(no subject)
Steel cable.
Huh.
The lights are on in the infirmary and the sink is running: Ellen is washing blood and fur off her hands. The faucet goes off; she rips a paper towel from the stand on the counter, dries her hands, and throws it away. There is a moment's indecision wherein she goes through a list of potential next tasks in her head.
Toad and Jason are . . . together. Rather forcibly. Perhaps they should travel, from this time forth, in a kind of sideways foxtrot. One, two, three, four. Jason has gone dead pale, freckles nearly black against his face in contrast, and his shuffle is weavy, shocky, and unsteady. He could collapse against Toad any moment and that would not be acceptable.
Twelve inches isn't enough space in any stretch of Toad's imagination. His squatty green face is set with unhappy wrinkles, eyes squinted up as he toddles a few short inches after Jason. His left arm is lifted, allowing the little man to walk in his comfortable slouch. His shoulder digs into Jason's side, eyes turning up to the pale, freckled man as they enter the room. "Just wot I fuckin' need. Don't blow chunks /my/ way if you can manage it."
Stepping away from the sink, Ellen stops and goes absolutely still. She stares at Toad and Jason, unmoving and unspeaking; there is something of the deer in headlights to her regard as she marks first their physical proximity and then the glint of metal that binds them. Ever-so-slightly, she tilts her head to one side.
"If I can help it," Jason promises, mutters, so wanly. His back is sticky-blooded. He can't help being wan and staggery. It is entirely no fault of his. "Ellen," not that Jason can actually, actively see her yet, but where else would she be? Right? Craning his neck, see, is too much work. "Need healing here."
Toad rolls his eyes, pulling his shoulder away from Jason in case those chunks are close on their way. He continues into the room, finally grabbing at Jason's shoulder in order to steady him. "Fuckin' 'urry." The mutant snaps at Ellen, warily watching Jason.
Jarred out of complacency by the request -- if not confusion -- the lean blonde crosses the room on swift strides, her open lab-coat rippling with the wind of her passage. "Very well." She takes hold of Jason's hand as he is in the worse state. She sends her mind racing through his systems, her brow furrowing as her lids flutter. "You are attached," she notes.
"Uh. Yeah." Jason's occasional eloquence is rather stymied and his hand is ridiculously limp. His eyes slide slowly to Toad, either quelling, calculating . . . or simply blank. He twitches.
"Really? It's good to see that being crazy dosen't affect you still being retarded." Toad grumbles unhappily, leaning back as far away from Jason as he can while still keeping the supportive hand on the other. "Shut yer trap an' heal."
Ellen's mouth twitches up at one corner, her focus still entirely on healing Jason's wounds. His flesh repairing itself under the force of her power, she says, "I do my duty well enough."
Jason's most wan expression does start touching up with a bit of color, at least. He presses a kind of tight grin in Toad's direction, whatever that means. But he still has a generally unsteady aspect. Bloodloss?
Toad already looks uneasy, but the grin only delves him into deeper fits of an odd spring green taking over normal shade of olive. The hand is taken away and both it and his eyes drop, shoulders tensing up around his neck. "Wotever," Toad replies stiffly to Ellen. One of his arms hangs loosely, attempting to avoid the whip mark that wraps around his side.
"You as well?" Ellen asks coolly, lifting her hand from Jason's and canting a slanted look at Toad. She frowns, but the expression is only a shadow of a glimpse, receding swiftly into blandness. "I have healed his wounds. He might need sugar."
Jason makes a maybe acceding, maybe random noise in the back of his throat and, to all appearances, decides to subdue into darkly, bitterly, manfully not saying anything at all.
"No, keep yer hands off o'me." Toad snaps defensively, eyes slitted almost to a close as he stares at her. "Sugar. Wot... you want me to feed him myself?" he exclaims in a croaking laugh as he jabs a thumb in Jason's direction.
Ellen looks blank. "Touching you is not actually high on my list of favored leisure activities," she informs Toad, with only a hint of tart to sneak into mildness. "However, if you are injured, I do not see the sense -- in any event, you seem to have him attached to your arm. You might indeed wish to make certain that he is fed."
Jason makes the faintest of sniggers. Or maybe that was a sad, sad cough.
Toad steps back, aiming Jason between himself and Ellen. Human shields are often the best sort. "Can heal on my bloody /own/, thanks. Like 'ell I'm gonna risk 'aving a third arm just 'cause yer a crazy bitch." Yellow eyes take in the sniggering Jason. "Like... erm, sugar. Ice cream. That's got sugar, right?"
Ellen shakes her head slightly. "Why would I expend the effort on giving you a third arm? Never mind. I cannot stop you from being foolish. Enjoy your physical pain." She draws back from them both, bringing heels together and clasping her hands neatly before her. "Ice cream does have sugar. I recommend you not abscond with Mystique's."
Toad seems content with simply staring coldly at Jason. "Enjoy yer-- er, fuck you." Without a proper come back coming to mind, Toad simply turns to the door, his own bloodied back unhealed and full of Christmas cheer as red clashes against green skin. He tugs harshly at Jason, seeming to have lost any more supportive fibers in his being now that the doom of getting hurled on is lessened.
Ellen shakes her head and breathes a faint snort past her nose. Her fingers twitch against each other in their loose clasp, but she does not actually tackle Toad and heal him despite the appearance of his back. Instead she mutters something unfavorable under her breath and turns to stalk towards the chair behind the infirmary's computer.
