Summary:Wade gets an offer he can't refuse Log Info:Storyteller: Keiko |
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Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.
. . o O (The fuck? Is George Lucas writing this shit? I'm much too frightened to tease a senator! God. I'd rather gag on a fifteen inch dildo covered in kitty litter. Anywho.)
The basement bar for hired guns is always open, never empty, and sometimes busy. However, there are times where the general dysfunction dies down a little, leaving the real regulars (or those not getting enough work) to have some sense of peace and quiet. It's one of the few places where Wade Wilson feels comfortable being, well, himself. His ugly, disfigured and unmasked self.
"Hey." He raps on the bar to get the tender's attention. "Twizzler-Dick. Another round here? I'm trying to get at least somewhat shitfaced before fucking Duck Dynasty comes on and Moosehead refuses to let me change it."
Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children might be wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it's the place to go when you're looking for … errrr … scum and villains.
The bartender looks up and scowls at Wade "Pretzel-Dick if you don't mind." he mutters before pouring a liberal measure (several really) of some amber coloured liquid into a glass and sliding it across to the counter to the merc with a mouth. "Girls like to eat me right up."
The lights flicker and stutter, the TV goes staticky before the screen goes black. The bartender freezes as he moves to turn away, posed for some cheesy stop motion animation.
"I told you we would meet again." It's a heavily accented voice that sounds behind Wade. One that he'll recognise and likely revile. "No, don't go for your weapons. I've bought some friends this time …"
Should Wade look, Giovanni stands in the doorway, the tattooes on his head glowing, arms folded and his fingers held in a certain way. There are at least two shadows behind him.
"Ha haaaaa!" Wade answers the bartender, shooting him a double finger gun before rolling his eyes. "In your dreams," he remarks, while reaching for his drink. An odd look crosses his face at the, well, disturbance in the electrical forces, and is about to make a joke about not paying the electric bill, when that familiar voice causes the hairs on the back of Wade's neck to stand up on end.
Wade doesn't have to go for his guns. There's an unwritten role in the underbelly of America; places like this are safe zones. It's like being on base during a game of tag, or aboard Air Force One when the nukes go off. Beefs started here are settled here; beefs that started elsewhere are settled elsewhere.
Giovanni will find more than a dozen firearms cocked and pointed his way, but none of them are Wade's. "Are you fuckers deaf?" he calls out over the sudden silence. "He said no guns. Jesus." Spinning around in his barstool, the disfigured man flowers at Giovanni in a manner that is both tired and irritated. "Seriously. If you make a mess of this place, I will shit in your chest cavity."
Giovanni jerks his head to the shadows behind, there's some chanting and blue light flows from them. Weapons start to get really hot - so hot they can't be held, turn into bouquets of flowers or other innocuous things. "We aren't here to fight or make a mess of a place."
From behind him, a giant fox slinks into the room. It's not normal, it's glowing blue. A spirit animal - different to the snakes that Giovanni calls, this one prowls round the room, looking … menacing.
"We want to talk with you. Is there somewhere we can do that?"
There's a general commotion around the room as weapons essentially force themselves out of people's hands, by various methods. Wade observes it all with a half cocked eyebrow, then watches the glowing blue fox for a few moments. "You could've just called 1-800-DEADPOOL," he remarks, without humor.
The number actually works, after all.
The extra large shot of booze gets guzzled down, then the shotglass turned over and set down without being quite that gentle, but not hard enough to come off as angry. "Sure," he says, and nods his head toward a booth in the corner that is relatively private. "Just, ya know, be aware that people do get blowjobs back there, so, I can't be held responsible if you get anything on your magic pants."
Wade gives the bartender a reassuring nod before slipping off his barstool and walking toward aforementioned booth. Probably best not to consider the stains on the furniture there.
Giovanni gives Wade an uncompromising stare, as the bartender is released from the spell.
He stumbles "What the fuck, man?!" he blinks as the tattooed and three others walk in - two with face and head tattooes and one who's body seems to be covered in ink.
"Stay alert." Giovanni says to the others, who spread out to take up position. Giovanni himself, follows Wade to said booth, looking dispassionately at the seats before sitting down.
"We came prepared for you this time. Your sanctuary means little to us, but we'll honour it. You have the heart of the warrior, Wade Wilson." Oh yes, they know who he is. "And you have a dream that you can't realise. Our Lord Plokta appreciates this and sent me to find you."
"Special forces," Wade tells Giovanni. "Modern day warriors, alright," he answers, with no shortage of sarcasm. "I mean, I guess you and I aren't really that different, except… instead of shooting kids because they're probably suicide bombers, you're kidnapping them, and doing things to them." He shrugs a bit, and reaches for a beer that's brought over. There's one for Giovanni too, because there is honor among killers.
When the dream is mentioned, Wade's shields are momentarily compromised. The flippant poker face of a disinterested mercenary falls, and for a moment, he seems tempted.
