Ewen.
=BH= Shooting Range - Forest - Abandoned Mining Facility
On a stretch of land near the stream too rocky to support heavier forest growth, a shabby (but effective) shooting range has been constructed using fresh paper and plastic targets nailed into place over props assembled out of rotting pieces of wood and nails found around the mine. A shotgun-peppered and weather-washed deer dummy stands far off to one side as well, next to a headless and equally lead-filled male mannequin.
[Exits : [F]orest]
[Players : Ewen ]
The air is bright and the weather is finally wintry enough to warrant warm attire for those who have chosen to venture outside. One such person is by the shooting range, bundled up in a green jacket that puffs out around his waist to make him look rather bigger than his naturally not inconsiderable size, but though is is using the range there is no sound spreading through the calm air other than an occasional hiss of rushing air followed by a tiny, slightly damp thudding. He stands with right hand splayed out in front of him aiming along his middle finger before letting fly at the target again. Whissh, thump.
Toad is bored. After buzzing around all morning on the newly-restored four-runner, he has lost his interest in the toy. Now he hunts for new means of amusement. The little green man strolls, not hops, down the pathway, kicking at rocks to scatter them into the brush on the side of the path. He pauses, listens, and continues on his way. Toad emerges into the clearing, patting down his pocket-full hunting vest, the thick layer of a cotton work shirt covering most of his green skin. Boots crunch in the icy ground as the Brother makes his presence known. "Wotcher doin' out here?" Toad sneers, the usual suspicious flecked in his whiney voice.
The approach of a newcomer does not immediately distract Ewen from his practice, but the speech does, and he lowers his hand before turning towards Toad, stomping slightly and shifting his shoulders to hunch his jacket back into position. "Practising," he informs his new companion easily, stuffing his hand into his pocket to ward off the chill. "Though it's getting kind of cold out here, was thinking of going in soon, if you want me to piss off."
"Woz thinkin' about it, aye." Toad responds just as easily. He comes shoulder up to the taller man. The yellow, piercing eyes don't meet Ewen since they instead take a keen interest in the target. Toad rolls back on his heels casually, the corner of his nose twitching up as he gathers a wad of spit in the back of his through with a loud, wet snort. His hands lift from his sides, balancing him out as he jerks forward suddenly. With a sickening splat a greenish yellow loogey glumps barely off center of the target. Eyes finally lift to Ewen. "'Ow's that, eh? Bet'er out than down the 'atch, I always say!"
"Bloody hell," remarks Ewen, squinting at the gob of slime with a schoolboy's fascination with and appreciation for the gruesome. "Nice shot," he adds incidentally. "It's kind of hard to tell where I've hit it without going right up and looking for the damp bits where it's hit the thing behind it, but that's a much better marker." He eyes it contemplatively again, commenting idly, "You'd beat me hands down in a cherry stone spitting contest."
Toad can't help but grin at the words, settling into the praise easily. "Harr. I'd beat you good an' easy. In more'n cherry stones, too." His hands slide back into his pockets and he tests the firmness of the ground idly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The cold bites at his nose, a warm tongue lapping at it before retreating just as quickly. "Can you touch yer nose wid yer tongue, mate?"
An amused guffaw cracks the air at Toad's antics and Ewen tilts his head to the side ponderously. "Used to be able to. Not with as much style as you, though," he admits, though this does not stop him from trying. His tongue spreads flat across his philtrum as it strains towards the tip of his nose, hitting it with a triumphant exclamation and a garble of syllables that are repeated after he wipes his wrist across his face to clear the saliva. "Well look at that, I still can."
Those same pale, large eyes keep watch on him, his neck tucking down into the safe protection of the turned up vest collar. "Style," he repeats with a curious croak. With a half-shuffle back, Toad wades through the lightly iced ground. "You must be proud. Yer eye?" is the next inquiry while one of his own eyes shutting in a grimaced wink as the oddly-colored tongue dabs at that next.
"Hah, not even close," Ewen grins, throwing in the towel cheerfully on a contest he can't possibly win. "Probably tie myself up in some interesting knots trying, though." Apparently, this is enough impetus to do just that, and his face contorts lopsidedly as he reaches his tongue futilely up towards his eye, making himself look both mildly constipated and extremely deranged at the same time.
Toad's unkempt eyebrows shoot up, a delighted grin on his face sprouting as the other attempts to do the impossible. "Oi, dun' worry 'bout that. I can gladly get it for you!" Released alongside a particularly nasty snicker, Toad's tongue zots at one of Ewen's eyes. Perhaps not at /full/ strength, though fairly close. He scrambles backwards, hooting happily like a deranged version of one of the three stooges.
The impact sends Ewen flying backwards with a startled, "Bahh!" half way between surprise and disgust, his hands jerking out of his pockets to hit Toad with a blast of his own, the force of a strong wind not enough to quite repay the green mutant blow for blow as the taller man lands soundly on his backside on the floor. "Bloody cheek," he mutters with convivial grumpiness, looking up at Toad as he rocks himself forward onto his heels to begin to stand.
