Mystique; NYC
The night in Central Park is about as silent as it ever gets here in New York City. There is, of course, the distant hum of sirens and the occasional blare of a car horn in the single street that intersects the lush, green haven. The insects are much more vocal, chirps and whirrs tickling Toad's ear as he stalks towards a patch of slumbering ducks, nestled in the trees around the reservoir's banks. His head is tipped up higher than normal, eyes searching past the restricting bill of his baseball cap. The small man suddenly pounces into a sudden eruption of feathers and panicked quacks.
The tall, slender thirty-something brunette who is wandering the path is a bit out of place for the late hour. Her stroll is lazy and self-confident, uncaring, apparently, of what dangers might lurk behind bushes or trees. The steps halt abruptly at the flurry of activity several hundred feet in front of her. A large cat, fur glowing silver in the lights, bounds to her side at the end of a leash.
Toad tussles for a moment, a gentle, lower grunt heavy amongst the shrill cries of the birds. The flapping and rustling ensues, scattering along until the ploosh plunk and bloop of tiny creatures hitting water sounds that some, at least, escaped. Others wander unhappily the other direction towards the brunette. Toad follows after righting himself, coated unevenly in droppings and feathers. One unfortunate duck is lip in his hand.
The pause lasts only a moment before the footsteps resume. The brunette who approaches looks a bit different now - still tall and slim, but not quite Elizabeth Kane. She closes in on the figure of Toad with the faint ghost of a smile and greets, "Good evening."
Toad freezes, the duck wagging back and forth not on it's own accord. Yellow eyes stare blankly at the woman. "'Lo," he gulps. "Duck?" It's held out, it's bill gaped and eyes dead. Behind it a sneer sets on Toad's face.
Mystique may not be interested, but Lethe bounds forward at the end of her leash to sniff anxiously at the dead bird. "Will you bother to strip and cook it?" she inquires politely.
Toad jerks back, the neck cracking as the duck swings violently. He blinks at the cat, looking from it to the woman and back. "Mystique?" he wonders in a snap.
"Hello, Mortimer," Mystique greets with a tip of her head. "I trust you're being careful?"
"Careful," the small green man repeats. "Wot the fuck do you care?"
Mystique tilts her head slightly, dark eyes watching Toad for a moment while Lethe sticks her nose toward the duck insistantly, and does not answer.
Toad dangles the duck closer to the cat, not paying any attention to Mystique. "Honest fer once, are yeh? Just got back inter the city. Cleared the whol fuckin' lodge o'rats. Barn too. Figured I'd start work on the city."
"You should be careful," Mystique replies, despite his words. "The town is tense. There's less tolerance at the moment than what is usually managed." Lethe darts in at the end of her leash to grab at the duck with death and paws and fantastic feline force.
Toad yanks the duck back, hugging in close with a smarmy look towards the cat. "I can take care of my bloomin' self, thanks. Didn't see you worryin' 'bout that when yer left us all in the cold, eh?"
"I hardly left you in the cold," Mystique answers, voice quiet and even. Her gaze slips to Lethe, who's slunk back into a crouch and is growling low in her throat. "Don't taunt her."
"Maybe you should try feeding her," Toad replies.
Mystique falls silent, studying Toad as she winds Lethe's leash in her hand. After a moment she barks a command in Russian and the big cat rises, giving Toad and his duck one more glance before padding back to her mistress. "Tell Jason I said hello," she requests.
"Who said I woz still in contact wit' 'im, eh?" Toad asks grumpily. His foot stamps, resisting the urge to kick the retreating pussy.
"Be careful," Mystique says once more instead of offering answer, and steady footsteps pick up once more, past Toad and down the path.
Toad pokes a finger into his duck's mouth, glaring after her with more confusion than annoyance. "Sure, wotever."
Lethe takes a moment longer to head off. She gives Toad one final yellow-eyed glare for the duck and then bounds off. The pair soon disappears in the distance.
