The Witch sat in the woods, practicing her Latin.
Due to the nice weather, she was wearing a skirt, black-and-red striped stockings, and boots (without heels, duh) that made her feel all the more witch-like. Her hair was long enough now to be pulled into two pigtails, tight and neat.
Susan sat on a tree trunk, kicking the bark with her heels, reading aloud.
Nobody taught Latin at Xavier's Sister School, but the library had some books she could borrow (because nobody ever did), and carry out into the woods outside the mansion grounds, where she could study in peace.
Latin words tasted like wine. Very old wine. Susan watched them with glinting black eyes as they dropped from her lips and spread out above the forest ground like a mist. Very old mist. They had a ring to them, something noble and serious like a church bell. The witch pronounced each of them with care and accuracy, in the Medieval way - Latin spoken the Roman way somehow tasted funny. Overly sweet. Greek.
She had been doing this for a while now, and she slowly started stringing more words together. A verb, an adjective, a noun. She listed declensions, watching as one word changed its shade and form until it fit into the right place, and blended in with the others.
Latin is the language of magic.
Susan closed Latin Grammar on her finger, and pulled out another book; it was written with her own tall letters, bound in leather. It contained bits and pieces about witchcraftand magic; half spells, incantations, interesting details fished out of bookfuls of nonsense.
She kept reading alound, tasting the words to see if any of them had some extra flavor. Something that felt like power.
That is why witches prefer the woods. Nobody ever disturbs you when you practice.
And if they do...

((ooc: Continued for Calley from Dirty Boys.))

The woods were nice. Quiet. No one ever disturbed you here, pretty much. Which was exactly what Calley needed. He... needed to disappear. Just for a little while, and think. Maybe for an hour. Maybe two.

...Cafas was going to be ticked enough as it was. Calley might as well take until night fall. But he should probably go back again, though. Eventually. Because if it was him sitting on the couch, he maybe would have thought that the cat boy's "I'll be back" meant "after I get clothes on." It wasn't his fault if Cafas misinterpreted his words.

There was definitely nothing to misinterpret in Cafas'.

"...I think I love you."

So. First off, (Calley noted, as he kicked a rock,) that was unnatural. Wasn't it? 'Cause... Cafas was a guy. And he was a guy. And yes, guys and guys could, and did, and had whole parades about it, but they could do those things without involving Calley. Right? Right.

(The rock skittered across the ground, and hit a tree.)

Secondly, they'd known each other what, a few months? That love at first sight thing was a joke. Not that Cafas' had said it was love at first sight--which would worry Calley a whole lot more, since the teen had first seen him as a mouse--but still. They'd been roommates, but they hadn't gone on dates, or anything. Except for watching movies together. And getting dinner. But that's just what guy-friends did. In a manly capacity. That didn't mean--that--

And third, were you just allowed to come out and say it like that? It just... it wasn't...

He'd almost drowned, an hour ago. What. Was that supposed to be a turn-on? Yeah, Cafas had saved him, but Cafas had been the one to toss him into the water in the first place.

(The rock was stuck under a root. Calley picked it out, and threw it; it clipped the bark on another truck, and disappeared into the underbrush.)

Was he supposed to have an answer for--? Right on cue? Was he supposed have lain awake at night, pining over questions of whether his roommate was more than his roommate? Had Cafas?

He just--

No.

Calley found himself at the edge of a shallow pond. He glared into it: his reflection glared back.

He did not want to think about this. He had to think about this, but he didn't want to think about this now. Now, he just... needed to not think. For awhile. He was going back at sundown, right? Right. So he had plenty of time until then. To not think.

The pond was still glaring back. Calley returned the emotion, with full vehemence. He had almost drowned. So. Maybe it was about time he finally learned to swim. For once, it was the lesser of two evils.

Calley glared at himself, and tried to shift to something safe, and relatively buoyant. A duck. (He just felt... ugly, right now. Cafas. Sucked.) His reflection shifted, too.

That's when everything went wrong.

