Jason; NYC
It's impossible to loiter in the Bronx. Or, at least, loiter in the Bronx and have it be remarkable. The Bronx is meant for standing around outside and looking vaguely disreputable. This is what Jason is doing now, rolling a cigarette that likely does not exist between his fingers and watching the sun set with indifference. He is leaned up against an apartment building. He is also undisguised.
He has also been spotted. Toad lurks quietly, watching the loiterer with sharp interest from a fire escape along the wall of the next building over. After a while of study Toad adjusts the baseball cap on his head, squeezing through the bars and dropping silently to the ground six feet below. With a crounch and a scuttle, Toad meanders by, grabbing at Jason to toss him over one shoulder. "Allo allo aloo," he says brightly.
Fire, ice, and wind are all at Jason's command. (As are green rabbits, lice, and werewolves.) A flicker of thought and the word changes. A flicker of thought and that pretend cigarette lights and produces a thin wisp of smoke. But Jason's thought flickers do /not/ anticipate being slung over no shoulders and so Jason ends up face against a Toadly back and muttering a breathless, "What the /hell/?"
"Enjoy the view an' shut yer trap, mate," Toad warns the other man as he aims himself down the street. His walk is bouncy , almost a trot as Toad rounds down into a smaller side street. Finally Toad bends, hefting Jason off his shoulder and back to the ground. "Turtle! Knew that freckly mug two blocks away!"
Jason braces his hands half-successfully against the other mutants back. "I can hollow your head out with a stray-- desire, you know. This is very undignified." But dark and terrible as Jason's threat doubtless is, it's made rather half-heartedly and he's even smiling when he's ... released. "And aren't I glad of that. What are you /doing/ here?"
Toad grins back, an honest to god smile despite how much his liver-skinned lips portray this as a sneer. "Been 'round town. I only 'ad so many computer parts ter play wit' back at the farm. Ran inter yer roommate 'bout two nights ago."
"I didn't think you'd come." Jason's smile is oh-rather-earnest itself. "But, hey, my roommate is your roommate."
"Oh ho ho," Toad croaks, tapping the back of his hand at Jason's stomach. "Not invitin' Toad ter stay, are yeh? Coy sunava bitch! M'here, mate. An' all wit'out you leavin' a single call back number."
Jason hops back. A little hope, perhaps too slow. "Why, yes, I am. I figure if Brotherhood flotsam drifts in, we would be /amiss/ not to gather it." Jason clasps his hands together in mock piety. "Yes?"
Toad wiggles his fingers eagerly at his sides until they are shoved into his pockets. "Couldn't say no ter that, no no. Bone'ead'll be so /pleased/." His green, chisled chin tilts up as yellowed eyes scan the tops of the buildings. "Pretty cozy 'bout 'ere, are yeh?"
"What's she going to do? Say it's too crowded? I'll rent us a better place." Jason dismisses all such possible objections1 And unclasps his hands. "Cozy enough. Had I my way, it would be less cozy and more ... more. But it does well enough."
"Always knew you 'ad a bloomin' 'eart, mate. Knew it all along." Toad's boast comes with a rock on his feet, eyes up into Jason's with unmasked delight. "You need any ol' thing? The pickin's easier in New York than it's ever been. Scored a whole computer off a guy in the subway this week. You want it? S'yers. Juicy information on it too, we might just have ter bug this dude fer laughs. Self-hatin' mutant s'far as I can figure."
"Delightful. Two thieves in one flat. I suspect we'll do nicely." And Jason is looking Toad carefully over, as if to determine whether he is wounded or newly deformed or -- something. "Keep the computer . . . share the information. I figure we might as well get something done while we're here."
Nope. Just lonely. Isn't it sad? "Done! Righto, Turtle, righto. Been thinkin' 'bout that m'self. 'Oo needs fuggin' Magneto, eh? 'Oo need 'im?" Toad demands, drawing a hand from his pocket and slapping his thigh.
"I think we will be better off without him. Or, at least, I will." And Jason's gradual look over has turned into more of a direct face glance, and a little bit probing. "You didn't take his offer? Or ... whatever?"
Toad fiddles with the cracking plastic adjuster on the back of his Knicks cap, eyes turning down. "Oh, er. Well, I tried, yer know. Went ter take it. Tol' me he'd changed 'is mind. Didn't need Toad no more. After, yer know, more 'en ten years o'service. Fuck 'im," the small man snaps, jaw clenching as he looks pointedly way. "So, where's the pad, Freckles?"
