting edge of fashion as we know it. Who knows; Patchwork Man might be in style this year."

"I requested a dress. I don't remember asking for all this sass." she grumbles as she take sin the catastrophe of clothing she's wearing. "And I believe I was wearing a bathrobe?" she says, expectantly holding out her hand, palm up, towards the mirror and Fashion-Will.

"Mm, yes, but I think we can do a little better than that old thing," Will said, taking Miriam's hand. "Oh, we'll return it, but for now, we have more pressing matters to attend to. Comecomecomecomecome, we'll get you all ready to go."

He turned to Sam. "And there's plenty more for you and your entourage, if you so desire. And, no, I promise you, no one will be devoured," he said, putting extra emphasis on the last word to tease Sam's initial reaction. "Just have a clear picture in mind of what you want, reach in, and yoinks and away. Or ask for perhaps a little less than the entire fire hose turned on at the same time."

"I've... some thoughts."

"But by all means, Miriam."

"I'm not doing this in front of you. Where's the point in that? You can see the finished product at the club." Miriam huffs.

"Didn't seem that bothered doing it in front of me the first time."

"Now now, ladies..." Will said, trying to serve as the Voice of Reason (tm)