'Toad' is a difficult word.
Not in English, of course.
Susan's fingers turned the pages of her Latin dictionary as her colorful eyes skimmed the row after row of words. Since she was already practicing Latin and witchcraft together, why not start with something so basic even those dumb Grimm brothers picked up on it?
Te in craxanti corpore muto.
'Toad' doesn't taste good. But it has a ring to it. More like, a splash. Like something landing in a pond.
Susan hopped off the tree trunk, and started to walk; she had seen a pond nearby. Ponds were useful, for witches-in-training.
Rana. Ranam, ranae, ranae, rana. Frog.
Ranunculus. Ranunculum, ranunculi, ranunculo, ranunculo. Froggy.
Rubeta. Poison frog.
Bufo. Bufonis. Toad.
Craxatus. French toad. (Gaulish, to be precise)
Susan saw the reflection first; it was somewhat blurred by the ripples on the water, but not that hard to recognize. Her gaze traveled up, from the figure in the pond to the figure on the shore; he looked familiar to her many senses.
Susan's lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Te in bufonis corpore muto."

And it worked.

Susan blinked. Eyes normal.
He looked like a toad.
Susan blinked. Eyes black.
He sounded like a toad.
Susan blinked. Eyes red.
He felt like a toad.
Susan blinked. Eyes blue.
He smelled like a toad.
Susan blinked. Eyes yellow.
...
Yuck.

"Slate?!" there was some splashing as the witch hurried around to pont to the creature. She stopped, within arm's reach, and kneeled down, tilting her head at him. Her eyes swam in various colors.
The toad was definitely a mutant.
Also, he was definitely a toad.
"I told you I was a witch!" she declared with triumph in her voice.
Silence.
"...Um..."
Silence.
"Slate?"
Slate?
Susan sat down, picking up the toad in both palms, and lifting him up to eye level.
"I am going to conclude the shape-shifting cancelled your telepathic powers." she told him.
Because that seemed to be the case.

The toad on the ground was large, fat, and muddy green. It sat in the neck hole of a shirt, perfectly sedate.

>> "Slate?!"

One bulb-like eye twitched towards the splashing. The other wandered lazily off to stare at a tree.

>> "I told you I was a witch!"

Silence: the sound of a toad jerking its back leg, convulsively.

>> "...Um..."

Silence: the sound of it moving a front leg, and listing to the left where it sat.

>> "Slate?"

Calley's long legs hung limply out behind him as the teenager plucked him up. His other eye twitched, and tracked back to join its twin in staring at her. The problem with his powers: new forms were always a little slow on the uptake.

>> "I am going to conclude the shape-shifting cancelled your telepathic powers."

Calley was not a duck, and Calley was not Slate.

The toad's chest inflated, like a slow balloon. Croak, it protested, into her face.

Croak.
The toad stared at her, and Susan stared back. There was a lot of green and muddy brown about the toad. Also, it didn't look very smart.
"Shifting magic shouldn't effect your intellect." she mused, turning the toad left and right for inspection, making the long hind legs swing "At least that's not the general idea. I might have made a mistake there."
Turning him back and (trying to) look him in the eye, Susan huffed, and spoke very slowly.
"Do. You. Understand. Me?"
Princes who turned into frogs - and toads - were said to have preserved their original mental capabilities, sometimes even speech, thus giving a clue to the princess that she was not kissing a mere amphibian.
Of course, if they were not the lightest bulb on the tree to begin with, it might be hard to tell them apart from the rest of toadkind.
But Slate was smart. So, following the logic, he should have become a smart toad.

Calley suspected he was being insulted. He didn't have long to ponder it, though, before she was tilting him right--

and tilting him left--

and swinging his legs.

One of the toad's legs twitched, twitched, twitched convulsively, in clear protest.

>> "Do. You. Understand. Me?"

Insult. To. Injury.

With great effort, the toad inflated himself again. He was aiming for another croak. What came out instead was his tongue, aimed on a collision course for her forehead.

Altogether, Calley found this more satisfactory.

