Summary:Deadpool checks into Luke's for drinks and almost nachos. He ends up meeting Jubilee, Wanda, and Noire, and talks about windsock physics. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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"Luke's."
Outside of the bar, a man wearing red and black spandex is standing with his head cocked to the side, studying the building. He looks as if he just got off a plane, considering the rolling travel suitcase behind him and the backpack travel bag that's covered with all sorts of touristy patches. You know, stuff like 'Keep Calm and Carry On' because, like, it's a carry on bag, and that's a pun.
"Is it a bar, is it a cafe, it's hard to say!" Deadpool shrugs and walks up to the establishment, opening the door and walking in. Pay no mind to the twin katana blades strapped to his back, and be glad he at least isn't packing heat. Airport security and all.
Naturally, drinking and sorcery don't mix. Not for most, anyway, and the practice perfected by the golden-skinned woman already at the bar most definitely gains no advantages for a high liquor threshold. She sits alone by the bar, foot barely in contact with the ground. The deep, dark mahogany bar reflects her image back at her in darker distortions, the drink sitting there singularly fiery in almost every way except the tangible. The tumbler hints somewhat of its nature. She occupies that stool at the bend, given a space where she can watch everyone coming and going if she so wishes. A prime bit of real estate, with no evidence why she managed to claim it for herself.
But all the same, there she is. Those inscrutable amber eyes lift to the entrant, marking the swords before the man. Her fingertip taps the edge of a block of paper, curling at the corners, marking the evident abuse that would make a librarian rather shrill. Wanda pivots slightly, putting her back closer to the wall, just as a precaution. Or to fix one of the buckles on her boot that seems to have come somewhat loose. "Ah."
Jubilee is already inside, having ordered the "Shitty Nachos," and she is absently massaging a spasm in the the calf of her left leg, as it is crossed over her right, and perusing her phone. She is in a leotard, tights, and cowboy boots, hair done up in a neat ebony bun. She's wearing a pale translucent short yellow skirt over a turquoise leotard. And a chunky purple scarf. Cause it's cold outside. Maybe she just came from a workout. Probably. Hopefully.
Noire Addams just so happened to be all bundled up for the cold, and in the process of removing her many, many layers and setting them on the set next to her. Her hand reaching up to try and flag down the bartender for a moment, before both of her hands clasp on her arms and rub up and down to try and warm up her own limbs. She needs a hot drink stat.
"…. both!" Wade says to himself with some level of satisfaction. The rolling suitcase clunks along the hardwood floor as he approaches the bar, finding a spot between Jubilee and Noire.
"Ladies," he says to both, and begins looking for somewhere to put his stuff. Crouching down, he peers under the bar for a moment, then exclaims brightly, "Purse hooks!!!" The travel bag is promptly hooked upon one of them, before he starts looking around for somewhere to set or lean his suitcase. "Hmm. Huh. Well. This is…" Looking toward Noire, he points at the chair into which she's emptying her various layers. "Do you mind if I…" He indicates the suitcase, then leans it toward the chair, and one could swear his left white eye-patch is rising expressively.
The great philosophical question of the cafe's nature will not be answered by Wanda. She runs a finger around the rim of her cognac to keep a droplet from running down onto the cardboard coaster announcing the greatness of some smaller craft ale from a brewery popularized mostly through social media. Her heel dips again, boot swaying side to side. Thirteen stools to pick from and hers is comfortably arranged to put the bar right at her hip, bitten in deeply. When Wade calls out the blessing of purse hooks, she leans sideways to see whether one of those brassy knobs is currently in sight. Not that she carries any kind of obvious purse, and the long leather coat and boots suggest she hasn't anywhere to hide excess material. "They have more hooks." A gesture indicates the smoky corner used for heavy overcoats, scarves, the occasional lamppost. Perhaps not quite. Her voice is inflected most definitely by an accent rooted somewhere in the crossroads of Europe, though hard to distinguish exactly where. It's the love child of Italian and Russian.
Jubilee looks up to Wade, and rearranges herself slightly to make sure he has plenty of room. Wide, honeyed brown eyes look him over as if he is just any other dude on the street. Spandex notwithstanding. Sure fits him well, though.
"Uh…are those padded pretend muscles? Please tell me they aren't." She is still trying to decide whether he just came from the Comic Con. On the screen of her phone, tragic music announces her death in whatever game she was just playing, from which she has now been distracted.
