(no subject)
Ellen has a fire.
It is not, one must be sure to note, that she has in any way lit herself on fire. She remains quite unburnt. The firelight flickers yellow-orange over the white-on-white pinstriped sleeveless shirt that she wears as she perches upon one of the fireside stones. She is watching the flames lick the air with an expression blank enough to suggest that she is not actually watching them.
Yuriko's footsteps are quiet on the dirt and gravel, feet bare under the overlong trousers. A small metal tray is carefully clasped in both hands, held out before her like an oblate's offering: on its, small tools roll and rattle, shivering across the polished surface. Firelight blinks back across the sloop of its walls, and across the smooth, bare arms under the short-sleeved T.
"Eh heh heh! Where d'yer think yer goin', my lit'l lump o'luff?" The croaking tone of amusement floats up the path from the refinery. Soon enough a small, fat, fuzzy thing struggles into the ring of firelight, goaded on by a slow-hopping Toad quick on it's tail. "Lookit you an' yer wee fluffy tail." Toad takes another hop after it, landing with the stuffed squirrel between his feet. It lets out a withering squeal of pain and misery, limbs only barely scraping the ground in order to pull itself along. Toad plucks it up happily, holding it out at arms length before he notices he isn't alone. The mutant blinks and tilts his head to a lean past the bloated squirrel, staring at the others.
Half-hypnotized by the dance of the flames, Ellen does not heed Yuriko's approach at first. It is not until Toad's much more noisy approach that she blinks and turns her head, pale cheek canted toward the fire's indomitable heat. She shifts straighter on her stone seat, dropping her bare arms from their curve around her knees, and tilts her head, pale gaze blandly curious.
Dark eyes, lit by firelight, turn first towards the squirrel, then towards Toad. "Good evening," Yuriko offers to both senior mutants, alto grave. A few more paces brings her to the fire; she sinks down to a makeshift seat, metal tray settled carefully across her lap. Tools rattle again: a small, dull-bladed knife; a chopstick; a large chunk of pliable putty.
It takes a moment, but soon the squirrel is brought closer to Toad's chest, both hands gripping it tightly and protectively. "This 'un's mine." He says defensively to Ellen, giving her a suspicious look over. "It's mine an' it's fat, an' it's /mine/." Toad repeats himself as he doesn't move from his crouch. The activity of Yuriko gets a hesitant look, but most of the attention is on Ellen.
There is a moment wherein Ellen's expression wars with itself: a flicker, between perplexity, irritation, and amusement. She settles upon this final state, her fingertips curling over her knees in a broad, spidery grip: it glints in her eyes in the firelight, though her mouth stays solemn enough. "Clearly," she says. "On ... both counts." She turns her look upon Yuriko, the inclination of her head courteous. "Good evening," she answers.
Under the fan of black lashes, glimmering eyes inspect the squirrel with mild perplexity, nostrils flaring slightly to the scent of rodent musk on the sluggish stir of breeze. Yuriko's hands are busy, though her gaze may linger; slender fingers work through putty, peeling bits off the main chunk to mold a small cylinder. "Are you intending on eating it, Mr. Toad?" she wonders.
Toad keeps his eyes on Ellen for a moment, darting his gaze down to the squirrel, and back. "Mine." His prize wiggles it's limbs but to no avail as Toad hugs it close. Slowly as he can, Toad waddles closer, pausing every foot or so as he goes. "Wot else would I do with it?" He asks sharply.
"I have no intention of ... relieving you of your squirrel," Ellen says mildly. "Mine is quite sufficient to my purposes." She watches his waddling progress for a moment and then turns her attention to Yuriko's, er, putty. Indicating it with a flicker of long, pale fingers orange-lit in the firelight, Ellen says: "Might I ask?"
"Marzipan," Yuriko explains, balancing a small, molded lump on the flat of her palm to show Ellen. Tiny legs bump at the sides of that slouched torso, a miniature head set on wobbly imbalance on the angle of candy shoulders. Her gaze slips back to Toad, doubtful. Measuring. "I was uncertain if you ate squirrels. They are somewhat larger than the birds I have seen you eat."
Toad doesn't look convinced. The squirrel is held out and rolled on it's back, his free hand hastily pointing at each limb as he counts. Four. Four limbs. The green little man gives a satisfied nod and rolls back on his heels for balance. "I eat 'em. Just not whole like birds. The bones aren't hollow. Squirrels can't fly. Flying squirrels--" Toad pauses to himself, perhaps for a lapsing moment of thought on how flying squirrels would taste. "Wot's that?" He inquires instead to the marzipan, feeling in good enough moods to humor a conversation.
"Marzipan." Ellen repeats the word as though it is supremely unfamiliar. She leans forward on her stone, elbows crossing over her thighs. She says it again, baffled. "Marzipan?"
