Mystique; NYC
Light does not find its way into the dank little alley, the rays blocked from the dim early spring afternoon by towering buildings on either side. No one appears to be occupying the cramped, long space at first notice. The only company of the ally being several overturned trashcans and a large, rust lined dumpster plopped at the end without much care. Though with a long enough pause someone could notice a shuffling, sniffling, rustling noise from the metal container, alongside the occasional thump against the metal siding from the inside.
Notice someone does, and heels click their way down the length of the alley accompanied by a somewhat disgusted wrinkle of a pert nose. "Mortimer."
All noise stops. Slowly the top of the dumpster lifts as long, green fingers snake to curl around the rusty rim. The top perks even further to reveal pale yellow eyes peeking from the dark depths. "Care ter step inter me office?" comes the sharp British clipped voice with a flash of plaque encrusted teeth.
"I had hoped for a cup of coffee," Mystique replies with a clear flash of irritation. "But I'm hardly willing to take you into a public place now. Come out of there."
"You would 'ave before?" Toad snickers, pushing up and crossing his arms over the edge of his little metal nest. "'Ey, some o'us are gettin' things done. Interestin' things these bastards throw out. Coulda stolen 'least four identities by now. Too bad m'so hooked on me own purty lit'l life."
"There are far easier ways to steal an identity," Mystique remarks dryly.
Toad smirks. "Oh, ech. You /would/ say that, muffin. C'mon. Do the weather witch fer ol' times sake? Wit' the pissy face an' everything!" Playfully he grins down at her, wiggling a pinky into his ear and digging at the caked, orange buildup.
For a moment, there is a hint of amusement on Mystique's face, although she does not change as requested. "Do you think you could manage to come out? "
Toad puts on a sneaky little pout, untwining his arms and popping the top off so it swings back and flops against the back outside of the dumpster. He clambers up, balancing himself on the edge, feet spread and hands clamped to the metal between the large clodhoppers. "Wot's eatin' yer?"
"Has Victor contacted you?"
"Ah-nope!" Toad replies honestly. "Now, honestly, yer think I wouldn't be tellin' yer something like that, luff?"
"I'm sure you would, Mortimer," Mystique allows, and she turns silghtly to glance down the alleyway, one hand lifted to press at the bridge of her nose. "I had simply hoped."
Toad eases down, letting his legs pool down and hang over with heels bumping innocently at the side of his perch. His hands say to the sides of him, pressing against his hips as he keeps a firm hold. "Yer all right?" he wonders with some effort.
Mystique's hand drops instantly and her gaze swings back up to Toad. Her voice is tightly dismissive. "Of course. "
One of Toad's eyebrows hitches up and he leans forward to study her.
Mystique's eyes narrow slightly. There is a moment of silence and then she allows, "I am considering a phone call to Erik."
"Oh?" Toad murmurs, pulling himself up and finally sliding off his seat to land with a dull thump. He makes busy to brush himself off. "Yer think 'e'd know where Whiskers is?"
"I do not know," Mystiqe admits, eyeing Toad. Her voice is tight. "It's possible that he simply left."
Toad's hands slow and finally he stops to look up at her. There is a possible bit of distress on his face at this. "Wot? Nah. 'E wouldn't 'ave just up an' left!"
"Why not?"
"Coz 'e... coz..." Toad begins, circling his hand to aid an excuse which does not come. "Why /would/ 'e?"
"I don't know, Mortimer!" Mystique's voice rises in a sudden, angry snap. "The Brotherhood is dropping like flies. Perhaps there is nothing left for him there. Perhaps he has no wish to be a part of it. Perhaps he's sick of our company. Perhaps he's simply /crazy/."
Toad cowers under the anger, hands leaping to wring at each other. His shoulders hunch up and takes a shuffling step right back into the wall of metal behind him. "Per'aps," Toad agrees miserably down at the ground.
There is a moment, brief though it is, when Mystique looks regretful as she watches Toad stare at the ground. She draws in a measured breath and presses her eyes closed. "I will call Erik," she murmurs evenly. "And if there is nothing-- perhaps Xavier's. The pyrokinetic was theirs. Rogue." Her eyes blink open on Toad. "I imagine you remember."
Toad continues hs stare at the ground, only moving to shift his weight awkwardly. "Ech, aye. I remember. Ruddy lit'l brat," he comments with the slimmest of grins up to her. "Not gonna do the kidnappin' thing 'gain, are we? Dun' 'xactly need the X-Men on our tails, eh? Not ter mention m'ears /just/ stopped ringin' from the last time that lit'l doll woz around."
"I have no desire to steal any of their irritating little children," Mystique replies, meeting Toad's grin with a disdainful flare of her eyes. "I wouldn't put it past Victor to have, though."
Yellow eyes blink with realization. "Oh bloody /fuck/," he hisses. "Just wot we need. 'Im all crashin' around that fuggin' place to retrieve some whiney snot."
"Precisely."
"'E's not that stupid," Toad attempts to console himself.
"Victor Creed."
"Oh, yeah."
"Mm." Mystique shifts slightly, spine straightening. "Contact me instantly if you hear anything, please."
Toad steps forward slightly. giving himself another quick brush-off. "Not gonna go get that coffee, then?"
"You smell like garbage."
Toad's nostrils flare. "Welcome ter New York?"
"Indeed," Mystique answers dryly. There is a pause, and then she repeats, "Instantly, Toad. I don't relish the thought of staying here."
"Gotcha, Marm! Yer'll be the first ter know." Toad snaps quickly, throwing a messy hand up to his brow. With figuring the meeting it over, Toad turns to start climbing back into the dumpster. He pauses halfway up, looking over his shoulder. "Tell Magneto I said 'allo?" he asks quietly.