The blast of wind causes Toad to stumble back a few steps, though he regains himself by quickly dropping into a balance-seeking crouch. "Lesson one, boy-o! Lesson one. Bloomin' 'ell, you shoud'ah seen that comin'." His amused hiccups bubble out as he rocks side to side, letting his knuckles scar the mush underneath him. "Fuck, I /fart/ 'arder than that."
"Charming," Ewen replies, something of a cockney twang creeping into his impressionable accent even after this short conversation with Toad, pushing himself up to a standing position and brushing a hand across his backside to wipe blades of grass away, though he can do little about the damp that marks a spreading dark patch on the seat of his trousers. "If you want to leave the room before you do that, I think people'd appreciate it."
"Oh? Nah, nah mate. Look, they usually smell loike a fresh pot o'planted daises compared ter me!" Toad's hands wave happily in the air, gesturing to his remark. "Though s'not loike I really give a flippin' fuck now is it? S'wot 'appens when you digest whole beasts, bones an' all." He snuggles down into his position, sliding the flats of his elbows to his knees.
"Oh, well then, that's okay," Ewen remarks airily, throwing his hands into the air in grinning surrender. "Yup, fair enough, won't argue." He reaches one gnarled hand up to scratch at the top of his spine, wondering aloud, "'S it your mutation that makes you like -- or need, I guess -- that shit, or have you always been a fur and beaks kind of guy?"
Toad leans to the side, stretching one of his legs out to full length. "Eh. S'far as I can figure it's got somethin' ter do with stomach acids an' digestive shit. Can't eat refined food. Gives me a stomach ache loike a bloody kick to the nuts, it does." Finally his leg is drug right back in and he stands, not bothering to dust off the particles of nature he's gathered from the ground. "Except Bagel Bites. 'Ell, I'll stand the stomach pains fer those, never you worry. They're like... fuckin' pizza. On a bagel.". He pinches his fingers, squinting at them in hope of demonstrating how amazing they truly are.
"Bagel Bites," Ewen repeats ponderously, clacking his teeth together in an imitation of eating apparently meant to aid the processes of memory. "Nope, don't think I've ever had them. I'll try one sometime. Bet they're not as good as the pizza my old granddad used to make. He was Italian. Made the dough from scratch and everything. /Those'd/ be worth any stomach ache in the world." Reminiscence has gone from a difficulty to an experience that is pracically making the bulky man salivate.
Toad shoves his hands deep into the large pockets of his vest, his face glaring downwards. "Huh. Fuck you an' yer gran'dad. Want some damn bagel bites now." Eyes roam upwards while his head is still aimed down at the earth, and he shuffles forward and around Ewen. "Now, if you 'ad it so fuckin' good wid yer pizza an' yer gran'dad, why the 'ell are you in the Brother'ood, mate?"
Ruddy skin wrinkles uneasily around Ewen's nose and his hands are returned to his jacket pockets, shoving the material forwards as he breathes huffily in the cold air. "Granddad's dead now, has been for years. So's my brother -- my biological brother, that is. He's the reason I'm here. /He/ got killed because /I'm/ a mutant and people back home knew about it. He was getting in the way of them passing registration back in England too. So they fucking killed him. That's why I'm here."
"Tearjerker, that." Steam puffs out of Toad's sneer like fog from a little, green, sarcastic choo-choo. "Dun' get yer panties in a ruddy bunch if I dun' buy you a beer o'er it. Lived such a 'ard life wot wid gran'dads an' bothers an' 'ot meals. /Damn/ shame." He begins to wander to the edge of the clearing, not looking back as he follows the gentle trail of a burrowing mole. "Fuckin' /kids/."
"Yeah, thanks," mutters Ewen, turning his shoulder towards the shorter mutant and glaring out at the shooting range with a mixture of anger and regret for a moment before he realises Toad is making his way away and pauses for a moment, looking back over his shoulder before shifting the rest of his body round to face more or less towards the other. "So what's your story, then?"
Toad stops, suddenly. The toe of his boots nudges eagerly into the mound of dirt where the mole last surfaced. Slowly he leans to inspect it. No mole. "Wot the 'ell do you care?" Toad wonders in a bored voice.
A slow shrug of Ewen's shoulders meets the question and he offers a broad, if wan, smile. "Shouldn't I?" he asks. "We're all out here together, we're all in this together, and I just realised I don't know the last fucking thing about any of you. We've got to all have our sob stories, right? Otherwise we wouldn't be here. If mine's so bad, what's yours?"
"No one," Toad begins gruffly, giving into temptation and lowering himself to poke further at the mole hole with a hand, "has ever sobbed o'er /me/." Wet mush and frozen ground give way to large, icy chunks of dirt as he parts the way of the tunnel below him. "Go ask Pugface 'r Jason 'r someone who gives a flyin' fuck."
"Come on, don't be like that," Ewen says with a faint grin, ambling slowly towards Toad and edging round to avoid the bulk of the flying debris. "Indulge me. Pretend I'm bored and want a story or something. Pretend I'm trying to get to know one of the guys I live with, in the maybe vain hope of finding a friend around here who isn't completely insane. I'll buy you a beer if your story's better than mine."
