Summary:The unlikeliest of partnerships forms; Deadpool enlists Spider-Man's help on a missing child case. Of course, Wade's only after the money. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Geez, this is what London looked like after the Blitz.
Spider-Man, admired by a few, vilified by a few, and hunted by a LOT, nevertheless still goes out in costume. People still need help, and he's gotten good at avoiding games of bullet billiards. He just waved to a hot dog guy he had rescued from the rampaging Rhino, and the guy had promised him a free chili dog any time he showed up. So that was nice. Guy had Hebrew National dogs, and his wife made the chili. He had been told this while noshing on one of the aforementioned chili dogs, and it tasted great. But after saving someone's life, everything tasted great.
He landed on a tenement building that had received only cosmetic damage and looked over the ruined expanse some had called the Brooklyn Blitz. There was some rebuilding going on, so that was worth something. But many buildings were condemned, and were good for nothing but acting as breeding grounds for rats. The four-legged AND the two-legged variety.
"You know what -really- blows?"
Deadpool is perched not far away, his butt planted on the edge of an old billboard that hasn't been in use for ages. Behind him, a fading sign reading 'BILLBOARD ADS WORK!' followed by a phone number; below him, little flecks of skin from the apple he's peeling with an oversized knife. His legs swing back and forth as if he were a child at recess, and another slice of apple peel falls to the rooftop in the space between sentences.
"Apple peel. Seriously, it's garbage. But it's -biodegradable- garbage, so, you know." Another fleck of skin goes flittering off to the rooftop. "Not littering."
Spidey blinks as he looks at the guy. He didn't expect to see anyone else up here. He was aware of a small undercurrent of danger from the guy in the mask. Like being next to a power line. Not dangerous right now, but stupid to poke with a metal rod.
"Uhm…hello, there. I hope I'm not intruding, I just go by here a lot, sir."
"I know." Deadpool lurches forward and drops from the billboard, landing with a thud and a crunch of gravel underfoot. Apple in hand, he pauses to take a bite from the peeled item, then spins the knife around and shoves it back into one of his many belt loops.
"I mean, they say you do." He nods his head down toward the street in general. "Really, you're a hard guy to track down! Hey, I'm not here for the bounty, or anything." Beneath the mask he laughs boisterously, with a genuine aire of being truly excited to finally, properly, meet the 'Midtown Menace'. "I'm a big, big fan!" Arms come up, apple tossed into the air, and he mimics thwipping webline that doesn't exist all over the place, with the mouth sounds and all. "Thwip thwip thwip thwip!" The apple drops back into an outstretched hand, and the man in red and black takes another large bite. "Irm ma illle mealous." Swallow. "But doesn't all the swinging kind of…" Up comes a hand, diddling around near his ear. "… scramble the brains? Ya' know? Make you dizzy?" He strides forward, peering at Spider-Man suddenly as if the young hero were some sort of specimen. "How -does- that shit work, anyway? OHMYGOSH. Do you lay eggs?" A pause, and a look to the side. "Dumb deadpool. Male spiders don't lay eggs."
Wow. This is…a little random. But he's not getting any overt sense of danger, just that power-line feeling. It's like a dull tingle, but otherwise, nothing.
Still, caution is advised. The guy is RIDICULOUSLY armed.
"Well, I'm…glad to know I have a fan," he says honestly. And he does sound a little on the young side, but with a quiet confidence. "Well, since you asked, I tend to have a fairly well-developed sense of balance. So, doing all the Olympic stuff for hours on end, I might not qualify on points, but I can keep it together."
He chuckles. "No, I don't lay eggs. And I don't make my own webs. Biologically, anyway." He raised his left wrist for Deadpool to see the web-shooter. "And since you know my name, may I ask what yours is?"
Deadpool leans in closer, and dares to reach out and poke at the web shooter. Fortunately, he doesn't poke it in the wrong spot, and so nothing happens. "Huh. Kind of looks like a…" He looks back up, and the eye patches in his mask actually seem to squint a little, as if the mask somehow manages to translate some of his facial expressions. "… never mind."
Taking a step back, he takes another large bite of the apple. "I'm Deadpool," he says. "And I'm guessing you have -absolutely- no idea just how much trouble you're in." He shrugs. "Or, maybe you do, maybe you just -sound- like you're five years into puberty. Whatever. Look on the bright side, kid, you're probably a good, what, ten years away from getting gray pubes? So, yeah." Munch, munch, munch. "Bright side."