Noire Addams looked over to Wade as he greeted, offering a warm smile as she responds, "Sure? I mean I don't own the chair or anything. You can borrow it too for stowage too." A friendly shrug given and remaining as she curiously looks over Deadpool. "I like your suit. The coloring is nice." The curious accent of Wanda draws those gray eyes to study over her curiously before she inquires, "Where is it you hail from Miss?" As she looks at Jubilee, she giggles a bit, smiling as she is too curious, just not courageous enough to ask that before applying alcohol to herself liberally.
"Swell," Deadpool answers Noire and leans the suitcase up against that bar stool. His attention is then caught by both she and Jubilee as they admire his costume and muscles. "Oh, those are one hundred percent real," he answers. "And steroid free!" he adds, before his white eye-patches seem to scrunch up, as if the man behind the mask is scowling. "Steroids make your pee smell weird," he stage whispers.
The mask makes it unclear whether or not he's taken notice of Wanda just yet, but when Noire speaks to her, he turns to look her way, head angled to the side once again. "Definitely not Germany," he points out, before glancing back to Jubilee and Noire. "But don't let that fool you. German girls can be really hard to place unless you hear them say 'Einsturzende Neubauten'." A finger is waggled in the air, as if he were a teacher scolding his classmates.
The spandex covered and armed man finally sits down at the bar with a pleasant sigh. "Now, lets see. What do we have GAAAASSSSP-" He turns to Jubilee, more specifically her food, and it is clear that his mouth is open wide, given the way his spandex is stretching. "They have nachos!!!!"
His head swivels like a rubber band toward the bartender. "I want the nachos! And a b…" He pauses, and turns to peer at Noire, then Jubilee. He finally turns to Wanda and asks, "Do you think the bartender knows how to make a blowjob?"
Back to Jubilee. "Make, not give. It's a drink." Back to Noire. "I guarantee he knows how to give one. It's a universal truth." He then turns and looks off into the distance, but in truth, he's looking directly at you, the player, through this wall of text you call a MUSH client.
"It's a really good drink, but boy did this just get awkward, Monica Lewinsky style."
The cognac tumbler is mostly forgotten, though it's not as though someone can just reach over and toy with it short of crossing Wanda's personal space. The bubble could be ten feet wide for all it matters. She glances askance at Jubilee's reaction to Wade's suit, and then raises her gaze to him in kind. A reaction behind a blank mask requires lengthier consideration, and so the rudeness of staring must be dealt with. That mask of her features isn't given quite nearly so much to concealing responses as an actual cloth veil would be, but she remains rather obviously nonplussed by the response. "East Berlin," she says. Rather colourful in the deadpan delivery, slanted on that lilting accent that wants to break down the Wall and create some new fusion in its place. It's singular, in the sense Basque or Finnish tend to be when heard.
Minus the thirteen additional Is used to expand a single word into a sentence in its own right. She replies to Wade, "My English is not good. What is that?"
Bishop to flank the knight, perhaps. She gives Noire that slight shrug, a rueful hint at linguistic limitations known almost everywhere.
Jubilee brightens, her head bobbling slightly as the spandexed non-con responds to her query. "Then let me thank you for your choice in vestments and CRAP ON A STICK I died…." She has only just noticed. She furrows her brow, perturbed at her phone. She has the attention span of one of those things that has a short att—"Now I need a blow job, too."
"Germany!" Wade mock slaps his face and turns toward Wanda, finger hovering in the air, much in the same way as his mouth hangs open, as if he's considering whether or not he wants to tell Wanda what it is. "Oh, the drink!" A giggle comes from the man, and he answers her properly. "Baileys and Kahlua topped with whipped cream. It's a shot!"
Without missing a beat, he swivels his attention back to Jubilee. "Angry Birds 2, or Toon Blast? God, that would be weird." He turns to the bartender and says, "Two blowjobs, hers is on me." He switches easily to an Irish accent. "And a pint of Guinness for me, laddie."
The correct response is not 'Ich bin ein Berliner,' because clearly as mouthwatering as she is, she's not a doughnut. "A shot. Maybe? The bar is good." This much, hardly damning praise. She raises the glass to her lips and finishes the last of the cognac, at least a finger's worth, in a single long swallow. Long and elegant as a pull, no more. The emptied glass she sets on the coaster, all part of the same sinuous motion launching her off the stool and onto her feet. "Luck for your drinks."
It might be just that, counting for something. A nod to Noire, Jubilee, and Wade is all they get; she's German. They don't smile casually. They think Americans who do are lunatics.