Toad crouches down even lower as Ewen approaches, building up a heavy defense as his shoulders threaten to all but swallow his neck and up to his ears. He keeps prying at the dirt, finally plucking a night crawler from it's brown confines. Toad studies it, then takes the same scrutinizing gaze up to Ewen. "I was born the way I look now," the green man mutters before tilting his head back and letting the coiled 'crawler drop into a waiting tongue. "/You/ figure it out," Toad says past the crunch of the treat.
"Ah." That lonely syllable is all that Ewen offers for some time, standing back to watch the other man burrow his way into the ground with another crinkling of his nose. "Tough break," he offers eventually. "I probably owe you a beer." He draws a long and thoughtful breath, and then lets it out again with a snort.
"Tough break?" Toad wonders, jerking his head to an odd angle as he blinks at Ewen. "Fuck, brainless. I woz born a mutant. Not some shitass 'uman. Count m'lucky stars near every day." Whether the laugh that follows is pertained to his latest statement or Ewens' doesn't come into words. "M'holdin' you to that beer, mate."
Mutant superiority, despite Ewen's current surroundings and company, is still a doctrine that the broad man has trouble subscribing to completely, but there is definitely more certainty in his nod than there would have been just two months ago. "I won't back out on a promise, don't you worry," he assures Toad. "Buying a drink for someone else is a great excuse to have one for yourself, after all."
Such thoughts are far from Toad's mind as he hunts for another snack. Green becomes completely hidden with brown as he cuts through the dirt. "Aye, 'aven't 'eard nothin' closer to the truth." He plucks something from the torn open tunnel, though it's just a bit of the digger animal's droppings. Toad pokes a tongue to it then drops it lazily. "M'makin' so many new friends. Won't Magneto be proud." Sarcasm nearly drowns his words as he crawls forward to move into a different section of the ground.
"Like I said before," Ewen mutters, kicking a bit of dislodged dirt by his foot, jamming one clod of it messily into the ground before managing to dislodge the next bit and flick it into the air to boot once more, kicking it across and into the forest, "I'll piss off if you want me to. Not going to force anyone to talk to me that doesn't want to."
Toad sighs and pulls up, looking up at Ewen with thinned patience marked on his face. "Looks like it's 'bout time we bought some new X-box games if talkin' to /me/ is 'ow you lot are gettin' yer jollies these days." He stands and makes a wide circle around Ewen as he heads for the targets on the far end of the range. "Now, boo-hooin' and sob stories aside, wot the 'ell do you want?"
Exasperation creases Ewen's forehead and he gives a huff of breath that curls itself into a tiny whisp of white in front of his mouth as he shakes his head. "Just thought I'd stop and chat," he comments with a shrug and a slightly amused raising of his eyebrow. "Y'know, company, that sort of thing. No man's an island. Only so many times you can shoot a target or chop firewood without it getting kind of samey."
"I'm a toad," the man of the same name seems to feel the need to point out. He approaches the target, bend a little to the side as he reaches forward to examine his own wad of spit. "Nearly killed a nasty lil' telepath wid this stuff," Toad remarks proudly, a hand digging into the front of his vest to draw out a silver 'x' pendent. "You won't be spoutin' 'samey' for too long, mate. We're in a lull, but it's these you gotta watch out for." He holds out the pendent, still on a silver string about his neck.
As the pendant is displayed, Ewen trudges back from his place by the hole towards Toad and the target for a closer look. "Why?" he asks dubiously, shooting a not-entirely-convinced glance at the shorter mutant. "Looks like a piece of jewellery to me. They spontaneously combust or something?"
"Do they?" Toad wonders suddenly, holding it out at full capacity of the chain's slack. His eyes are wide as he considers it, finally letting the trinket drop to his chest. "Wot? No. /No/. It's a lit'l X-Men charm, see? From that black heifer. White 'air. Dumb expression on 'er face. The bloomin' weather witch!" Toad tosses his hands in the air and lets out a sigh. "The X-Men, you ninny."
Comprehension is not immediate on Ewen's face, though the mention of white hair does something to jog his memory. "X-Men," he repeats. "White hair. From the school? What's her face...? Munroe. Hot." This slightly jabbered pronouncement nonetheless seems to bring with it understanding, and the gingerish head ducks into a nod. "Yeah, I remember Jean Grey telling me Magneto was the Devil, or something like that. But hell, they're mostly kids."
Toad nods slowly, tucking the little thing back under his shirt and vest. "Oh, aye. Hot piece o'ass. Tasted that one on my tongue. Brown fuckin' sugar, she is. 'Till those eyes o'ers go all white. /That's/ when you gotta keep yer 'ead down." His fingers run through his greasy crop of hair, his eyes closing up in a mock sense of wisdom. "Brainwash 'em, no doubt. Two telepaths that run the whole bloody system so it ain't no surprise."
An appreciative whistle hisses between Ewen's teeth at Toad's romantic achievements, a wide and somewhat lecherous grin splitting his broad face. "Hah, telepaths, yeah, never thought of that," he remarks idly, his thoughts not entirely on the matter at hand. "Wonder if Grey tried any of that stuff on me while I was there. But seriously, how dangerous can they /be/? I mean, there can't be more than, what, ten adults in the place, including their old cook."