"It is -- almond?" There is uncertainty in Yuriko's voice, the childish head bowed back over the sculpture again, fingers clever across the small figure. Candy arms loop down to pin on the ground, frog-like. "It is a confection. If you would like--" A diffident hand offers two small morsels, balls rolled into the hollow of her hand and extended in turn to Ellen, then Toad.
Toad squints his eyes up, the squirrel still curled up in one hand as he hesitantly starts to reach for an offered portion. Of course, a quick reminder to him of what comes out of those fingers is enough to cause Toad to use his tongue instead, lashing out to snag a morsel and reel it back into his mouth. He begins to chew thoughtfully.
"I am familiar with the concept of marzipan," Ellen demurs, holding up a hand in polite refusal, which only grows more /emphatic/ as Toad decides to use his tongue. "Thank you. I ate more than enough at dinner to last me until morning, barring especial exertions." She drops her hand again, letting it lace its fingers with its mate before her knees. "But -- you are crafting ... shapes?"
Yuriko's eyes peer down at the piece left on her hand, bemusement tracking the line from the palm back to Toad's mouth before depositing the remainder in the fire, palm carefully wiped on her thigh. "It is an experiment," she explains, returning to her painstaking art. "I am not skilled at making sweets. I thought if I practiced, I would improve."
The chewing continues before Toad's lower jaw slowly rounds to a stop. His eyes widen slightly and suddenly he's spluttering and gagging. "Ech! Tryin' ter... fuckin'... kill me?" Toad demands between coughs, spitting the remaining bits of the too-rich-for-Toads food out, dramatically rising up to his feet and taking a stumbling step back. Without a moments thought his tongue is brought out as he starts to rub the back of the squirrel on it, attempting to free himself of the taste. "Yeeeerk!" He groans about the same time as the squirrel does.
"Toad," Ellen says in tones of dry exasperation. "I am certain that if Ms. Oyama wanted you dead, she would not bother about using almonds."
"Ah," Yuriko sighs, and opens her eyes round at Toad. "You do not like marzipan." The pale face goes blank, alien intelligence solemnly filing the information away. Fingers tweeze up another morsel of sweet and give it a little tail. Squirrel. She plants it next to mini-Toad. As an earnest afterthought she thinks to announce, "I would not attempt to kill you, Mr. Toad. I am very safe." A pause to think. "Also, sane."
"No," Toad ribbits, giving his tongue one last scraping with the squirrel. He settles back down on his haunches, leaning forward and supporting himself on one hand of knuckles. A glare is tossed over to Ellen before a more confused look is given to the other woman. "Safe... an' sane. Is that wot they're callin' dangerous an' crazy these days?" He wonders with a turn of his head, snorting to himself. "But you would kill me under orders. An' Ellen too. Hell, yourself?"
"I would kill you under orders," Ellen points out, perfectly reasonably. Almost /brisk/. She tilts her head slightly to one side, considering. "Of course," she admits after a moment's thought, "I do not imagine that I am the sanest person in the Brotherhood."
Yuriko tips her head to Ellen, interested. "I am not entirely certain I /can/ be killed," she confesses with regret stirring under the mellow, throaty alto. "However, I would kill anyone required of me, if ordered. I think, perhaps, Ellen might be able to kill me, if necessary." Solemn eyes cant towards Toad, thoughtful. "I am not entirely certain you could."
Toad shrinks at Ellen's statement, the squirrel once more against his chest, as if willing his midnight snack to save him. Fat chance, says the squirrel. "Yer /both/ batty," he points out, shifting himself backwards as slowly as he can. "Could," Toad argues, attempting to defend himself. "Bet if I reached down yer throat," he begins, holding out the squirrel and forcing a finger between it's teeth to stick firmly in it's mouth. "An' reached all the way down t'yer innards," he continues, putting pressing on his finger, eyes locking down on the squirrel as his face inches closer to it. "An' ripped out yer 'eart..." Toad's finger jerks out for show, his nose pressing tightly up against the squirrels with a glint in his yellow eyes. "Then you'd die." The squirrel breaths out a sigh of relief, for now.
"Batty," Ellen says, frowning at Toad. "Why? Because I follow his orders? You are just as mad, aren't you?" She straightens, then, sitting with Cyclopsean uprightness on her rock as the fire crackles at her side. "The method you describe /might/ be effective, but then again her body might prove versatile enough to simply regrow the heart. Her healing factor has proved remarkably efficient." Ellen cants her head slightly to one side, watching Toad with something like fascination in her expression. "/I/ could be neutralized that way, of course, though it would be simplest to simply destroy my brain."
The other woman's head cants, hair sweeping across her shoulder as she studies Ellen; again the childish face goes blank, information recorded in the dispassionate memory. "My heart regrows," Yuriko tells the other two, wistfully, fingertips nibbling gently at the little marzipan man. "I would seem dead for a time, but then it would heal, and I would be alive again. To destroy my brain would have much the same effect."