Splat.
A wet and slimy toad tongue hit her forehead. Susan made a surprised yelp, and dropped Slate, who landed on her lap, in the hammock of her skirt between her knees.
"Don't lick me!"
Wiping her forehead with the back of her hands, she glared down at the toad.
"I am going to take that as a yes, even though the evidence is not conclusive. I suggest you find a more definite way of expressing your thoughts."
She wiped the back of her hands on the grass. Slate or not Slate, her... friend?... was currently a toad. Besides, licking someone with the eyes is not the same as some wet, pink toad tongue. Duh.

Whoever this girl was, he could see why she and Slate got along. Listening to her talk was like listening to a reference book narrated by a librarian.

>> "I am going to take that as a yes, even though the evidence is not conclusive. I suggest you find a more definite way of expressing your thoughts."

Oh he did, all right. He did. Using the leg he had somewhat under control (he knew how to make it start kicking, just not necessarily how to stop it), the toad vacated her lap in a truly impressive leap.

It would have been more impressive, if subsequent leg jerks weren't spinning him around in a circle. And if he didn't end up tangled in his own clothing.

The bundle of shirt and toad twitched. It blinked, its eyes dipping into its head before popping back out again.

Croak, it helplessly implored of the benevolent young woman.

Susan winced as the toad leapt, and ended up tangled in his own clothes. Moving back onto her knees again, she fished him out, holding him up again. The leg swinging looked really uncomfortable, so she used one palm to support the hind legs.
"Perhaps I should change you back into human." she suggested "I didn't mean to really make you a toad in the first place."
Clearing her throat, she put the toad down onto the bundle of clothes, took a deep breath, and looked at him, eyes going black to make sure her words were in the right place.
Te in hominis corpore muto.

This time, it didn't work.

Thus the witch spent the next several minutes reading enchantments and spells in various languages onto the toad - neither of them seemed to do anything besides making him twitch nervously. After trying everything in the book in every possible way, Susan sighed, and dropped her hands onto her lap.
"Um... we might have a problem, Slate."

...Yes. Yes, this was clearly a friend of Slate's. Observe her stating of the obvious; observe, also, her self-assured presumption that she was the one who'd done a thing. Observe, finally... that she was speaking in tongues?

One of the toad's eyes twitched down, and back up. She kept going, there, didn't she. And... going. He, ah, had to give her an A for effort.

Meanwhile, the toad took these few minutes to twitch. A vital and dignified element of his learning process, thank you. He learned, for example, where the 'off' switch on that leg was. And where the 'on' switches were for the others. Now, if he could just get them working in unison...

>> "Um... we might have a problem, Slate."

Wow. She... really thought she'd done this to him, didn't she? What was her power?

And she really thought he was Slate. Well. He would just see about that. The toad squared away his legs, one at a time, and looked up at her with the utmost of dignity. Croak, it declared. Croak, croack.

From here on out, any time she called him that, she was going to get a clear croak of protest. That would set her straight.

There was something about the dignified croaking that reminded Susan of Slate.
He always took falls with such dignity. She knew that from the skating experience.
"I know, Slate. I am very sorry." she nodded, standing up "Let's go back to the Mansion, and I'll figure out a way to change you back."
She picked up his clothes, stuffing them into her backpack instead of the books - Susan walking into the school with a pile of male clothes might raise some questions, after all. With one hand, she gathered the books, and with the other, she picked up the toad.
Wait a minute.
Lifting him up to eye level again, she tilted her head slightly as she stared at the toad, deep in thought. Her eyes narrowed, her nose wrinkled, and one could almost hear things clicking in her head.
After long moments, she shook her head.
"I am not going to kiss you."
Turning on her heels, the witch marched back towards the Mansion.

>> "I know, CROACK. I am very sorry. Let's go back to the Mansion, and I'll figure out a way to change you back."

Calley's censoring was engaged.

Going back to the Mansion was good. Right? Yes. Because while it was nearly spring, it was still getting cold at night, and he wasn't entirely sure what a toad was supposed to do about that. Did they hibernate, or just sort of... die? Toads were cold-blooded, right?

