No screaming for ice cream. {attn. TM}

[Manslaughter]

He twirls down the sidewalk, leaving a slow drip of cold ice cream in his wake that whips from the bleeding trail that's spooned around his fingers. Roger hums in the back of his throat, his shoelaces making snapping noises on the sidewalk as he hop-skips down the pavement, waiting at every corner for his companion to catch up. It hadn't been particularly easy to coax Roger into going into town this morning, as the boy had been intent on making pancakes for himself. Luckily for him and the rest of the household, he had been reassured that ice cream was so much better than pancakes. Would he like some? Yes, yes he would. And so, there had been made a mutual agreement--a trip to the city for ice cream. It seemed to be a fair enough trade for the business that is at hand.. or at the time like a good idea, anyway.

Ten minutes, five toppings, and $4.78 ago, Roger had been peering anxiously into the glass case of ice cream and tracing his index finger around the ovals of the cartons, moving slowly to make his decision. The staff had been perplexed by Roger's indecisiveness, and as for the line of people behind him, they were less than amused. After some polite ushering, the boy finally made up his mind. He'd settled with vanilla ice cream, but that was not to be his last decision, most certainly not. What ice cream would be complete without sprinkles, Oreos, chocolate chips, marshmellows, and gummi bears? His ice cream has become a menagerie of processed sugar.

Slowing his eager steps, Roger catches himself before he steps off a curb by hooking the juncture of his forearm and bicep into a streetlamp. Effortlessly, he twirls around it and gazes down at his shoes to wait, licking at his sugary treat. Roger had to be given specific instructions. Don't get lost was like telling him that anything within a ten-mile radius was a free-for-all. Making a breathy sigh, he looks around himself curiously, his vacant gaze roving from one interesting spot to the next. "Are we there now..?" he asks himself, fixing his stare on the back of an old woman's hat that has a particularly vivid purple flower on it.

[Tony Masters]

So sue him. He wanted to go into the city and do something that didn't involve plotting to destroy the human race.

Of all the mutants in the world, Tony guessed he was probably the closest one to actually being human. His only mutation was his memory. No physical differences between himself and another human, and he didn't explode on command or anything. So while he readily fought for Magneto's cause (and his paycheck), Tony didn't really hate the humans.

Why would he when they made some great ice cream?

He licks his plain chocolate cone up and around the side, watching as Roger dashes ahead, his sugary concoction in hand. Convincing the boy to come with him had been hard, right up until he mentioned the promise of something sweet.

Most of the Brotherhood members thought he was insane, inviting the equally insane teen out with him. Into public no less. But there was something about Roger that touched a small paternal instinct inside Tony's mind. The kid was a full blown psychopath, but he was still a kid, and deserved to have some fun every once and a while. And by fun, Tony didn't mean mentally shocking bird or fuzzy animals. He meant actually getting the kid outside and into civilization.

He's still a little worried about the potential havoc Roger could cause in the big city, but so far the kid's been pretty decent, if a little picky about his ice cream.

And they couldn't have asked for a better day. The sun was shining and the people were happily buzzing about. And to top it all off, Tony wasn't sporting his typical skull-mask. A first for any other members of the Brotherhood, who could only guess what he looked like underneath his shroud of mystery. But the mask had come off just for the occasion, and he doubted that Roger would mind, or babel his identity around. Not like anyone would take him seriously anyhow. And the mask had stayed, while a single pistol was lodged securely into a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. No need to be completely off guard.

"Are we there now..?"

"Nope, not yet. Just a bit farther though. We're headed for Central Park. You ever been to the zoo there?" Okay, so maybe this was a little cheesy, but the kid needed some culture. Some exposure to the real public, not the hoards of evil Brotherhood minions.

[Manslaughter]

Nope, not yet. Just a bit farther though. We're headed for Central Park. You ever been to the zoo there? Roger tilts his head back against the streetlamp as he seems to think, as though even he didn't know if he'd been to a zoo or not, as though his awareness had been MIA.

Mother gives him a red balloon. Hold it tightly, okay, sweetie? She smiles and adjust the wide brim of her hat before giving him a pat on the head. Mother turns to help father who is fumbling with his new camera, cursing openly as a piece falls off. Roger stares between the steel bars into the exhibit, paying no mind. A lion chuffs from its position in the shade, meeting gaze with Roger. It stares, and Roger stares back. The lion growls, and Roger smiles.

His balloon starts to float away..

Jerking his head to one side and almost banging his head into the streetlamp, Roger blinks, having been absolutely silent for the past few moments. Ice cream is still dripping down his hand. "No...," the boy says at last, bringing the cone in his hand to his mouth and licking at the almost soupy mixture of the vanilla-turned-rainbow from the artificial coloring of his toppings. Shrugging this momentary lapse of attention off, Roger licks his lips slightly. "..which way now..?" he asks, looking up and down the street.