"Tell me about this Plokta character," he says, beer in hand. "Mutant? Kree? Hitler Youth? No, wait." A hand comes up, finger in the air, eyes squinting. "Hitler Youth descendant with latent x-gene mutation triggered by drinking the kool-aid out of Jim Jones' jockstrap. Or was it Joel O'Steen? I can't decide."
Giovanni's countenance is passive. Wade might have trouble reading him as a result. The tattooes on his head still glow and his fingers are still held 'just so'. There's only so much trust extended, it seems.
"Children are the future." he says easily. "We but train them to serve our Lord and take their place in his rank and file. Better than leaving them to rot in their mediocre lives, don't you think? We but help them find their true potential."
There's the faintest quirk of his lips, *almost* the start of a smile, when Wade seems tempted. This is a hook that's been well baited. They know what it is he desires.
"Your irreverence to our Lord will only be tolerated so far …" The words are quiet, the beer ignored when it's passed over. "Lord Plokta, the Mindful One, supreme ruler of the Dark Domain and Lord in Otherworld. He is the giver of mere wishes - whatever you desire, he can bring to pass. You have experienced at least some of that. I come to … offer you more…."
It takes a great deal for Wade to avoid banging his hand on the table and giving Giovanni a real piece of his mind. Apparently, mistreating children is a line one does not cross around him. Evident considering what he did to those Denim Crows.
"Guess I'm just not one for faith and bibles," he answers. "Look, I've been around the block. There aren't any deities, just… powered people pretending to be something they aren't. It's like if Q from Star Trek: The Next Generation went to Jerusalem, rubbed in some blind asshole's eye, then snapped his fingers and changed reality. BAM! Religion. Two thousand years later you get… it doesn't matter."
The fruit, however, has been dangled. He leans forward then, beer discarded on the table, and settles an icy gaze upon Giovanni, unwavered. "I just don't believe you," he says.
Disbelief, however, doesn't change the fact that deep down within Wade Wilson's soiled soul, thoughts are spinning. The what if's, on both sides of the mortality fence.
Wade will notice that Giovanni truly believes that he, the Nightfall, are doing right by the children. It just … is but such is the way of zealots, is it not?
"What is faith but belief?" The tattooed man answers, that thick accent colouring his word. "I think you're lying. I can see it in your eyes, the nearly desperate hope that we are. You've experienced, when I drew on our Lord at that warehouse and gave you a taste of it. Shall I demonstrate again? Prove you weren't imagining it?"
He raises a hand, hovering it near Wades temples but not touching. "Say the word, Wade Wilson, and I will prove I am not a liar."
Mentioning the experience is a moment of weakness. A number of memories flash through Wade's mind. Friends who died, which is the reason why he keeps people at arms length. The young reporter who hired him to handle a mob situation. Gwen, pinning him down atop a speeding commuter train. He'll live to see her die, like he lived to see them all die. Like Vanessa.
A part of him wants his old life back, before cancer. The more sensible part of him just… wants to die.
Wade leans forward, angry that such hopeless wishes should be stoked. "Let's have it, then."
Laughing low, Giovanni touches Wade temple, pressing his thumb and forefinger to it - much like Spock in a mindmeld. Wade can feel the energy pulse through him, the current setting fade away.
"Experience the power of Lord Plokta, Wade Wilson. Know that his gift can be real."
It's going to be *great* … whatever Wade experiences.
The world around him melts away into illusion that isn't quite illusion. Wade Wilson's brain has suffered so many injuries that it's fragmented, and the illusions rush in a parallel manner that only he is insane enough to understand.
A young woman with sunny blond hair and blue eyes, holding his hand. His face unmarked, his hair intact, the very picture of Hollywood masculine perfection. They're in love, and they grow old together, hair graying, bodies no longer the image of perfection.
A burly Russian man, wrestling with him in a gymnasium. There are X-emblazoned insignia on the walls, and they are training. The large man gets him in a headlock, one that Wade simply can't get out of, so… he tickles the Russian and ends up kick-slammed across the room. It may seem violent, but to Wade, it is the unreachable dream. To do something good, and to chase after the man he'll never have.
Then there is Vanessa. The scene is graphic in nature; they are both naked, their faces red and strained with passion. There is no cancer, there is little to no bloodshed; he is the soft mercenary, roughing up stalkers and faceslamming extortionists for money just to get by. They, also, will grow old together, and raise a beautiful, normal child named Todd. She'll complain about it until the day they die, but at least Todd will have a decent life insurance policy to live on once they're dead and gone.
The harsh reality strikes him, for as much as there may be power behind Giovanni's talent, Wade's fractured mind provides one denominator of reality that can't be shaken. In this, he is Deadpool. Vanessa is gone, his face disfigured. It is his life, only this time, when he throws himself from the roof of a tall building, the injury sticks. He doesn't bounce back, his bones and organs don't heal. This time… he stays dead.
In the real world, Wade is gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles, and tears are forming in his eyes.
Giovanni watches Wade, that quirk of his lips growing just a little more. The others watch the room and the spirit fox prowls.
The vision fades, leaving Wade with that feeling. That feeling of knowing of you can have something, if you're just willing to … pay the price.