"You'd be bloody surprised," Toad insists, going back to chipping his now-hardened spit from the bull's-eye of the target. "Fuck, I'll give 'em this, they train those lit'l bastards up well enough. Not to mention wot they fuckin' do. Weather control, optic blasts, fuckin' /mind control/. Not too damn shabby." The spit starts to weaken, cracking and flaking.
"We're alright on the mind control thing," Ewen reminds his companion with a tap to the telepathic dampener on his ear, watching Toad's efforts with the hardened slime with interest. "But heh, we've got Magneto. Whole fucking world's afraid of him. And Yuriko's nuts but she's scary as all hell when she fights, and I would not want to be on the wrong side of Ellen or Mystique or Sabretooth if they were pissed off, and you're a force to be reckoned with. You're not telling me you think we're outmatched?"
"/Fuck/ no," Toad snaps, catching a bit of his own hard spit on his finger. He straightens up, turning to flick it in Ewen's direction. "But m'not tellin' you to act like a dumbass when we go up 'gainst them. Which, I figure, yer gonna do 'nyways so why waste my breath?"
A snicker, drier than Ewen's usual hearty laughter, meets Toad's words as the bulky man gives a flat grin, muttering amiably, "Cheers for the vote of confidence. I'll try not to get myself killed, though you might get a bit more peace and quiet if I did, huh?" He swings round ninety degrees on the ball of one foot, staring up at the sky, checking the weather for signs of localised, vengeful thunderstorms.
"Helluva lot more," Toad agrees in a snippy voice, his eyes roaming up to the sky alongside of the man. "Maybe she's comin' back for her necklace, mate." The little green man cracks up suddenly, nearly knocking the target as he gives it a solid whap with his hand. He whoops loudly with laughter, likely edging on an uncomfortable level for anyone listening in.
Ewen's ears cannot crinkle in response to the sound, but his nose makes the effort in its stead, and he takes a step away in case the springing Toad should take it into his head to try and knock him over. "You going to try for another little taste if she does?" he wonders, satisfied that no weather witches are incoming and that they are therefore suitable targets for jibes.
Toad leans up against the target, blinking up at the sky and breathing to control his laughter. "I'll go for one o'those legs this time, I think. No. Poke 'er eyes out first, so they can't do that white thing. Then the legs. Ooh, it'll be bloody /nice/." His tongue licks wetly at his lips. "You can 'ave that read 'ead, yeah? Or, fuck, Xavier wont give much of a struggle, I dun' imagine. If that's what yer into, mate."
"I'm not a fucking fruit," Ewen says, and his words have a quick bite to them that is relatively uncharacteristic for the mellow chap. "But hah, yeah, Grey's a bit of alright. Too tall, but certainly nothing else wrong with her, if you catch my meaning. They got to be asking for it anyway, running around in all that black leather."
Toad flicks a hand up, holding it out. "Damn, gotcha. Don't have a fuckin' cow." Something about this strikes Toad as funny and he starts to chuckle again. "Yer my kinda bloke. Damn straight. We'd be doin' 'arm /not/ thinkin' about it. S'not like we got much to think about in this lot. I mean Pugface. Fuck, you seen her? Her mutation is being able ter survive that face she's got on 'er."
"Pugface?" Ewen enquires with a faintly raised eyebrow above a look of slightly squinty concentration as he mentally cycles through the Brotherhood's female roster. It is possible his mind's eye is clouded with black leather. "Which one's that, then? Can't have missed her in a place as small as this, surely?"
Toad clambers on top of the target, wobbling a moment before testing out his balance and stroking his chin. "'Ell. I've gone an' forgotten 'er real name. Been callin' 'er Pugface ever since I 'ad the misfortune o'seein' 'ere." He lifts a hand, wiggling his fingers as he motions towards the compound's direction. "The one... wid the time forwardin' power. Turn yer nuts into dried prunes in no time flat. That 'un."
Understanding dawns with a nod and Ewen scuffs a foot at an offending blade of grass on the floor, tipping his foot sideways to make contact with it in a neat soccer move. "Masia," he supplies, just in case Toad is interested. "Heh, she may not be a supermodel, but with what she can do, I'm not going to be insulting her to her face. I'll keep my balls how they are, thanks."
Toad flaps his lips, looking away to demonstrate how uninterested he is in her real name. "Smart kid," the man sneers to himself. "I can mess wid her. But, y'know, I rank. She's pretty screwed if she tries somethin'."
Ewen is not about to argue this point, but there is something faintly amused in the way he remarks, "So're you," glancing up above his hunched shoulders to the perched Toad to watch his reaction.
Toad's eyes narrow, pondering over Ewen even long after the words fade off his lips. He tenses. Then, suddenly, laughs. "Probably, mate. Aye, likely!" His hands slip down, grabbing the edge of the target a split second before he's off in the air. Toad sails over Ewen and lands with a plop behind him. "Think I'll go take a shower. Get m'self ready for my love that arrives by wind!" The Brother throws his hands to the air, shuffle-stepping playfully as he bounds away.
Turning with faint bafflement as Toad's leap takes him over his head, Ewen tips a nod to the green mutant and calls after him with a cheery, "Pick her some nice flowers." He stops for a moment and turns to face the targets in search something to jog his memory of what he was planning to do next, and then smacks himself soundly on the forehead and heads off after Toad at a somewhat slower pace, stomping his feet to keep himself warm as the evening draws to a close.