Mystique meets Toad's gaze for a moment, silent and dark with understanding before she jerks a stiff nod. "Certainly," she allows, and then turns on her heel to go.
Notice someone does, and heels click their way down the length of the alley accompanied by a somewhat disgusted wrinkle of a pert nose. "Mortimer."
All noise stops. Slowly the top of the dumpster lifts as long, green fingers snake to curl around the rusty rim. The top perks even further to reveal pale yellow eyes peeking from the dark depths. "Care ter step inter me office?" comes the sharp British clipped voice with a flash of plaque encrusted teeth.
"I had hoped for a cup of coffee," Mystique replies with a clear flash of irritation. "But I'm hardly willing to take you into a public place now. Come out of there."
"You would 'ave before?" Toad snickers, pushing up and crossing his arms over the edge of his little metal nest. "'Ey, some o'us are gettin' things done. Interestin' things these bastards throw out. Coulda stolen 'least four identities by now. Too bad m'so hooked on me own purty lit'l life."
"There are far easier ways to steal an identity," Mystique remarks dryly.
Toad smirks. "Oh, ech. You /would/ say that, muffin. C'mon. Do the weather witch fer ol' times sake? Wit' the pissy face an' everything!" Playfully he grins down at her, wiggling a pinky into his ear and digging at the caked, orange buildup.
For a moment, there is a hint of amusement on Mystique's face, although she does not change as requested. "Do you think you could manage to come out? "
Toad puts on a sneaky little pout, untwining his arms and popping the top off so it swings back and flops against the back outside of the dumpster. He clambers up, balancing himself on the edge, feet spread and hands clamped to the metal between the large clodhoppers. "Wot's eatin' yer?"
"Has Victor contacted you?"
"Ah-nope!" Toad replies honestly. "Now, honestly, yer think I wouldn't be tellin' yer something like that, luff?"
"I'm sure you would, Mortimer," Mystique allows, and she turns silghtly to glance down the alleyway, one hand lifted to press at the bridge of her nose. "I had simply hoped."
Toad eases down, letting his legs pool down and hang over with heels bumping innocently at the side of his perch. His hands say to the sides of him, pressing against his hips as he keeps a firm hold. "Yer all right?" he wonders with some effort.
Mystique's hand drops instantly and her gaze swings back up to Toad. Her voice is tightly dismissive. "Of course. "
One of Toad's eyebrows hitches up and he leans forward to study her.
Mystique's eyes narrow slightly. There is a moment of silence and then she allows, "I am considering a phone call to Erik."
"Oh?" Toad murmurs, pulling himself up and finally sliding off his seat to land with a dull thump. He makes busy to brush himself off. "Yer think 'e'd know where Whiskers is?"
"I do not know," Mystiqe admits, eyeing Toad. Her voice is tight. "It's possible that he simply left."
Toad's hands slow and finally he stops to look up at her. There is a possible bit of distress on his face at this. "Wot? Nah. 'E wouldn't 'ave just up an' left!"
"Why not?"
"Coz 'e... coz..." Toad begins, circling his hand to aid an excuse which does not come. "Why /would/ 'e?"
"I don't know, Mortimer!" Mystique's voice rises in a sudden, angry snap. "The Brotherhood is dropping like flies. Perhaps there is nothing left for him there. Perhaps he has no wish to be a part of it. Perhaps he's sick of our company. Perhaps he's simply /crazy/."
Toad cowers under the anger, hands leaping to wring at each other. His shoulders hunch up and takes a shuffling step right back into the wall of metal behind him. "Per'aps," Toad agrees miserably down at the ground.
There is a moment, brief though it is, when Mystique looks regretful as she watches Toad stare at the ground. She draws in a measured breath and presses her eyes closed. "I will call Erik," she murmurs evenly. "And if there is nothing-- perhaps Xavier's. The pyrokinetic was theirs. Rogue." Her eyes blink open on Toad. "I imagine you remember."
Toad continues hs stare at the ground, only moving to shift his weight awkwardly. "Ech, aye. I remember. Ruddy lit'l brat," he comments with the slimmest of grins up to her. "Not gonna do the kidnappin' thing 'gain, are we? Dun' 'xactly need the X-Men on our tails, eh? Not ter mention m'ears /just/ stopped ringin' from the last time that lit'l doll woz around."
"I have no desire to steal any of their irritating little children," Mystique replies, meeting Toad's grin with a disdainful flare of her eyes. "I wouldn't put it past Victor to have, though."
Yellow eyes blink with realization. "Oh bloody /fuck/," he hisses. "Just wot we need. 'Im all crashin' around that fuggin' place to retrieve some whiney snot."
"Precisely."
"'E's not that stupid," Toad attempts to console himself.
"Victor Creed."
"Oh, yeah."
"Mm." Mystique shifts slightly, spine straightening. "Contact me instantly if you hear anything, please."
Toad steps forward slightly. giving himself another quick brush-off. "Not gonna go get that coffee, then?"
"You smell like garbage."
Toad's nostrils flare. "Welcome ter New York?"
"Indeed," Mystique answers dryly. There is a pause, and then she repeats, "Instantly, Toad. I don't relish the thought of staying here."
"Gotcha, Marm! Yer'll be the first ter know." Toad snaps quickly, throwing a messy hand up to his brow. With figuring the meeting it over, Toad turns to start climbing back into the dumpster. He pauses halfway up, looking over his shoulder. "Tell Magneto I said 'allo?" he asks quietly.
Mystique meets Toad's gaze for a moment, silent and dark with understanding before she jerks a stiff nod. "Certainly," she allows, and then turns on her heel to go.