A/N: This is a character study I did for my portrayal of Toad in the chapter-fic I'm working on. I thought I'd post it because, even though some of the events talked about here are AU to what I'm actually going to include, I still think it would be good to get feedback on his character and thought- process.
On that note PLEASE give me feedback. If you don't I can guarantee that you'll be aiding and abetting writing that is poorer than it could be. I am pretty much posting this for the sole reason of getting feedback. If I don't get it...
On to the story.
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It still feels wrong; what he does now.
Acting normal- no being normal, or as normal as one can get as a mutant. Pretending that his past isn't there: that he could have done. But the wrongness comes from the cold truth that it isn't pretending any more. Most days he doesn't think of his days as an assassin for mutant rights. Most days he doesn't dwell on his persecution on the streets as a youth. Most days he is a perfectly normal bloke with a perfectly legitimate job as a mechanic for the local auto shop. Most days he lives out the perfect stereotype of stranger blown into small town and adopted as if he's always lived there. Most days he is Timothy Morton.
But there are days when he recalls the horror of those last few days. Of being trapped in his own head as Toad sabotaged his plans of HER rescue by refusing to allow him to contact the x-men. How she'd still trusted him even when he couldn't do a damn thing.
On these days he isn't normal and he refuses to act like it. On these days he skips work and takes off into the surrounding bayou to wrestle the local vagrant wildlife in an attempt to resist the temptation to pick up the pieces and head home. But New York is forbidden territory. Yes SHE is there. But the Brotherhood is there too. And he's not sure where he'll head if he ever finds himself forced to make the choice.
He doesn't want to consider that choice and that's why he's here.
Down here Toad is happy. No one's going to arrest him for killing- the pythons are pests anyways.
Down here Mortimer is happy. With him supposedly dead, SHE can't be used as leverage. And she'd be happy knowing that he hasn't turned back to murder.
Down here there is a third personality. Timothy. Timothy who may be green-skinned but isn't dangerous. Timothy, who is gruff but really a sweetheart who's always willing to lend a hand at no cost. Timothy, who is what he wanted to be for HER and knows is just an illusion of his mind; another face to hide from the world. He knows better than to depend on Timothy too much. He knows the dangers of allowing a façade so much control that it becomes more than a game of pretend. It becomes real.
He doesn't need more problems. But it feels wrong to be so normal. And he thinks he knows why. This life isn't as utterly foreign as it should be. Timothy is someone he could have been if things had been different. If his father hadn't hated his guts. If his mother hadn't been afraid. If his sister hadn't tried to help him by bringing him to the only place she knew might help.
But dear older sis is the kicker. Because Timothy has forgiven her. And now he's in conflict. Toad has always hated her guts like he hates all humans, only more personally because she had the audacity to pretend to care. Mortimer has always let Toad take the lead there. It's not like it matters. He's never going to look her up regardless- too risky. But now he's beginning to think the distinction, even if it never leaves his head, might matter. Timothy fights with Toad like Mortimer has never done and he doesn't know which side to take.
We're here to protect her, Mortimer asserts.
No one's hunting us down here, Toad verifies.
That's not enough, says Timothy.
But he's barely more than a whisper and a mask. His suggestions aren't worth listening to.
To the others, Timothy feels wrong.
TBC