On a stretch of land near the stream too rocky to support heavier forest growth, a shabby (but effective) shooting range has been constructed using fresh paper and plastic targets nailed into place over props assembled out of rotting pieces of wood and nails found around the mine. A shotgun-peppered and weather-washed deer dummy stands far off to one side as well, next to a headless and equally lead-filled male mannequin.
[Exits : [F]orest]
[Players : Ewen ]
The air is bright and the weather is finally wintry enough to warrant warm attire for those who have chosen to venture outside. One such person is by the shooting range, bundled up in a green jacket that puffs out around his waist to make him look rather bigger than his naturally not inconsiderable size, but though is is using the range there is no sound spreading through the calm air other than an occasional hiss of rushing air followed by a tiny, slightly damp thudding. He stands with right hand splayed out in front of him aiming along his middle finger before letting fly at the target again. Whissh, thump.
Toad is bored. After buzzing around all morning on the newly-restored four-runner, he has lost his interest in the toy. Now he hunts for new means of amusement. The little green man strolls, not hops, down the pathway, kicking at rocks to scatter them into the brush on the side of the path. He pauses, listens, and continues on his way. Toad emerges into the clearing, patting down his pocket-full hunting vest, the thick layer of a cotton work shirt covering most of his green skin. Boots crunch in the icy ground as the Brother makes his presence known. "Wotcher doin' out here?" Toad sneers, the usual suspicious flecked in his whiney voice.
The approach of a newcomer does not immediately distract Ewen from his practice, but the speech does, and he lowers his hand before turning towards Toad, stomping slightly and shifting his shoulders to hunch his jacket back into position. "Practising," he informs his new companion easily, stuffing his hand into his pocket to ward off the chill. "Though it's getting kind of cold out here, was thinking of going in soon, if you want me to piss off."
"Woz thinkin' about it, aye." Toad responds just as easily. He comes shoulder up to the taller man. The yellow, piercing eyes don't meet Ewen since they instead take a keen interest in the target. Toad rolls back on his heels casually, the corner of his nose twitching up as he gathers a wad of spit in the back of his through with a loud, wet snort. His hands lift from his sides, balancing him out as he jerks forward suddenly. With a sickening splat a greenish yellow loogey glumps barely off center of the target. Eyes finally lift to Ewen. "'Ow's that, eh? Bet'er out than down the 'atch, I always say!"
"Bloody hell," remarks Ewen, squinting at the gob of slime with a schoolboy's fascination with and appreciation for the gruesome. "Nice shot," he adds incidentally. "It's kind of hard to tell where I've hit it without going right up and looking for the damp bits where it's hit the thing behind it, but that's a much better marker." He eyes it contemplatively again, commenting idly, "You'd beat me hands down in a cherry stone spitting contest."
Toad can't help but grin at the words, settling into the praise easily. "Harr. I'd beat you good an' easy. In more'n cherry stones, too." His hands slide back into his pockets and he tests the firmness of the ground idly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The cold bites at his nose, a warm tongue lapping at it before retreating just as quickly. "Can you touch yer nose wid yer tongue, mate?"
An amused guffaw cracks the air at Toad's antics and Ewen tilts his head to the side ponderously. "Used to be able to. Not with as much style as you, though," he admits, though this does not stop him from trying. His tongue spreads flat across his philtrum as it strains towards the tip of his nose, hitting it with a triumphant exclamation and a garble of syllables that are repeated after he wipes his wrist across his face to clear the saliva. "Well look at that, I still can."
Those same pale, large eyes keep watch on him, his neck tucking down into the safe protection of the turned up vest collar. "Style," he repeats with a curious croak. With a half-shuffle back, Toad wades through the lightly iced ground. "You must be proud. Yer eye?" is the next inquiry while one of his own eyes shutting in a grimaced wink as the oddly-colored tongue dabs at that next.
"Hah, not even close," Ewen grins, throwing in the towel cheerfully on a contest he can't possibly win. "Probably tie myself up in some interesting knots trying, though." Apparently, this is enough impetus to do just that, and his face contorts lopsidedly as he reaches his tongue futilely up towards his eye, making himself look both mildly constipated and extremely deranged at the same time.
Toad's unkempt eyebrows shoot up, a delighted grin on his face sprouting as the other attempts to do the impossible. "Oi, dun' worry 'bout that. I can gladly get it for you!" Released alongside a particularly nasty snicker, Toad's tongue zots at one of Ewen's eyes. Perhaps not at /full/ strength, though fairly close. He scrambles backwards, hooting happily like a deranged version of one of the three stooges.
The impact sends Ewen flying backwards with a startled, "Bahh!" half way between surprise and disgust, his hands jerking out of his pockets to hit Toad with a blast of his own, the force of a strong wind not enough to quite repay the green mutant blow for blow as the taller man lands soundly on his backside on the floor. "Bloody cheek," he mutters with convivial grumpiness, looking up at Toad as he rocks himself forward onto his heels to begin to stand.
The blast of wind causes Toad to stumble back a few steps, though he regains himself by quickly dropping into a balance-seeking crouch. "Lesson one, boy-o! Lesson one. Bloomin' 'ell, you shoud'ah seen that comin'." His amused hiccups bubble out as he rocks side to side, letting his knuckles scar the mush underneath him. "Fuck, I /fart/ 'arder than that."