Huh.
The lights are on in the infirmary and the sink is running: Ellen is washing blood and fur off her hands. The faucet goes off; she rips a paper towel from the stand on the counter, dries her hands, and throws it away. There is a moment's indecision wherein she goes through a list of potential next tasks in her head.
Toad and Jason are . . . together. Rather forcibly. Perhaps they should travel, from this time forth, in a kind of sideways foxtrot. One, two, three, four. Jason has gone dead pale, freckles nearly black against his face in contrast, and his shuffle is weavy, shocky, and unsteady. He could collapse against Toad any moment and that would not be acceptable.
Twelve inches isn't enough space in any stretch of Toad's imagination. His squatty green face is set with unhappy wrinkles, eyes squinted up as he toddles a few short inches after Jason. His left arm is lifted, allowing the little man to walk in his comfortable slouch. His shoulder digs into Jason's side, eyes turning up to the pale, freckled man as they enter the room. "Just wot I fuckin' need. Don't blow chunks /my/ way if you can manage it."
Stepping away from the sink, Ellen stops and goes absolutely still. She stares at Toad and Jason, unmoving and unspeaking; there is something of the deer in headlights to her regard as she marks first their physical proximity and then the glint of metal that binds them. Ever-so-slightly, she tilts her head to one side.
"If I can help it," Jason promises, mutters, so wanly. His back is sticky-blooded. He can't help being wan and staggery. It is entirely no fault of his. "Ellen," not that Jason can actually, actively see her yet, but where else would she be? Right? Craning his neck, see, is too much work. "Need healing here."
Toad rolls his eyes, pulling his shoulder away from Jason in case those chunks are close on their way. He continues into the room, finally grabbing at Jason's shoulder in order to steady him. "Fuckin' 'urry." The mutant snaps at Ellen, warily watching Jason.
Jarred out of complacency by the request -- if not confusion -- the lean blonde crosses the room on swift strides, her open lab-coat rippling with the wind of her passage. "Very well." She takes hold of Jason's hand as he is in the worse state. She sends her mind racing through his systems, her brow furrowing as her lids flutter. "You are attached," she notes.
"Uh. Yeah." Jason's occasional eloquence is rather stymied and his hand is ridiculously limp. His eyes slide slowly to Toad, either quelling, calculating . . . or simply blank. He twitches.
"Really? It's good to see that being crazy dosen't affect you still being retarded." Toad grumbles unhappily, leaning back as far away from Jason as he can while still keeping the supportive hand on the other. "Shut yer trap an' heal."
Ellen's mouth twitches up at one corner, her focus still entirely on healing Jason's wounds. His flesh repairing itself under the force of her power, she says, "I do my duty well enough."
Jason's most wan expression does start touching up with a bit of color, at least. He presses a kind of tight grin in Toad's direction, whatever that means. But he still has a generally unsteady aspect. Bloodloss?
Toad already looks uneasy, but the grin only delves him into deeper fits of an odd spring green taking over normal shade of olive. The hand is taken away and both it and his eyes drop, shoulders tensing up around his neck. "Wotever," Toad replies stiffly to Ellen. One of his arms hangs loosely, attempting to avoid the whip mark that wraps around his side.
"You as well?" Ellen asks coolly, lifting her hand from Jason's and canting a slanted look at Toad. She frowns, but the expression is only a shadow of a glimpse, receding swiftly into blandness. "I have healed his wounds. He might need sugar."
Jason makes a maybe acceding, maybe random noise in the back of his throat and, to all appearances, decides to subdue into darkly, bitterly, manfully not saying anything at all.
"No, keep yer hands off o'me." Toad snaps defensively, eyes slitted almost to a close as he stares at her. "Sugar. Wot... you want me to feed him myself?" he exclaims in a croaking laugh as he jabs a thumb in Jason's direction.
Ellen looks blank. "Touching you is not actually high on my list of favored leisure activities," she informs Toad, with only a hint of tart to sneak into mildness. "However, if you are injured, I do not see the sense -- in any event, you seem to have him attached to your arm. You might indeed wish to make certain that he is fed."
Jason makes the faintest of sniggers. Or maybe that was a sad, sad cough.
Toad steps back, aiming Jason between himself and Ellen. Human shields are often the best sort. "Can heal on my bloody /own/, thanks. Like 'ell I'm gonna risk 'aving a third arm just 'cause yer a crazy bitch." Yellow eyes take in the sniggering Jason. "Like... erm, sugar. Ice cream. That's got sugar, right?"
Ellen shakes her head slightly. "Why would I expend the effort on giving you a third arm? Never mind. I cannot stop you from being foolish. Enjoy your physical pain." She draws back from them both, bringing heels together and clasping her hands neatly before her. "Ice cream does have sugar. I recommend you not abscond with Mystique's."
Toad seems content with simply staring coldly at Jason. "Enjoy yer-- er, fuck you." Without a proper come back coming to mind, Toad simply turns to the door, his own bloodied back unhealed and full of Christmas cheer as red clashes against green skin. He tugs harshly at Jason, seeming to have lost any more supportive fibers in his being now that the doom of getting hurled on is lessened.
Ellen shakes her head and breathes a faint snort past her nose. Her fingers twitch against each other in their loose clasp, but she does not actually tackle Toad and heal him despite the appearance of his back. Instead she mutters something unfavorable under her breath and turns to stalk towards the chair behind the infirmary's computer.