Toad's tongue snaps out of his mouth, a quick warning to the tiny glare. "One day," he mumbles as he turns. The tongue slides over yellow lips. "Bet it tastes like bloomin' tuna." Toad chuckles to himself, carting his catch off and away.
The tall, slender thirty-something brunette who is wandering the path is a bit out of place for the late hour. Her stroll is lazy and self-confident, uncaring, apparently, of what dangers might lurk behind bushes or trees. The steps halt abruptly at the flurry of activity several hundred feet in front of her. A large cat, fur glowing silver in the lights, bounds to her side at the end of a leash.
Toad tussles for a moment, a gentle, lower grunt heavy amongst the shrill cries of the birds. The flapping and rustling ensues, scattering along until the ploosh plunk and bloop of tiny creatures hitting water sounds that some, at least, escaped. Others wander unhappily the other direction towards the brunette. Toad follows after righting himself, coated unevenly in droppings and feathers. One unfortunate duck is lip in his hand.
The pause lasts only a moment before the footsteps resume. The brunette who approaches looks a bit different now - still tall and slim, but not quite Elizabeth Kane. She closes in on the figure of Toad with the faint ghost of a smile and greets, "Good evening."
Toad freezes, the duck wagging back and forth not on it's own accord. Yellow eyes stare blankly at the woman. "'Lo," he gulps. "Duck?" It's held out, it's bill gaped and eyes dead. Behind it a sneer sets on Toad's face.
Mystique may not be interested, but Lethe bounds forward at the end of her leash to sniff anxiously at the dead bird. "Will you bother to strip and cook it?" she inquires politely.
Toad jerks back, the neck cracking as the duck swings violently. He blinks at the cat, looking from it to the woman and back. "Mystique?" he wonders in a snap.
"Hello, Mortimer," Mystique greets with a tip of her head. "I trust you're being careful?"
"Careful," the small green man repeats. "Wot the fuck do you care?"
Mystique tilts her head slightly, dark eyes watching Toad for a moment while Lethe sticks her nose toward the duck insistantly, and does not answer.
Toad dangles the duck closer to the cat, not paying any attention to Mystique. "Honest fer once, are yeh? Just got back inter the city. Cleared the whol fuckin' lodge o'rats. Barn too. Figured I'd start work on the city."
"You should be careful," Mystique replies, despite his words. "The town is tense. There's less tolerance at the moment than what is usually managed." Lethe darts in at the end of her leash to grab at the duck with death and paws and fantastic feline force.
Toad yanks the duck back, hugging in close with a smarmy look towards the cat. "I can take care of my bloomin' self, thanks. Didn't see you worryin' 'bout that when yer left us all in the cold, eh?"
"I hardly left you in the cold," Mystique answers, voice quiet and even. Her gaze slips to Lethe, who's slunk back into a crouch and is growling low in her throat. "Don't taunt her."
"Maybe you should try feeding her," Toad replies.
Mystique falls silent, studying Toad as she winds Lethe's leash in her hand. After a moment she barks a command in Russian and the big cat rises, giving Toad and his duck one more glance before padding back to her mistress. "Tell Jason I said hello," she requests.
"Who said I woz still in contact wit' 'im, eh?" Toad asks grumpily. His foot stamps, resisting the urge to kick the retreating pussy.
"Be careful," Mystique says once more instead of offering answer, and steady footsteps pick up once more, past Toad and down the path.
Toad pokes a finger into his duck's mouth, glaring after her with more confusion than annoyance. "Sure, wotever."
Lethe takes a moment longer to head off. She gives Toad one final yellow-eyed glare for the duck and then bounds off. The pair soon disappears in the distance.
Toad's tongue snaps out of his mouth, a quick warning to the tiny glare. "One day," he mumbles as he turns. The tongue slides over yellow lips. "Bet it tastes like bloomin' tuna." Toad chuckles to himself, carting his catch off and away.