Now with an apple core in hand, Deadpool carelessly tosses it over the edge of the rooftop, where it might drop down and could potentially bonk someone on the head.
The apple does alarm him almost as much as the name. Deadpool. An infamous mercenary. Takes impossible jobs. And apparently it's impossible to kill the guy.
The core isn't inherently dangerous, but there is something about it that tingles unpleasantly. There is a quick "THWIPP!" and the core is snagged by a thin webline, and then tugged back to be caught in the right hand.
Below, the guy known as the Shocker continues down the alley, the potential fight averted.
"I'm…aware of the bounty." The last crook who tried to catch him had told him it was up to ten MILLION, now. Alive, and preferably unmarked. He could barely wrap his head around the concept. And of COURSE Deadpool would be aware, if he was half of what the scuttlebutt said he was. "I'm…glad you're not trying to collect, Mr. Deadpool, sir."
It is with curious entertainment that Deadpool watches the apple core's salvage. "That… is badass," he murmurs to himself, before turning away from Spider-Man and walking around the perimeter of the rooftop. "Hey, I'm nooooo hero here, but I don't collect on the good guys. Only the -bad- guys." There's a certain flamboyance to the manner in which he speaks that suggests, despite the infamous reputation, the guy either knows how to party or really is a nice guy. Sometimes.
That happy demeanor changes into irritation suddenly. "Seriously, what's with the 'sir' shit? Look, I get it, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, or whatever, but seriously, it's… it's irritating. Just… it's just Deadpool. Or Captain Deadpool, if you really need formality, but we kinda voted that one down so, no, just… just Deadpool." He spins back around to Spider-Man. "Anyway, two things, buddy. One." He holds up a hand, index finger pointed up. "I got your back. Anyone fucks with -you-, they're fucking with -me-. You need me to rough anyone up, blow someone's brains out, I'm your guy. I won't even charge! Two." The middle finger comes up to join the first one. "If you know any cops, I got a way for you to make a little moooolah." The rest of his fingers dance around each other, as if fanning out a stack of invisible Benjamins.
Spidey blinks. "I'm sorry, M…I'm sorry, Deadpool. My uncle taught me to call my elders 'sir' unless told otherwise."
He was a little puzzled, and wondered how he had come to deserve such an…ODD angel to watch over him. "I…appreciate your willingness to help, but…don't hurt anyone if you can help it, okay? People deserve a chance…even crooks. And the only cops I know have dollar signs in their eyes whenever I get close. Ten million is ten million excuses to disrespect the badge. They're not all like that…but enough of them are that I can't chance it. Sorry."
It's entirely possible that, behind the mask, Deadpool's eyes are rolling. He picks up one foot so that he's standing on the other, and raises his hand into the air before doing his best Schwarzenegger. "I sweah I will not kill anyone."
The foot comes back down, and he sighs deeply. Perhaps a bit overdramatically. "Well, great." Spinning around, he flops down to the rooftop and crosses his legs, sitting there. "So, there's this kid, went missing. Brian Freeman. $10,000 reward. And thanks to all you hero types out there, money's tight these days. So, I figure, you help me find him, I help you. We split it, say, 60/40? Four grand'll get you a looooooot of poontang in this town, if you know what I'm sayin'?" He reaches into his belt and retrieves a cell phone, unlocks it, and tosses it Spider-Man's way. Upon the phone is the NYPD website with a dossier on one Detective Ramon Greaves. "This is the guy who's investigating the thing. I don't do cops. Apparently, neither do you. But, come on, man. You've got to -know- someone who does cops."
Deadpool stops and turns to look directly at the screen. It's unclear whether he's addressing his own typist or the person playing Peter Parker on this game, but whatever. "No. I'm not going there. Don't make me go there. That's just filthy. Even for me."
Spidey raises an eyebrow, even as he catches the cellphone with an almost careless air. He looks at it, then says, "I'm also working with someone to find missing children. I'll help…but I can't take money for it. I can't have people say that I can be had for a price, that I can be on someone's payroll. I'll help all I can, but you can have the money…" He pauses. "Uhm…who were you talking to?"
"Huh?" Deadpool asks, while swinging his head back toward Spider-Man. It's almost as if he isn't at all aware of what just happened a moment ago. "You, silly." Standing up, he folds his arms and studies Spider-Man carefully for a moment. "Seriously? You're gonna turn down…" He shakes his head. "Look, I'll collect the money when we find him. When -I- find him. And I'll give you some. Noooooobody has to know. I insist. You can't just go doing all this dangerous stuff and never get rewarded for it. You just can't." He waves a hand. "We'll just… we'll just cross that bridge when the ship comes in. Alright? Sheesh! So yeah. You know some people who know cops, right? You think you can help, think you can dig up what this Detective Dookie Two Shoes knows about the missing kid?"
