"Miserable cretins, both of you. This is how you greet me? You neither marvel at my appearance or wonder at my methods. Why did I bother dressing up? If there's no further point in obfuscation when I decide to take a job then maybe I'll just quit working. Honestly. I should drug your water and leave the pair of you tied up in an alley. Louts. Oafs. Snoops. I hate you so much."

She says it all while continuing to hug Matty and leave reassuring strokes up one side of her neck and down the other, which combined with the absolute monotone in her voice makes it a little difficult to take her seriously. But even still, she manages to shoot Slate a look that has her mechanic wilt so suddenly that she slips off the couch. 

Mirror unwraps the synthweave from her arm and tosses it in a messy pile on Slate's head. Then she picks up Matty and carries her to the little kitchen. 

"Be a good kitten and sort through the fridge for me, please. You should find a whole fish wrapped in twine in the back. Assuming there's anyone at all here who's still loyal to me, in any case."

There is. Matty produces the fish with trembling hands: a small, fuzzy striped bass species that's barely enough food for a single mouth, if that mouth is not especially hungry to begin with. Mirror plucks it up and sniffs it twice while she leans against a counter and waits for her pan to get hot.

"...Wasn't bad. Considering it wasn't Nine-Tails. Reasonable contract, amusing terms. Minimal effort. I anticipate a contract offer from the Red Band in the medium term future, you have permission to accept it on my behalf if the phrasing is respectful. They have a secretary I would like to poach, given the opportunity."

She drops oil in the pan, and waits for it to sizzle. Lard follows, and she lets it melt. The fish itself she tosses in haphazardly, dragging it back and forth across the hot surface with a pair of tongs. 

"Boss, don't you think you should learn how to cook... I dunno, literally anything else at some point? Or at least ask someone else to do it for you?"

"Pointless. Bad at everything else; the imposition would kill me."

"[i]You're[/i] a bad cook?!" gasps Matty, "I can't picture you being bad at anything!"

"I develop skills that are worth developing. Overgeneralization breeds weakness."

"I, uh, see?"

"You just haven't known her long enough Matty. It'll make sense when--"

"When you're older."

"MEW!!!"

Flip the fish, continue dredging. Dry herbs thrown into the pan in three, two, one, now. Savor the sizzle. Keep the meat in motion to avoid sticking, wait for the skin to begin turning color. First sign it's done. Second sign, mouth falls open. Lift, plate. Drizzle with prepared sauce, squeeze of berry.

"I miss when we used to live with you mom. She made [i]amazing[/i] fish. Her synthetic waterfowl was orgasmic, too."

"Times change. Mother has her own life. Don't be greedy, Slate."

"Nah, the smell just reminded me is all."

"Fair."

"Hey, what's she like? Your mom, I mean."

"She's..."

"Picture Mirror, right? Then add about thirty times as many words and make most of them about the dynamics of light refraction through blah blah blah, and there you go. She talks about other stuff, but she just adores her work. Woman's a constant stream of information, you can't shut her off."

"That sounds kinda tiring, honestly."

"Eh, she's good for Mirror."

"Slate..."

"Shut up and eat your crappy fish. Anyway yeah. She talks so much you can't get a word in without shouting. But that means Mirror doesn't have to speak. She can get everything she needs out of posture and eye contact, and the whole rest of the conversation happens without her having to do anything. Honestly that's another thing I miss about living back there. Mirror used to be a lot more... expressive. I think she fed on that energy. Now that no one's filling that function she's..."

"Mmmf."

Incorrect, Slate. If she seems less than she was, that's because she's focused on other things. Easier to speak when the consequences for doing so were so minimal. Now she has family of her own. Something that needs to be protected. Something that [i]deserves[/i] protecting, and for far more than one day. She has goals that have leaked beyond her ability to fit them inside of even the most complicated glyphs she knows. 

She is more, Slate. More than ever. And more in love with you, in all the ways she's allowed to be. And when she finally wins this tournament and gets her wish, then... then...

"Slate. Matty."

"P-please finish your fish before you say more, Mommy. I mean Mirror! Ma'am! Oh gosh!"

Smirk. Flick of a tail, long slow chew. Lascivious swallow, unnecessary lick of her chops. 

"Most comfortable of the three, kitten. But not now."

"Boss?"

"Delete every piece of information we have on my opponent."

"Boss?!"

"MO--er, ah?!"

"Last chance for tendencies to be punished. Last chance to reveal weakness. Best opportunity. I fight this one blind."

"Only if you promise me one thing."

"Mm?"

"Try to win anyway. Call it data collection if you have to, just... don't get hurt posturing for Her eyes."

"Naturally, I promise."

"You d-- wait, what?"

"I said I promise. I will crush her utterly rather than risk injury. Now come. Our schedules just opened up. I want to spend my training time with my little family. Doesn't that sound nicer than anything else we might gain from preparation?"

She had not worn her dress for nothing, after all. A pair of beautiful, blushing faces is all the answer she requires.