Also: as long as she didn't raise a fuss, she could probably slip him in under Cafas' radar. Which was also good. Because... he still needed time to think about that.

It looked like he was getting his wish.

The toad supervised her sloppy packing of his clothes with grave disapproval, and graciously allowed his plump body to get picked up.

And held hostage.

In front of her face.

>> "I am not going to kiss you."

No one was more relieved than the toad.

"I don't think me kissing you would work." the witch mused as she carried the toad back to the school across the Mansion grounds "Since I am the one responsible for the transformation. But I might be able to find someone else. We lack royalty in this institution, but I am not sure if the bloodline is an absolute requirement."
She adjusted her grip on the toad, careful not to squeeze him too much.
"Sorry for the inconvenience." she added somewhat awkwardly as she walked up the stairs to her room. Opening the door, she dropped the books on the bed and the backpack on the floor, before she placed the toad onto the desk, pushing some papers and notebooks aside.
Susan's room was the kind that looks neat and clean, but only because there is not enough stuff in it to make a mess. She had books, lots of them; clothes were stored somewhere out of the way. Apart from that, there was not much to see, since she had just recently moved in.
"Umm. Welcome to my room, I guess."
Sitting down, she rested her elbows on the desk, staring at the toad.
"You know, when we said we'd practice people skills together, this is not exactly what I had in mind..." she sighed "I guess I'll have to find out what kind of toad you are exactly, and... umm, go from there."

And then it got better.

>> "I don't think me kissing you would work. Since I am the one responsible for the transformation. But I might be able to find someone else. We lack royalty in this institution, but I am not sure if the bloodline is an absolute requirement."

Oh yes. This, clearly, was exactly the kind of reasoning he needed in his life. And exactly the kind of mind he wanted to be at the mercy of, for the next few days. The toad knew better than to struggle: struggling would get him no where when he was being hand-carried up a very long, very un-toad-body-friendly flight of stairs. In general, any time she was looking was a bad time to struggle.

If he was to be free, he first needed to learn how to use this body. Then, he needed to be crafty with it.

>> "Sorry for the inconvenience."

The toad croaked, in a non-nefarious manner.

Her room was... more lived in than his. Than his official, listed-in-the-Mansion-directory room, that is. Calley tended to collect rooms like people collected stamps. (Or toads.) For the moment, he seemed to have collected this one, as well. His eyes bulged and swiveled, taking in his newest domain.

Books (expected). Clothes (notable because of their absence from the floor, or general sight: this room, Calley determined, belonged to a female). Besides that, there was the usual Mansion default furniture: bed, dresser, chair, desk. All of them seemed rather big at the moment. And... vastly spaced. Calley prudently remained near the center of the desk, until he could control his limbs better.

>> "You know, when we said we'd practice people skills together, this is not exactly what I had in mind... I guess I'll have to find out what kind of toad you are exactly, and... umm, go from there."

Practicing their people skills? A cro-croak burped front the toad's throat. Practicing their people skills. That was cute.

Wait. That meant she still thought he was Slate.

The toad's eyes sunk into his head, then slowly, slowly bulged back out. It squared its legs against the wood, and drew in a deep breath.

CROAK, it protested. It lifted one foreleg, and slapped itself in the chest (a move that, given his current motor control, may have more closely resembled a localized seizure). Croak, it said again, with great determination.

He already knew what kind of toad he was. He was a Calley toad.

CROAK.
Slate was cleary trying to tell her something.
"We need to find a better method of communication" Susan told the toad "I am having problems decyphering your... sounds."
She observed the movement of the limbs. They seemed fairly involuntary. As it could be expected from a toad who has been a toad for less then an hour.
"Maybe I should ask you yes or no questions" Susan mused, then sighed "Think about it. I am going to the library to find a book on amphibians. I'll be right back."
She looked back from the door before she closed it "Slate. Don't go anywhere. This mansion has cats."