"There, there. At least he let you down gently," Jason says with a sarcasm so easy as to be nearly an off-hand sing-song. He points at the building across the street. "That's where it is. We will, I think, have to rent something larger."
Toad snorts, eyes quick on Jason with a slight narrow. The look doesn't last long and Toad is quickly swaggering back up the tiny street to get a better look. "Not too shabby, Turtle. Not t'all. Yer dun' really ?ave to. Yer know me. I come I go. Sleep durin' the day, come out at night sorta thing. I fit in small areas. Couch is fine by Toad!" His granny smith adam's apple bobs with a chuckle.
"I'm already occupying the couch. It's no trouble. /Money/ is no object." Jason does not swagger, but he does small-step after Toad, lowering his arm. "Nothing is any object."
Toad stops at the threshold of the street, eyes still up on the pointed out building. "The power o'imagination, eh?"
"The power of shanghai'ing other people's imaginations," Jason corrects, and stops, as well. "It's time I put it to good use."
Toad swings a hand up to pat Jason firmly on the back. "There y'go. Less bees more money, s'the ticket. Coulda told yer that a long time ago."
"And what good," Jason does not return the pat, nor does he react at all to it. He's a little stiff, Jason, "would raw currency have done me in the Brotherhood? Come on." And on toward the door he goes, he goes.
Toad doesn't seem to mind the lack of response, stepping back to tag after Jason's heels. He falls quiet, hands rubbing at each other as they go.
And in and through and up they go. It's not long until Jason is unlocking a door with a careless twist of a key and shoving it inward-- into a high-ceilinged cathedral with dark walls and dim-blue stained glass windows.
Toad rumbles into laughter as he steps in, ducking low in the doorway though he's a good two feet under the upper beam. "Modest," he whistles.
"I figure I'll add another wing sometime next year." The evening rise of the moon lends itself to a twinkle-shine in the stained glass.
Toad wanders in further, crouching down in the center if the room to brush his fingers against the floor. "Not bad. Wot's it really look like, Turtle?"
Jason snaps his fingers twice and, alas, it's a small, ragged hovel of a flat. But there is more than one room. And soft-- things to sit on.
Toad leans back in his crouch, hands leaving the carpet to rest elbows idly on his bent knees. His head sways as he takes it in. "Still looks like a fuckin' palace compared t'where I've been. That last place we were at. You remember it? Bloody 'ard to keep up on m'lonesome."
"I remember it. Hey, I'm impressed you stuck to it for so long." Jason rests a hand on a battered chair. "I was on the first car out."
Toad cocks his head, turning pale eyes to Jason. "Eh, where else woz I 'pposed ter go? Didn't mind it out there. Plenty ter eat. You got rats?"
"Not too many. Do you mind, I don't know, cooked meat," Jason turns pale eyes back, "that was not recently wriggling? Maybe with some vegetables?"
Toad gulps, letting his tongue dribble down his chin in a look of disgust. "Makes me sick ter my stomach most often," he admits. "too refined. M'stomach's differen't from yers, as far as I've ever been able ter tell. Didn'cher know that?"
"I was hoping it was just a social tic. Alas. If it's biological, we'll have to find you rats-- plenty of pigeons!" Jason says it like an epiphone.
"Pigeons do jus' fine," Toad says lightly, pushing himself up to his feet and turning to face Jason. "Why /exactly/ are yer being so goddamn nice?"
Jason snickers, apparently to himself. He doesn't make any /other/ noises for a nice pause of time. Then, "I missed you. The nice probably won't last."
Toad's arms still at his sides and the little man takes a deep breath. "Missed you too," he admits with an embarrassed look away. "An' I wouldn't bally /expect/ it to. Wouldn't be us, now would it? C'mon, let's go get blasted, yeah? My treat."
"No, no. Mine. It doesn't cost /me/ anything." But Jason, since they verily entered this room, has not looked at Toad at all, and as he turns toward the door, he still keeps his eyes just barely averted. "Been a while, mind, since I was drunk."
Toad if Toad notice it doesn't seem to bother him. "Great. Good grimy lit'l place. Dick's. Bone'ead likes it there but other 'en that it's bloomin' swell." He kicks out a foot, starting into a comfortable bouncing walk to the door.
"I think I've paid it a visit or two." Jason does not bound, but he does walk efficiently and long-strided like after Toad. "If I start doing weird-crap, knock me out, will you? If you're sober enough."