Noire Addams is trying to not laugh, trying so, so very hard to not laugh but soon it burst forth from her lips. Her hands moving up to try and cover her giggles, as if that will make them return from ocne where they came. Once she is finally semi-composed she finally responds, "No blowjob for me…. not much of a.. drinker? Never really tried sooo anyway." She pauses before she inquries, "So.. have you always lived here…. I actually don't know your name steroid free guy." Someone has been living under a rock somewhat!
Jubilee looks triumphant! And that shot sounds /really/ good. She busies herself unwrapping her chunky purple scarf, which, as it turns out, has several other colors variegated through it. Violet, pink, blue, turquoise, yellow…All emerge as she unravels herself and drapes the scarf across the back of her chair.
Then, her eyes go wide and she blinks, and tries to keep a firm demeanor as the torrent of Noir's giggles is unleashed. She looks from Noir to Wade. "What turned her giggle box upside down?"
"Tschuss, Fraulein!" Wade waves goodbye to Wanda, his German sliding off the lips as if he lived there, once upon a time.
Looking over toward Noire, he seems entirely nonplussed as she giggles, but the mask makes it a bit difficult to really determine just what he's doing, or even looking at. "Not always," he answers. "I've lived lots of places, but." He reaches over to clap his suitcase. "Just came back from Tokyo today! I'm Wade, but you can call me Deadpool."
He turns back to his drinks as they arrive, and casually slides Jubilee's blowjob over to her while lifting the mask with his other hand. Just up to the nose, no further, but it reveals a fraction of a face that is horribly disfigured.
"The drink, Olivia," he tells Jubilee, even though her name is not Olivia. He lifts the shot and offers a toast to his fellow spandex wearing bar mate. "To the eighties, and Richard Simmons, May he Rest In Peace."
The shot is taken, leaving some whipped cream upon his nose and the folded up mask. Then, he opens the TouchTunes app, loads some credits onto the jukebox, and immediately cues up "Physical" by Olivia Newton-John.
Something muffled and vaguely sounding like dark wave techno begins to sing out of Noire's back. A look of annoyance echoes in her features as she begins to dig out this device of annoyance and soon it is clear that it is indeed that music and soon silenced. "Pumpkin time sucks. I gotta dash. Raincheck to you both on drinks~" Her hands fishing out two business-ish cards before she dashes off. The cards really just say her name and her work number as well as a link to her artwork, which is eccletic, super ecclectic. Quickly she is rebundling herself up before she is dashing out of Luke's.
"Oooh…" Jubilee takes her shot, and lifts it to Wade. "Richard Simmons is still alive! To his health!" she toasts, as well, and downs her own shot, leaving just a little whipped cream along the top edge of her lip for her tongue to look for.
"I'm Jubilation. But folks pretty much call me Jubilee. And that…" She nods toward her phone, "was Weasel.io, y'know, that game where you're a weasel and you gotta chase people and take stuff from their pockets and bags to build a fort. I nearly had a fort built, too! But I got run'd over by a frickin taxi cause some dude came in wearin' spadex."
"I was gonna cue up Evanescence!" Wade calls to Noire as she departs, then sighs in a defeated way. He turns back to Jubilee and asks, "Maybe she's upset I didn't give her a blow job, too? Anywho." His hand slides down to pick up the card, look at it, then quickly tuck it away into one of his leg pouches. Something fluffy and pink is in there, but the pouch is closed quickly.
"He is??" Wade asks, clearly having been misinformed of Richard Simmons' living status. "I need some new workout videos! Is he still doing workout videos?" His tone of voice suggests that he believes Jubilee to be an expert on the subject.
The mask drifts down to the phone, and he visibly grimaces. "I hate when that happens," he says with apology. "Getting run over by a taxi. It really sucks, especially when you're wearing spandex."
Jubilee shakes her head with a shrug. "He isn't doin' videos, anymore. He mostly just gets kidnapped by like his brother in law or something, and then releases statements about how he's doing fine despite the rumors, and reminds people to eat a side salad with their hot pocket." She breathes a laugh. "As if."
But then, she seems intrigued, and she turns on her stool to face Wade. "Ooh, does it hurt? Like, if you're some sorta super, and you get hit by a taxi while you're wearin spandex, does it break your bones or do you just bounce off? Does it hurt, or are you just numb? Do taxis hurt more than like a tow truck or a Prius?" The tone of her voice suggests that she believes Wade to be an expert on the subject.
"Bones, organs, everything," Deadpool answers truthfully. "Tow trucks are way worse!" he exclaims, and one could imagine the eyes rolling by the way his head lolls about.