"M'not mad," Toad mutters dejectedly, lifting his snack to start nibbling at a leg. This causes fresh squeals of pain, but Toad pays them no heed. "I'll keep that in mind," he informs Ellen through the dark, wet paw in his mouth. He seems happy enough to chew, only letting the leg go for Yuriko. "Wot, yer serious? See, now, /that's/ fuckin' insane. Shit," he shudders slightly, rolling the leg around between is teeth before the tiny snap of frail bones is heard. More squealing and chewing ensues.
"Would you still be you, with a regrown brain?" Ellen asks Yuriko, looking perplexed. She does not seem especially bothered by the squirrel's pained squeals.
Neither does Yuriko. The question, however, prompts a furrow of the unlined brow. "I am uncertain," she confesses, adding tiny touches to her growing candy doll. "I remember very little about the time I was missing, but I remember the details of my life before."
Toad tilts forward, head wagging from one girl to the other and back. "Can we try an' see?" He burbles happily, very much liking the idea.
"That strikes me as less than prudent," Ellen says, eyeing Toad with awakening distaste. "The brain is an extremely complicated piece of biological equipment."
Yuriko regards Ellen with contemplative interest. "Could you expedite healing afterwards?" she wonders, spinning a little beret for tiny Toad's head.
"So's yer arse, but it's easy 'nough t'kick." Toad says snidely, gripping the squirrel and grinning maliciously. "She could, oi. Bet she could. C'mon, do it. Bit o'fun, eh lasses?"
"Imprudent," Ellen reiterates, shaking her head.
Indifferent, Yuriko regards Toad, hands folding over the metal tray. "I have no relevant objections," she admits. Her lower lip tucks under the upper for a thoughtful moment. "I am not a productive member of the organization at this time. I do not believe a temporary incapacity would interrupt its function."
"Point!" Toad exclaims, holding up a finger. "She doesn't care, /I/ want to... wot's the problem, eh?"
"It is her /brain/," Ellen says, staring at Toad. "Expediting the healing process or not, this could functionally lobotomize her, or -- I cannot even begin to explain the potential dangers. The most qualified neurologist in the world could not begin to explain!"
"I am not a qualified neurologist," Yuriko admits, and gives Toad a little almond-flavored tail. And a nose. Mini-Toad can sniff with that nose. This does not contribute to the conversation. Guiltily aware of this, she announces, "I have a hammock."
Toad looks a bit crestfallen, the squirrel getting lowered in his hand as he pouts. "Fuck, /fine/. Yer no fun. Dunno wot Jason gets outta porkin' you. It must be like humpin' a bloated dead cow. Only without the personality." He grumbles and mumbles to himself as he turns, rising up enough to start slouching towards the forest. "Hammock, billiant. Dun' forget my tongue." He calls back to Yuriko on behalf of the Marzipan Toad.
Ellen startles. She stares after him, chin jerking up. Then, just a little, she smirks. She calls after: "Ask Jason, then."
Obedient, oblivious, Yuriko patiently makes a long tongue and sticks it to the little Toad face. A forefinger pats him kindly on the head. Toad tips over and comes to pieces: head this way, legs that way. Yuriko puffs out a little sigh. "Oh dear."
"Dun' fuckin' tell me wot t'do..." Toad snaps loudly enough for them to hear as he slips between two trees, off to eat his snack in peace.
Ellen stares off after him for a moment longer. Slightly, she shakes her head again, and then turns her attention to Yuriko. She eyes the broken marzipan Toad. "You are going to eat him in effigy?"
"I do not care for sweets," Yuriko says, rolling Toad's little head around the tray with a gentle fingertip. It tumbles towards Ellen, leering empty-eyed up at the other woman before being halted by a delicately pinning talon. "It would be a waste if I did not, however."
"I am certain someone will eat if, if you don't." Ellen tilts her head. "Most of what you make seems to find a home in someone's stomach."
Yuriko rolls the head again. It does not tumble as nicely with a relatively giant hole in its noggin. "I have broken the little Mr. Toad," she says pensively. "I will improve. Perhaps if I put him back together, someone will eat him."
Ellen blinks at her. She blinks down at the rolling head. Then she says, "Perhaps. I do not know that I find ... Mr. Toad ... any more appetizing with his head on than I do otherwise, but someone else might." She unfolds from her perch upon the stone, smoothening her clothes with an absent sweep of her hands. "I think I might retire to my quarters," she says.
Yuriko patiently sticks the head back on its torso, and squishes the entire edifice upright. The final result bears a somewhat lopsided resemblance to the man himself. "I will attempt to make Mystique," she decides. "Mystique is blue. I can use blueberry juice. There is some in the kitchen."
"I shall leave you to it. Good night, Ms. Oyama. And good luck with your ..." There is a moment's hesitation before Ellen concludes, "artistry."
Magneto would require purple. And pink. Much pink. White people are pink. Yuriko massages the marzipan and looks dreamy. "Good night, Ms. Dramstadt."
Ellen inclines her head and then retreats, in silence, toward the dorms.