"Wit' bloomin' pleasure!" Toad pipes up happily as he scoots eagerly into the hall, not bothering to wait for Jason.
"Oh good," Jason says. To himself again. And he hurries up. A jog, even!
OTP.
He has also been spotted. Toad lurks quietly, watching the loiterer with sharp interest from a fire escape along the wall of the next building over. After a while of study Toad adjusts the baseball cap on his head, squeezing through the bars and dropping silently to the ground six feet below. With a crounch and a scuttle, Toad meanders by, grabbing at Jason to toss him over one shoulder. "Allo allo aloo," he says brightly.
Fire, ice, and wind are all at Jason's command. (As are green rabbits, lice, and werewolves.) A flicker of thought and the word changes. A flicker of thought and that pretend cigarette lights and produces a thin wisp of smoke. But Jason's thought flickers do /not/ anticipate being slung over no shoulders and so Jason ends up face against a Toadly back and muttering a breathless, "What the /hell/?"
"Enjoy the view an' shut yer trap, mate," Toad warns the other man as he aims himself down the street. His walk is bouncy , almost a trot as Toad rounds down into a smaller side street. Finally Toad bends, hefting Jason off his shoulder and back to the ground. "Turtle! Knew that freckly mug two blocks away!"
Jason braces his hands half-successfully against the other mutants back. "I can hollow your head out with a stray-- desire, you know. This is very undignified." But dark and terrible as Jason's threat doubtless is, it's made rather half-heartedly and he's even smiling when he's ... released. "And aren't I glad of that. What are you /doing/ here?"
Toad grins back, an honest to god smile despite how much his liver-skinned lips portray this as a sneer. "Been 'round town. I only 'ad so many computer parts ter play wit' back at the farm. Ran inter yer roommate 'bout two nights ago."
"I didn't think you'd come." Jason's smile is oh-rather-earnest itself. "But, hey, my roommate is your roommate."
"Oh ho ho," Toad croaks, tapping the back of his hand at Jason's stomach. "Not invitin' Toad ter stay, are yeh? Coy sunava bitch! M'here, mate. An' all wit'out you leavin' a single call back number."
Jason hops back. A little hope, perhaps too slow. "Why, yes, I am. I figure if Brotherhood flotsam drifts in, we would be /amiss/ not to gather it." Jason clasps his hands together in mock piety. "Yes?"
Toad wiggles his fingers eagerly at his sides until they are shoved into his pockets. "Couldn't say no ter that, no no. Bone'ead'll be so /pleased/." His green, chisled chin tilts up as yellowed eyes scan the tops of the buildings. "Pretty cozy 'bout 'ere, are yeh?"
"What's she going to do? Say it's too crowded? I'll rent us a better place." Jason dismisses all such possible objections1 And unclasps his hands. "Cozy enough. Had I my way, it would be less cozy and more ... more. But it does well enough."
"Always knew you 'ad a bloomin' 'eart, mate. Knew it all along." Toad's boast comes with a rock on his feet, eyes up into Jason's with unmasked delight. "You need any ol' thing? The pickin's easier in New York than it's ever been. Scored a whole computer off a guy in the subway this week. You want it? S'yers. Juicy information on it too, we might just have ter bug this dude fer laughs. Self-hatin' mutant s'far as I can figure."
"Delightful. Two thieves in one flat. I suspect we'll do nicely." And Jason is looking Toad carefully over, as if to determine whether he is wounded or newly deformed or -- something. "Keep the computer . . . share the information. I figure we might as well get something done while we're here."
Nope. Just lonely. Isn't it sad? "Done! Righto, Turtle, righto. Been thinkin' 'bout that m'self. 'Oo needs fuggin' Magneto, eh? 'Oo need 'im?" Toad demands, drawing a hand from his pocket and slapping his thigh.
"I think we will be better off without him. Or, at least, I will." And Jason's gradual look over has turned into more of a direct face glance, and a little bit probing. "You didn't take his offer? Or ... whatever?"
Toad fiddles with the cracking plastic adjuster on the back of his Knicks cap, eyes turning down. "Oh, er. Well, I tried, yer know. Went ter take it. Tol' me he'd changed 'is mind. Didn't need Toad no more. After, yer know, more 'en ten years o'service. Fuck 'im," the small man snaps, jaw clenching as he looks pointedly way. "So, where's the pad, Freckles?"
"There, there. At least he let you down gently," Jason says with a sarcasm so easy as to be nearly an off-hand sing-song. He points at the building across the street. "That's where it is. We will, I think, have to rent something larger."