"Charming," Ewen replies, something of a cockney twang creeping into his impressionable accent even after this short conversation with Toad, pushing himself up to a standing position and brushing a hand across his backside to wipe blades of grass away, though he can do little about the damp that marks a spreading dark patch on the seat of his trousers. "If you want to leave the room before you do that, I think people'd appreciate it."
"Oh? Nah, nah mate. Look, they usually smell loike a fresh pot o'planted daises compared ter me!" Toad's hands wave happily in the air, gesturing to his remark. "Though s'not loike I really give a flippin' fuck now is it? S'wot 'appens when you digest whole beasts, bones an' all." He snuggles down into his position, sliding the flats of his elbows to his knees.
"Oh, well then, that's okay," Ewen remarks airily, throwing his hands into the air in grinning surrender. "Yup, fair enough, won't argue." He reaches one gnarled hand up to scratch at the top of his spine, wondering aloud, "'S it your mutation that makes you like -- or need, I guess -- that shit, or have you always been a fur and beaks kind of guy?"
Toad leans to the side, stretching one of his legs out to full length. "Eh. S'far as I can figure it's got somethin' ter do with stomach acids an' digestive shit. Can't eat refined food. Gives me a stomach ache loike a bloody kick to the nuts, it does." Finally his leg is drug right back in and he stands, not bothering to dust off the particles of nature he's gathered from the ground. "Except Bagel Bites. 'Ell, I'll stand the stomach pains fer those, never you worry. They're like... fuckin' pizza. On a bagel.". He pinches his fingers, squinting at them in hope of demonstrating how amazing they truly are.
"Bagel Bites," Ewen repeats ponderously, clacking his teeth together in an imitation of eating apparently meant to aid the processes of memory. "Nope, don't think I've ever had them. I'll try one sometime. Bet they're not as good as the pizza my old granddad used to make. He was Italian. Made the dough from scratch and everything. /Those'd/ be worth any stomach ache in the world." Reminiscence has gone from a difficulty to an experience that is pracically making the bulky man salivate.
Toad shoves his hands deep into the large pockets of his vest, his face glaring downwards. "Huh. Fuck you an' yer gran'dad. Want some damn bagel bites now." Eyes roam upwards while his head is still aimed down at the earth, and he shuffles forward and around Ewen. "Now, if you 'ad it so fuckin' good wid yer pizza an' yer gran'dad, why the 'ell are you in the Brother'ood, mate?"
Ruddy skin wrinkles uneasily around Ewen's nose and his hands are returned to his jacket pockets, shoving the material forwards as he breathes huffily in the cold air. "Granddad's dead now, has been for years. So's my brother -- my biological brother, that is. He's the reason I'm here. /He/ got killed because /I'm/ a mutant and people back home knew about it. He was getting in the way of them passing registration back in England too. So they fucking killed him. That's why I'm here."
"Tearjerker, that." Steam puffs out of Toad's sneer like fog from a little, green, sarcastic choo-choo. "Dun' get yer panties in a ruddy bunch if I dun' buy you a beer o'er it. Lived such a 'ard life wot wid gran'dads an' bothers an' 'ot meals. /Damn/ shame." He begins to wander to the edge of the clearing, not looking back as he follows the gentle trail of a burrowing mole. "Fuckin' /kids/."
"Yeah, thanks," mutters Ewen, turning his shoulder towards the shorter mutant and glaring out at the shooting range with a mixture of anger and regret for a moment before he realises Toad is making his way away and pauses for a moment, looking back over his shoulder before shifting the rest of his body round to face more or less towards the other. "So what's your story, then?"
Toad stops, suddenly. The toe of his boots nudges eagerly into the mound of dirt where the mole last surfaced. Slowly he leans to inspect it. No mole. "Wot the 'ell do you care?" Toad wonders in a bored voice.
A slow shrug of Ewen's shoulders meets the question and he offers a broad, if wan, smile. "Shouldn't I?" he asks. "We're all out here together, we're all in this together, and I just realised I don't know the last fucking thing about any of you. We've got to all have our sob stories, right? Otherwise we wouldn't be here. If mine's so bad, what's yours?"
"No one," Toad begins gruffly, giving into temptation and lowering himself to poke further at the mole hole with a hand, "has ever sobbed o'er /me/." Wet mush and frozen ground give way to large, icy chunks of dirt as he parts the way of the tunnel below him. "Go ask Pugface 'r Jason 'r someone who gives a flyin' fuck."
"Come on, don't be like that," Ewen says with a faint grin, ambling slowly towards Toad and edging round to avoid the bulk of the flying debris. "Indulge me. Pretend I'm bored and want a story or something. Pretend I'm trying to get to know one of the guys I live with, in the maybe vain hope of finding a friend around here who isn't completely insane. I'll buy you a beer if your story's better than mine."
Toad crouches down even lower as Ewen approaches, building up a heavy defense as his shoulders threaten to all but swallow his neck and up to his ears. He keeps prying at the dirt, finally plucking a night crawler from it's brown confines. Toad studies it, then takes the same scrutinizing gaze up to Ewen. "I was born the way I look now," the green man mutters before tilting his head back and letting the coiled 'crawler drop into a waiting tongue. "/You/ figure it out," Toad says past the crunch of the treat.