"The sucky part about the spandex is what happens when your broken parts grow back. It feels… super weird, and sometimes things grow back but the suit has changed or moved around and so it gets really tight, like, uncomfortably tight in some places. Like having a wedgie, but everywhere." He pauses. "I don't recommend it!"
"The Everything Wedgie," Jubilee muses, and then shudders. "God, gross. I figured spandex would make it EASIER to, wait, what the WHAT?? Hold the pretzel, Annie. You regrow stuff? Like…okay. If you broke some appendage, it would heal…but if you broke it /off/…NO SPECIFIC APPENDAGE IN MIND…it would grow back? Do you amputate your spandex too or just walk around lookin like a flaccid windsock?"
Drinking his Guinness, Deadpool seems completely unimpressed by Jubilee's surprise. Just another day in the life for him, after all! "Yep," he answers. "Guess it depends on whether the suit rips, y'know?" He then scoots back a bit, eyeballing Jubilee dubiously. His legs cross a bit and his arm drops down to cover his crotch, and he looks at the young workout woman warily. "Hey, don't get any funny ideas, Jubilee, or I'll never give you another blowjob, ever again."
"Not THAT!" Jubilee is stammering a little, and tilts her head, gesturing frantically. "I mean like an arm or something, you can't even BREAK your…/that/. Can you? No, don't answer that. Cause I don't even wanna imagine /that/." She shudders. "New subject! Want some shitty nachos?" She slides her platter over a little, toward Wade. "Contrary to popular belief, they're to die for."
"Oh thank god!" Wade exclaims, and turns back to face his Guinness. "It… you can… but I don't wanna…"
Nachos.
Reaching over, Wade snatches up a nacho, drenches it in melty cheese, and eats. "Oh god, those are good! Two more orders of the shitty nachos!"
He takes a drink, then asks casually, "So what's with the workout gear?"
Jubilee winces at Wade's almost explanation. "I uh, yeah. Just…just don't do it." She nods with finality and starts helping him eat nachos. "I teach gymnastics. It's my happy place. Like your pink fluffy whatever in your pocket. It makes me happy. What do you do?" she asks, looking up at his katanas. "Fruit ninja?"
"Professional cosplayer," Deadpool answers while drinking his beer and eating his shitty nachos. "This year I tried to do Spider-Man, but he wasn't having it, so I went to Tokyo comic con and did this instead." He turns to look at Jubilee, wondering if she'll actually believe the cockamamie story.
It doesn't last long before he's laughing aloud and shaking his head. "No no no. I'm a Wade of all trades. Hired gun, assassin, kidnapped person extractor, whatever. If it pays, and more importantly, if there are bad guys to kill, I'm so there." He pauses then, looking around the bar for a moment. "Maybe I shouldn't say that out loud."
Jubilee looks around. "Well at least I don't think anybody really heard ya, this time." She shrugs. "I wouldn't have been surprised, tho. Either way. I mean I have heard Spider-Man is pretty doable, but I haven't ever met him. I have also heard he is resistant to being done. But this sounds a lot more exciting than doing Spidey. (No offense, Spidey.)
"So you're like the real deal? You really do all that stuff?!"
Glancing left and right, Wade leans in close to Jubilee, speaking quietly. "There's a whole sex trafficking operation in Tokyo that is… well, it isn't, anymore." His eyes waffle as if this should be impressive to her. "It took a few weeks to find them, but, yeah. I do all that stuff."
Leaning back, he seems to be considering something. "Japan is super weird."
Jubilee leans in and listens, nodding and looking impressed, eyes wide. "Oh yeah, Japan's weird. That's why I'm Chinese," she agrees, with a conspiratory expression. Like she somehow made that choice.
"So they don't have those vending machines in China that have…" Wade stops, and leans back. "Well. Nevermind." He's about to say something else when a cell phone rings in one of his pouches; the ringtone is 'Careless Whisper'.
Digging our the phone, he suddenly shrieks and bolts upright. Grabbing his suitcase and bag, he starts for the door without paying his tab. "Gotta go, Jujubee!" he calls, "Christmas just came early for ol' Deadpool!"
"Okay, byee!" Jubilee calls after him. "Don't forget meee!" Jubilee, without thinking twice, pulls cash out of her pocket and hands it over the bar. "I'll cover it. Just…gimme the nachos to go." She stands up and starts wrapping up again in her scarf. "Hope he doesn't turn into a windsock," she muses, as she watches the door close behind him.
.~{:--------------:}~.
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