"I told you … I wasn't lying. You can have that, forever." The magi sits back, a smug air about him. "Do we negotiate, or do I tell my Lord … no?"
When Wade comes to, his eyes are looking around the room, desperate to be grounded in reality. However, within moments, he finds himself desperate to no longer be grounded in reality, whatever this reality may be. He could shove an entire fist full of mushrooms into his mouth and never experience something like that, even without his healing factor.
Gasping for air, he closes his eyes for a long moment, trying to get a grip on a reality he doesn't really understand. When he opens them, however, his eyes are sad. "What…" He gulps deeply, then pries his fingers from the table.
"What do I have to do?"
"All you have to do is give yourself to my Lord. The Mindful One will do the rest." Giovanni does smile now. A cold hard thing. He's baited the hook and Wade has bitten. "But not here. Come with us."
Giovanni stands, glances around the room and gestures to his people. They start to file out and when he's sure Wade is following, leaves as well.
The lights flicker again and the TV starts blaring.
It's to a warehouse down by the Hudson that Giovanni takes Wade. The outside of the structure is heavily graffitied, but Wade might notice some similarities between the tattooes the Magi bears and that … artwork.
There's also signs that the Denim Crows might use this as a base though, right now there's no one else there but Wade and Giovanni. The other Nightfall have gone, elsewhere.
"Are you ready then, Wade Wilson? To receive my Lords blessing?" The magi has a small knife in his hand, one that seems to be made of glass.
The bartender gives Wade a concerned look when he rises and moves to follow the weirdos. Wade, however, shakes his head and makes a subversive gesture toward the bartender, as if to set him at ease.
Wade Wilson is no fool. He knows that this is likely a huge mistake, and it lingers there in the back of his mind… where the memories of all the people he's killed are also hidden. Memories of how he's told Piotr that he's not a hero, of how he's sure that one day, his friendships with Peter and Gwen will be spoiled the first time they see him blow someone's brains out.
He's hit 'fuck it' once before in his life. As he looks at that small glass knife, he hits it a second time. "Yep," he says, before cracking his neck. "As long this isn't like Chinese glass torture. I mean, it'll grow back, but I really just don't have a thing for sounding."
He stares at the magi for a moment, certain that the fellow has no idea what 'sounding' is.
"Really, don't google it. If you don't know, you probably don't want to. Let's get to it."
Giovanni doesn't know what sounding is and it shows a little on his face. "I won't and it's not." He knows what Chinese glass torture is at least.
"Give me your arm, sleeve up." The magi takes up a scroll and unrolls it as he waits.
When Wade presents his arm, the Magi slices it - drawing what blood he can. It stings, hurts a lot - this is not normal glass that the blade is made out of.
Giovanni seems to know he needs to move quickly, his recitation from the scroll is quick. Wade can feel the magic take hold. "All you have to do is say you accept this, that's all … the magic and the blood will do the rest."
"Thank goodness for small miracles," Wade mutters. He pulls up his sleeve, having seen this part a thousand times. However, when the glass slices him, he actually grimaces. It hurts as it should, but usually something like that just… doesn't. "Ow," he remarks, then eyeballs the wound that isn't closing as fast as it usually does.
"Huh, that's weird," he murmurs, then watches skeptically as the proverbial cauldron is stirred. He seems to reconsider for a moment, but those images are fresh on his mind. "Fuck it," he mutters decidedly. "I accept!"
"Accept my gift then …" The magi intones the rest of the spell. Should Wade look at him now though, there's a feral pleasure on his face, his eyes glinting maliciously as blue arcane symbols seem to form in the air and land on that open wound, only to sink into.
Rather than the dream life he was promised, Wade experiences something else. His mind isn't his any longer, steel bands of control start wrap around it. Tightening, sapping his free will - well, tapping it rather - he had just given it over to the Magi, after all.
"Now … Wade Wilson. You are *mine*." Giovanni growls. "Who is your Lord and Master?" One guess. It's not Plokta that Wade feels the urge to obey.
The last thing Wade can really remember…. is gazing upon that blue glow as it sinks into his arm, and suddenly wishing he'd not made such a bargain. It's the final thought before his mind becomes truly ensnared.
Rather than becoming a thing of beauty once more, the opposite happens. His skin becomes sunken, the flesh losing some of its color. Perhaps his one wish, to be dead, was granted… at least in some twisted manner. Not the bargain he made, to be sure.
The very last thing that runs through his mind is a face. A woman's face, with black hair and a soft smile.
"You are," the voice comes, without emotion and without life. "Master."
Giovanni laughs as Wade answers, his face a mask of triumph and retribution. "Yes, I am. And now, my little toy, I plan to use you against all those that stand against us. Show them the true might of the Nightfall."
Almost carelessly, he wipes the blade of the knife against his sleeve before sheathing it against his hip. The scroll is rolled up with reverence before he turns a disdainful look on …
Undeadpool.
"Come. We have work to do." He turns and heads out of the warehouse expecting his servant to follow.