"Ah." That lonely syllable is all that Ewen offers for some time, standing back to watch the other man burrow his way into the ground with another crinkling of his nose. "Tough break," he offers eventually. "I probably owe you a beer." He draws a long and thoughtful breath, and then lets it out again with a snort.
"Tough break?" Toad wonders, jerking his head to an odd angle as he blinks at Ewen. "Fuck, brainless. I woz born a mutant. Not some shitass 'uman. Count m'lucky stars near every day." Whether the laugh that follows is pertained to his latest statement or Ewens' doesn't come into words. "M'holdin' you to that beer, mate."
Mutant superiority, despite Ewen's current surroundings and company, is still a doctrine that the broad man has trouble subscribing to completely, but there is definitely more certainty in his nod than there would have been just two months ago. "I won't back out on a promise, don't you worry," he assures Toad. "Buying a drink for someone else is a great excuse to have one for yourself, after all."
Such thoughts are far from Toad's mind as he hunts for another snack. Green becomes completely hidden with brown as he cuts through the dirt. "Aye, 'aven't 'eard nothin' closer to the truth." He plucks something from the torn open tunnel, though it's just a bit of the digger animal's droppings. Toad pokes a tongue to it then drops it lazily. "M'makin' so many new friends. Won't Magneto be proud." Sarcasm nearly drowns his words as he crawls forward to move into a different section of the ground.
"Like I said before," Ewen mutters, kicking a bit of dislodged dirt by his foot, jamming one clod of it messily into the ground before managing to dislodge the next bit and flick it into the air to boot once more, kicking it across and into the forest, "I'll piss off if you want me to. Not going to force anyone to talk to me that doesn't want to."
Toad sighs and pulls up, looking up at Ewen with thinned patience marked on his face. "Looks like it's 'bout time we bought some new X-box games if talkin' to /me/ is 'ow you lot are gettin' yer jollies these days." He stands and makes a wide circle around Ewen as he heads for the targets on the far end of the range. "Now, boo-hooin' and sob stories aside, wot the 'ell do you want?"
Exasperation creases Ewen's forehead and he gives a huff of breath that curls itself into a tiny whisp of white in front of his mouth as he shakes his head. "Just thought I'd stop and chat," he comments with a shrug and a slightly amused raising of his eyebrow. "Y'know, company, that sort of thing. No man's an island. Only so many times you can shoot a target or chop firewood without it getting kind of samey."
"I'm a toad," the man of the same name seems to feel the need to point out. He approaches the target, bend a little to the side as he reaches forward to examine his own wad of spit. "Nearly killed a nasty lil' telepath wid this stuff," Toad remarks proudly, a hand digging into the front of his vest to draw out a silver 'x' pendent. "You won't be spoutin' 'samey' for too long, mate. We're in a lull, but it's these you gotta watch out for." He holds out the pendent, still on a silver string about his neck.
As the pendant is displayed, Ewen trudges back from his place by the hole towards Toad and the target for a closer look. "Why?" he asks dubiously, shooting a not-entirely-convinced glance at the shorter mutant. "Looks like a piece of jewellery to me. They spontaneously combust or something?"
"Do they?" Toad wonders suddenly, holding it out at full capacity of the chain's slack. His eyes are wide as he considers it, finally letting the trinket drop to his chest. "Wot? No. /No/. It's a lit'l X-Men charm, see? From that black heifer. White 'air. Dumb expression on 'er face. The bloomin' weather witch!" Toad tosses his hands in the air and lets out a sigh. "The X-Men, you ninny."
Comprehension is not immediate on Ewen's face, though the mention of white hair does something to jog his memory. "X-Men," he repeats. "White hair. From the school? What's her face...? Munroe. Hot." This slightly jabbered pronouncement nonetheless seems to bring with it understanding, and the gingerish head ducks into a nod. "Yeah, I remember Jean Grey telling me Magneto was the Devil, or something like that. But hell, they're mostly kids."
Toad nods slowly, tucking the little thing back under his shirt and vest. "Oh, aye. Hot piece o'ass. Tasted that one on my tongue. Brown fuckin' sugar, she is. 'Till those eyes o'ers go all white. /That's/ when you gotta keep yer 'ead down." His fingers run through his greasy crop of hair, his eyes closing up in a mock sense of wisdom. "Brainwash 'em, no doubt. Two telepaths that run the whole bloody system so it ain't no surprise."
An appreciative whistle hisses between Ewen's teeth at Toad's romantic achievements, a wide and somewhat lecherous grin splitting his broad face. "Hah, telepaths, yeah, never thought of that," he remarks idly, his thoughts not entirely on the matter at hand. "Wonder if Grey tried any of that stuff on me while I was there. But seriously, how dangerous can they /be/? I mean, there can't be more than, what, ten adults in the place, including their old cook."
"You'd be bloody surprised," Toad insists, going back to chipping his now-hardened spit from the bull's-eye of the target. "Fuck, I'll give 'em this, they train those lit'l bastards up well enough. Not to mention wot they fuckin' do. Weather control, optic blasts, fuckin' /mind control/. Not too damn shabby." The spit starts to weaken, cracking and flaking.
"We're alright on the mind control thing," Ewen reminds his companion with a tap to the telepathic dampener on his ear, watching Toad's efforts with the hardened slime with interest. "But heh, we've got Magneto. Whole fucking world's afraid of him. And Yuriko's nuts but she's scary as all hell when she fights, and I would not want to be on the wrong side of Ellen or Mystique or Sabretooth if they were pissed off, and you're a force to be reckoned with. You're not telling me you think we're outmatched?"
"/Fuck/ no," Toad snaps, catching a bit of his own hard spit on his finger. He straightens up, turning to flick it in Ewen's direction. "But m'not tellin' you to act like a dumbass when we go up 'gainst them. Which, I figure, yer gonna do 'nyways so why waste my breath?"
A snicker, drier than Ewen's usual hearty laughter, meets Toad's words as the bulky man gives a flat grin, muttering amiably, "Cheers for the vote of confidence. I'll try not to get myself killed, though you might get a bit more peace and quiet if I did, huh?" He swings round ninety degrees on the ball of one foot, staring up at the sky, checking the weather for signs of localised, vengeful thunderstorms.
"Helluva lot more," Toad agrees in a snippy voice, his eyes roaming up to the sky alongside of the man. "Maybe she's comin' back for her necklace, mate." The little green man cracks up suddenly, nearly knocking the target as he gives it a solid whap with his hand. He whoops loudly with laughter, likely edging on an uncomfortable level for anyone listening in.
Ewen's ears cannot crinkle in response to the sound, but his nose makes the effort in its stead, and he takes a step away in case the springing Toad should take it into his head to try and knock him over. "You going to try for another little taste if she does?" he wonders, satisfied that no weather witches are incoming and that they are therefore suitable targets for jibes.
Toad leans up against the target, blinking up at the sky and breathing to control his laughter. "I'll go for one o'those legs this time, I think. No. Poke 'er eyes out first, so they can't do that white thing. Then the legs. Ooh, it'll be bloody /nice/." His tongue licks wetly at his lips. "You can 'ave that read 'ead, yeah? Or, fuck, Xavier wont give much of a struggle, I dun' imagine. If that's what yer into, mate."
"I'm not a fucking fruit," Ewen says, and his words have a quick bite to them that is relatively uncharacteristic for the mellow chap. "But hah, yeah, Grey's a bit of alright. Too tall, but certainly nothing else wrong with her, if you catch my meaning. They got to be asking for it anyway, running around in all that black leather."
Toad flicks a hand up, holding it out. "Damn, gotcha. Don't have a fuckin' cow." Something about this strikes Toad as funny and he starts to chuckle again. "Yer my kinda bloke. Damn straight. We'd be doin' 'arm /not/ thinkin' about it. S'not like we got much to think about in this lot. I mean Pugface. Fuck, you seen her? Her mutation is being able ter survive that face she's got on 'er."
"Pugface?" Ewen enquires with a faintly raised eyebrow above a look of slightly squinty concentration as he mentally cycles through the Brotherhood's female roster. It is possible his mind's eye is clouded with black leather. "Which one's that, then? Can't have missed her in a place as small as this, surely?"
Toad clambers on top of the target, wobbling a moment before testing out his balance and stroking his chin. "'Ell. I've gone an' forgotten 'er real name. Been callin' 'er Pugface ever since I 'ad the misfortune o'seein' 'ere." He lifts a hand, wiggling his fingers as he motions towards the compound's direction. "The one... wid the time forwardin' power. Turn yer nuts into dried prunes in no time flat. That 'un."
Understanding dawns with a nod and Ewen scuffs a foot at an offending blade of grass on the floor, tipping his foot sideways to make contact with it in a neat soccer move. "Masia," he supplies, just in case Toad is interested. "Heh, she may not be a supermodel, but with what she can do, I'm not going to be insulting her to her face. I'll keep my balls how they are, thanks."
Toad flaps his lips, looking away to demonstrate how uninterested he is in her real name. "Smart kid," the man sneers to himself. "I can mess wid her. But, y'know, I rank. She's pretty screwed if she tries somethin'."
Ewen is not about to argue this point, but there is something faintly amused in the way he remarks, "So're you," glancing up above his hunched shoulders to the perched Toad to watch his reaction.
Toad's eyes narrow, pondering over Ewen even long after the words fade off his lips. He tenses. Then, suddenly, laughs. "Probably, mate. Aye, likely!" His hands slip down, grabbing the edge of the target a split second before he's off in the air. Toad sails over Ewen and lands with a plop behind him. "Think I'll go take a shower. Get m'self ready for my love that arrives by wind!" The Brother throws his hands to the air, shuffle-stepping playfully as he bounds away.
Turning with faint bafflement as Toad's leap takes him over his head, Ewen tips a nod to the green mutant and calls after him with a cheery, "Pick her some nice flowers." He stops for a moment and turns to face the targets in search something to jog his memory of what he was planning to do next, and then smacks himself soundly on the forehead and heads off after Toad at a somewhat slower pace, stomping his feet to keep himself warm as the evening draws to a close.