(#00021)
“This is strictly arts and crafts, you understand?”
“Yes, Sara,” intoned Forge in the tired mien of someone who’d been through this before.
“*Just* the available materiel.”
“Yes, Sara.”
“No wibbly-wobbly jiggery-pokery.”
Sigh. “Yes Sara.”
“And no tricky little gadgets to speed up the process.”
“Yes, Sara.”
“Todd, darling, you may frisk him.”
“Man. I thought you said this would be fun,” said Forge as Toad’s clammy hands got way too personal in his space.
“I’m still living the consequences of your last episode of ‘fun’. mister Walkingbird…”
Forge winced. Names had power and his full name had the power to make him want to dig himself into a deep, deep hole until it went away. And Sara had somehow found it out.
“Shuttingupandbehavingmyself,” he managed.
“Good.” Sara’s ruffled feathers appeared to settle. Despite the fact that she didn’t actually possess feathers.
It never paid to be too metaphorical around mutants.
“This is compound A. We mix it with these ingredients in this order. This is compound B. We mix it with those ingredients in that order. Don’t mix them until we’re ready. These are lumps of clay with the precise volume of said finished compound once it is done. We do not borrow clay from anyone else’s pile.”
“Yes’m.”
“Over here on the wall is my articulation to clay volume chart. Do not remove it. You will design something horrific to pop out of a locker and *ONLY* that. Are we understood?”
“Yes’m”
*
Five hours later…
“TOLSTOY BEAUTEOUS-DAWN WALKINGBIRD!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Prove it!”
“Do it, yo,” advised Todd. “'Fore she kills yo’.”
“I thinkIbetterrun…”
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