Toad snorts, eyes quick on Jason with a slight narrow. The look doesn't last long and Toad is quickly swaggering back up the tiny street to get a better look. "Not too shabby, Turtle. Not t'all. Yer dun' really ?ave to. Yer know me. I come I go. Sleep durin' the day, come out at night sorta thing. I fit in small areas. Couch is fine by Toad!" His granny smith adam's apple bobs with a chuckle.
"I'm already occupying the couch. It's no trouble. /Money/ is no object." Jason does not swagger, but he does small-step after Toad, lowering his arm. "Nothing is any object."
Toad stops at the threshold of the street, eyes still up on the pointed out building. "The power o'imagination, eh?"
"The power of shanghai'ing other people's imaginations," Jason corrects, and stops, as well. "It's time I put it to good use."
Toad swings a hand up to pat Jason firmly on the back. "There y'go. Less bees more money, s'the ticket. Coulda told yer that a long time ago."
"And what good," Jason does not return the pat, nor does he react at all to it. He's a little stiff, Jason, "would raw currency have done me in the Brotherhood? Come on." And on toward the door he goes, he goes.
Toad doesn't seem to mind the lack of response, stepping back to tag after Jason's heels. He falls quiet, hands rubbing at each other as they go.
And in and through and up they go. It's not long until Jason is unlocking a door with a careless twist of a key and shoving it inward-- into a high-ceilinged cathedral with dark walls and dim-blue stained glass windows.
Toad rumbles into laughter as he steps in, ducking low in the doorway though he's a good two feet under the upper beam. "Modest," he whistles.
"I figure I'll add another wing sometime next year." The evening rise of the moon lends itself to a twinkle-shine in the stained glass.
Toad wanders in further, crouching down in the center if the room to brush his fingers against the floor. "Not bad. Wot's it really look like, Turtle?"
Jason snaps his fingers twice and, alas, it's a small, ragged hovel of a flat. But there is more than one room. And soft-- things to sit on.
Toad leans back in his crouch, hands leaving the carpet to rest elbows idly on his bent knees. His head sways as he takes it in. "Still looks like a fuckin' palace compared t'where I've been. That last place we were at. You remember it? Bloody 'ard to keep up on m'lonesome."
"I remember it. Hey, I'm impressed you stuck to it for so long." Jason rests a hand on a battered chair. "I was on the first car out."
Toad cocks his head, turning pale eyes to Jason. "Eh, where else woz I 'pposed ter go? Didn't mind it out there. Plenty ter eat. You got rats?"
"Not too many. Do you mind, I don't know, cooked meat," Jason turns pale eyes back, "that was not recently wriggling? Maybe with some vegetables?"
Toad gulps, letting his tongue dribble down his chin in a look of disgust. "Makes me sick ter my stomach most often," he admits. "too refined. M'stomach's differen't from yers, as far as I've ever been able ter tell. Didn'cher know that?"
"I was hoping it was just a social tic. Alas. If it's biological, we'll have to find you rats-- plenty of pigeons!" Jason says it like an epiphone.
"Pigeons do jus' fine," Toad says lightly, pushing himself up to his feet and turning to face Jason. "Why /exactly/ are yer being so goddamn nice?"
Jason snickers, apparently to himself. He doesn't make any /other/ noises for a nice pause of time. Then, "I missed you. The nice probably won't last."
Toad's arms still at his sides and the little man takes a deep breath. "Missed you too," he admits with an embarrassed look away. "An' I wouldn't bally /expect/ it to. Wouldn't be us, now would it? C'mon, let's go get blasted, yeah? My treat."
"No, no. Mine. It doesn't cost /me/ anything." But Jason, since they verily entered this room, has not looked at Toad at all, and as he turns toward the door, he still keeps his eyes just barely averted. "Been a while, mind, since I was drunk."
Toad if Toad notice it doesn't seem to bother him. "Great. Good grimy lit'l place. Dick's. Bone'ead likes it there but other 'en that it's bloomin' swell." He kicks out a foot, starting into a comfortable bouncing walk to the door.
"I think I've paid it a visit or two." Jason does not bound, but he does walk efficiently and long-strided like after Toad. "If I start doing weird-crap, knock me out, will you? If you're sober enough."
"Wit' bloomin' pleasure!" Toad pipes up happily as he scoots eagerly into the hall, not bothering to wait for Jason.
"Oh good," Jason says. To himself again. And he hurries up. A jog, even!
OTP.