Spidey glances at Deadpool, but let's it go. He'd also heard he was a little…weird. But then again, Peter himself was weird. Just different types.
He does smile at Deadpool's comment. "Deadpool…I *can* just…go around doing all this. I get rewarded in a lot of ways. Just today, I saved Old Man Jake's hot dog cart, and he says I can get a chili dog free whenever I want one. That's okay." He gives a reassuring smile. "Because why I do it is all I've got. But I am still going to give you all the help I can. You have my word."
That whole concept of doing something without monetary reward just doesn't compute for poor Deadpool. He stares at Spider-Man for a long time, then shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "You got a cell phone? You know, one -not- listed in your name? Your real name?"
Spidey nods, then taps it into the phone that Deadpool gave him, then tosses it back. "It's a spoofed IP, so you'll reach me without needing to know my real name. And I'll know it's you. If I don't respond, it means I'm doing something. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. What's your number, in case I find out something before you do and need to reach you first?"
Snatching the phone from the air, Deadpool breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank fucking Christ," he breathes. "If I had to teach you what a 'burner phone' is I think I might soil my spandex." The mercenary is already tapping an SMS message into his phone, which sends an animated GIF of his own stylized DEADPOOL face logo to Spidey's phone. "Now, no sexting. I don't sext with associates, only their moms." He stares at Spider-Man for a long moment, before bursting out laughing. "I'm joking!"
Spidey looks at him, before he is surprised by the sudden snerk that escapes him. The guy may be a confirmed killer, a mercenary who's seen more combat than Spidey's even known (yet), but there is something so EARNEST about the guy. He may have a bullet-scarred heart, but it seems to be in the right place. He checks his phone and nods. "All right, then. You got me, Deadpool." He pauses for a moment, then says, "Deadpool, when we find Brian, we can have lunch at White Castle, and you can treat. That okay with you?"
An air high five is thrown up into the air as this unlikely partnership is formed. However, at Spider-Man's recommendation, Deadpool pauses, and… and just stares. "White Castle? Dude. The -only- time you go to White Castle is after a night of heavy, heavy, HEAVY drinking. Seriously, it's designed for soaking up excess booze and let me tell you, if you want a guaranteed way to soil your spandex, it's with a fist full of sliders. No thanks. I know a taco cart over in BedStuy that makes the most delicious enchiladas. Deal?"
Spidey raises his hand to meet DP's high-five, but tilts his head slightly. "…Okay, Deadpool. Your choice. For the record, though, I REALLY like White Castle. It's a…sentimental thing, I guess." Afternoons in the park, then a half-dozen sliders at White Castle. Happier times.
"I'll touch base with a few people. There is a name I'd like you to check out. This group might be connected. They're called NIGHTFALL.
Somewhat crestfallen, Deadpool nods. "White Castle it is," he says, before committing that word to memory. "NIGHTFALL. It's like something out of a James Bond flick, you know?" He holds up his hands, drawing them through the air while stage whispering, "-Nightfall!-" Following a snort, he tips a salute toward Spider-Man. "I'm on it, buddy. Now… time for target practice!" He runs toward the edge of the building that faces the disaster area while pulling a grappling gun from his back. "I'm just kidding!!!" he cries, before leaping right off the edge of the building. In his wake, his voice can be heard singing the James Bond music, followed shortly by the sound of the grappling gun being fired toward one of those condemned buildings.
A few seconds later, the sound of something heavy and bone-like smashing into and through a brick wall can be heard, followed by a distant and echoey voice. "I'm fine, Spider-Man! Go web up some bad guys!!!"
Oh, he knew THAT sound. He's caused a few, himself, but Deadpool sounds…MEATIER than when it happened to him.
He almost runs over, but Deadpool says he's fine. Spider-Man looks torn, then shrugs. He is Deadpool, after all.
"Listen, you…take care of yourself, okay?" Spider-Man calls back. Talking to him was like having a verbal out-of-body experience. He turns back, wondering if he's dreaming all of this. It sounds too good to be true. Like one of those animes where a fearsome warrior comes out of nowhere and pledges themself to you.
Well, it could have been worse. It…
And now he's imagining Deadpool as a tsundere schoolgirl and NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE…