Summary:Two mercenaries who've butted heads in the past decided to put the past where it belongs. Luckily for Sister Margaret's. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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"You tell that goose fucker, if he doesn't pay up, Wade W. Wilson's gonna take it out of his ass!"
The Hellhouse had been rather quiet by all normal standards this day after Thanksgiving, but the arrival of the red and black-clad Deadpool seemed poised to change all of that. Coming down from a stairwell with the long haired bartender in tow, Deadpool is on a cell phone with someone, and he doesn't sound happy.
"… without lube! It won't be pleasant! Like getting an ass exam from an angry German doctor who happens to double as a dominatrix! You get the idea!"
Disconnecting the call, he looks at the bartender who's following him. They come to a stop at the edge of the bar, and after an awkward silence, Wade throws his hands out to either side. "What??"
"The whole, German butt doctor thing might've been a bit much."
"Whatever. Get me a drink. It's gonna have to be on tab."
The bartender rolls his eyes. "Jesus," he jitters and goes behind the bar, ready to make Wade a drink.
It's all in the timing. The newest arrival to the basement bar catches the sound of a voice which she hadn't heard in at least a couple of months and it immediately raises her guard another couple of levels.
It isn't that they necessarily hate each other but gunfire -might- have been exchanged a time or two and as it turns out people with healing factors are a little tricky to kill with lead intervention.
Unsurprisingly for a hangout such as this she's dressed all in black. What really makes her stand out in the crowd is that the face accompanying the shadowy look is like bright and flawless freshly fallen snow..save for the black spot. The black leather trenched albino quietly drifts in with arms folded together though it's probably not due to the cold. She's keeping her hands that much closer to her guns.
Smart people might have taken the opportunity to turn on their heels and walk out. Neena pushes her luck and steps toward the bar, coming to stand beside Wade. Not very far away, either. She glances sidelong at the other merc, eyes him up and down in a quick check for weapons, then breaks the ice.
"Hello, Deadpool."
If there's going to be a moment of imminent weapon retrieval she'd put her money down on it being in the next three seconds.
Aside from the twin katana blades that rarely leave his back, Deadpool's weaponry seems to have been stowed somewhere. A closer inspection would reveal a few bullet holes in his costume, suggesting that whatever job someone is trying to stuff him on may have just ended.
"No, not Jesus," Wade tells Weasel, the bartender.
"Oh God, please not the Jesus joke!"
"I come back in three minutes."
"And there it is," Weasel sighs, and finishes fixing Wade a whiskey before turning his attention to Domino. "And what can I get you, Trinity?"
Wade shakes his head, and reaches up to pull the mask from his head, revealing all of the horrific glory that is his bald and disfigured head. "Matrix jokes aren't any better, Dickless Wonder. Her name's Domino." The merc turns to give the woman a sidelong expression, lips pressed together tightly. "And there's no bad blood in Sister Margarets. Unless your name is Kilroy, and you're trying to stiff me on a job."
That marks more than three seconds.
Speaking of Jesus… Getting an up close look at Wade under the mask is not the sort of nightmare that anyone ever -wants- to experience. She's just about to turn down anything to drink on account of losing her appetite then thinks better of it. "Hit me with some Jack. And a side order of work."
So far so good… Not that Dom's letting her guard down ANY. With economical motions she hops onto a bar stool and props an elbow onto the counter, making sure to keep the red and black merc solidly within her view.
"Kilroy, huh. That his actual name or a foreshadowing of what ol' Roy's got coming his way?"
A ghostly fingertip lightly taps the counter twice as if helping to align her thoughts. "Alright, listen. I didn't know you were in the neighborhood. It seems we'll have overlapping territory for the forseeable future. This won't be a problem for me so long as it isn't one for you."
"It's a Styx reference," Wade answers with no shortage of bitterness in his tone. "And I'll bet he's never even listened to 'Kilroy Was Here'! It's a disrespect to one of the greatest prog rock bands of all time. And that should get him shot. In the ass. After he's paid me."
Turning his attention from the bartender, he takes note of Domino's expression. "Yeah, yeah. Soak in the glory. Fortunately it ends right about here," he lies, and indicates the general area right below his chest. As of yet uncommitted, he squints a little at the woman, considering. "Did you come here because of a job, or are you looking for one?"
Neena snorts. "I'll say. The Grand Illusion was a great album. The hell kind of uncultured joint is this? Shame on that man." Here she narrows her eyes to glare at Weasel but she's not being completely serious.
Deadpool's question is considered before she answers the guy. It seems harmless enough. She won't even have to bend the truth any! "Because of. But why stop at just one?" she asks with a sly little grin. "This is the Big Fucking Apple. Land of opportunity. I don't change digs for just one contract."
Shifting gears she makes a show of looking down at the fresh looking bulletholes in Deadpool's outfit. "How about you, staying out of trouble?" she asks with an amused smirk. "Close encounter with a couple of forty-fives. Classy. Anything that might require a little fire support, perchance? I'm offering Black Friday rates today."
Music references are a great way to get through any lingering bad blood, at least when it comes to Wade Wilson. His expression brightens and he bangs his hand on the bar, not hard enough to knock anything over but clearly excited about another person who appreciates Styx. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Weasel, meanwhile, is just rolling his eyes and serving Domino her drink. "You can't put it on his tab," he tells her. "Sorry."
Deadpool shoos Weasel away with his hand. "Yes, she can," he tells Domino, but not Weasel. "He's just nervous. I don't really make friends, and he thinks we're friends. More like… frienemies, maybe, but he doesn't know that. Right now, he's on his phone, looking up his insurance policies on this place."
Deadpool is not looking at Weasel, but sure enough, the bartender is on his phone. Of course, he's not pulling up his insurance contracts, but rather, is looking at Instagram accounts that border on softcore pornography.
"Not any more," Wade assures Domino. "All those goons owe me is a new suit. This is my last one. I'm gonna have to spend some time at the sewing machine, unless you have experience working with spandex and latex combinations." He pauses at that, then considers better of himself. "Anywho. I don't think I've seen you in here before. Sister Margets isn't just for local jobs. There's plenty of 'em, sure, but I just spent some time overseas. You can go international here. Enough for a guy like me to even go so far as to rent a room." He reaches for the whiskey, and lifts it in a toast to Domino. "Welcome to the shit show."
Trying to get a read on Deadpool's mental state is like trying to get a read on a bag of rabid badgers. The hand that slaps down on the table could have meant anything! Fortunately for Domino it turns out to be a win.
Weasel's apology is waved off with the same flick of a hand which catches the glass and brings it to ebony lips. Then comes the next win, Wade's buying! The glass is neatly and deliberately returned to the pitted wood surface, fingertips remaining along the rim as she regards Wade with another lopsided smile. "Well look at us. Just like old times, back before we were getting our murder on at each other. Your new pal's kind of an ass, though."
The next glance goes toward Weasel. Something tells Neena she should be glad to not be able to see what's on the screen.
Then back to Wade, the smirk replaced with something akin to being offended. "Do I -look- like a goddamn seamstress? Just throw some money at it and forget about it. Although this does explain why you look like a wrinkled prune under there. Latex doesn't breathe."
The grin is back with the cheers, clinking her glass against the bottle then taking another drink. "This town has good access, alright. First time in here but probably not my last. With company this riveting I doubt I could stay away," she teases.
"That's exactly what it is," Wade counters, seeming to agree that his skin condition must be due to latex. "If it were, like, July right now, I'd totally just keep the bullet holes. You know, for breathability. But it's colder than a corpse's ass out there, you know, and… and I…"
A pained expression forms on the man's face, and he looks off somewhere, as if there were some invisible third party observing the whole affair. Then, he grimaces, and lifts the glass of whiskey to guzzle it down with one big gulp.
"So, what kinda work you looking for?" he asks Domino then, seemingly forgetting whatever horrible thing he was about to say. "And where's the moral compass these days? Is it more… 'I'll only do ugly things for good reasons', 'fuck it, gimme some money', or somewhere in between?"
Neena pauses and blinks a few times while giving Deadpool the most peculiar look… Then she looks off in the direction he seems to be staring in. Then she looks over to Weasel, her expression going blank while rolling her shoulders.
Yep. That's Wade, alright. Some things never change.
She's just about to snap her fingers to lure him back into the here and now when he seems to return on his own. A momentary consideration leaves her wondering if his drink had been spiked with something but that wouldn't affect him, would it? What with the healy factory and all?
When Deadpool's small battery of questions are voiced these other ponderances are set aside. "In between," she suggests with a hand-wobble. "I've never liked limiting my options. As for the theme…" she trails off with a slight frown. "A little more flexible until I find my footing but you know the score. I enjoy a good rush. High stakes, high pay. Since those can take a bit more than carried over reputation I get to be run through my paces." Of which -absolutely none of it- has anything to do with her being a lady and being in her early-ish twenties, no doubt.
"How about you? Looks like you've held off on going legit. That's reassuring." She wouldn't want to think that they'd ALWAYS be butting heads out in the field.
"SOME people have tried," Wade remarks, and visibly rolls his eyes. Surely he's not talking about any particular X-people. He refuses to call them X-Men, considering the dated reference for sexism in the 90's thing. "It's like, some people assume that because you've got some kind of superpower, that means you immediately fall into 'superhero' or 'supervillain' status. These fuckers put on rose colored glasses and can only see black and white. Sometimes they shoot lasers out of their eyes, and still fail to see how fucked up it is that they're… Jesus fuck. I'm rambling again."
"You're always rambling," Weasel pipes up.
"Cool it, you chuckleheaded fuck!" Wade smiles at Weasel and gives him a friendly thumbs up, before rapping a pinkie on his spent shotglass twice. Refill time. Then he turns his attention seamlessly back to Domino. "High stakes, yeah, yeah. Good one. You know I still don't believe that 'luck' is a superpower." He eyes her suspiciously for a moment, before finally turning to face her directly. "Tell you what. You do some jobs with me. We'll take the really risky ones, and then, only then, after seeing you in action and not trying to blow my balls off, then I might consider, after first hand experience, whether or not you actually have a super power or not."
Up comes a gloved fist, prepared for the bumping. He holds it there, clearly expecting her to take him up on the offer without any complaints or counter-proposals.
Since it seems that they aren't going to be getting into the happy-shooty phase of their previous encounters Neena's finally starting to relax. Uncertainty is washed away with a healthy dash of Jack's and raw confidence soon takes its place.
"He does kind of ramble a lot," she agrees with Weasel.
"So what you're saying is that I need to tag along as your pretty sidekick long enough for you to determine if I'm worth being treated like everyone else around here? Gosh, what do I say to that…" she trails off while looking down to the counter as if the answer is somehow lingering down there. Maybe carved into the wood by a knifepoint or something.
When she looks back up to the de-masked Deadpool she chimes back in with an "Oh yeah! I start with a 'fuck you' and go from there," she replies with the sweetest of Domino Sugar smiles.
"I don't need you to believe in my power, Wade. Even though it totally is a power. But you know, sitting around here shooting the shit with you has me feeling a little nostalgic. So how about we go cause some trouble because I'm amazing, the matter of powers completely irrelevant, and see what happens."
Before any fist-bump can be made her hand comes up to block the corner of her mouth, not being entirely subtle while siding to Weasel "If he takes any of that as a come-on I'm shooting him in the face."
Right back to Wilson, smirking. Going for the bump.
"Understatement of the century," Weasel tells Domino.
"Hey, now," Wade says crossly. "Don't go putting undue sexism on me, young lady. I don't do sidekicks, and really, you're probably a hell of a lot better at all this than I am. I can pretty much phone it in and still get paid. I'm the best, but I'm really the worst. Doing anything with you, I'm gonna have to actually work."
He considers what he just said, and how it might be taken, even as Domino not-so-subtly stage whispers to Weasel. He's gonna get shot in the face again. He knows it.
"Do you want, like, a shotgun?" Weasel asks Domino. "Or something more subtle?"
The fist is drawn back a bit, and Wade tilts his head toward Domino. "To be clear, I don't fuck on the job. Okay? So let's not go blowing my brains out just because it's funny. And I'm talking about guns, not…"
Stopping, he rolls his eyes and looks to Weasel. "Come on, man, back me up for once like you're an actual friend!"
"He's not hitting on you," Weasel assures Domino.
"THANK you!" Wade looks back to Domino and finally brings the fist back in.
Wade's protest is met with a single upward curved brow, Neena's expression easily read as 'Really?' What's with the sudden praise all up in here? Well..sort of. She -thinks- it's praise..? Her expression gradually morphs into something more akin to a silent 'uh huh!' of mock-understanding.
"Whatever's handy" she easily sides back to Weasel.
At Wade's 'to be clear' Neena rolls her eyes in dramatic fasion then reaches for her drink, going back to staring dead-on at the other merc while draining the glass. The look becomes considerate before a brow again arches upward a few notches when she glances to Weasel with his confirmation.
Then comes the long-awaited bump.
"This is gonna be fun" she decides aloud with a gentle head-bob. Better the crazy that you know, right? Besides: Healing factor! If he gets to be too much she can hit the ol' reset switch then they can try again tomorrow.
"So what's the plan?" she asks with head canted to one side and arms folding together against the edge of the bar. "Got something special in mind or is this more of a 'call in a few favors' sort of deal? It's been a long trip, I could really go for kicking someone's ass."
Not only does Wade do the fist bump, but he does the mock explosion with his hand, complete with the vocalization. "Bcchhhhrrrrrrrrooom!"
Now that things have been marked down to business, he takes the new shot and downs it. "Well, we could do a JOB-job. OR." He leans in a bit, so that he can actually speak with Domino without anyone else hearing.
"I busted up this Triad ring a few weeks ago. Some super rich one percenter with a hard on for the social justice paid me to do it, because they were trafficking women. Which is right up my alley. You know, blow out a few dozen brains, set some sex slaves free, and get paid for it? It's like a triple win. Anyway. I know where they're operating here now. The guy can't pay me for another couple weeks to finish the job, but we could go ahead and do the job now, have him pay us later, and in the meanwhile, take a little advance payment out of the Triad's coffers. You know, we either take their stacks of cash, or the FBI ends up with it after we leave the scene." He visibly rolls his eyes. "Which is lame."
Oh, here we go…
Neena's expression shifts yet again and it's clear that whatever Wade has to share is something which she's interested in hearing about. There's nothing quite like an insider job! Sure you could wait in line along with everyone else like it's a goddamned fast food counter, order your number ten with extra sauce then be on your way. The -real- fun jobs are the ones which are completely off the books. No records, no signing on the dotted lines. And Deadpool? The man's got a definite 'in' right here.
What would be more difficult to decipher is exactly what point she's made up her mind to join the cause. The money, the thought of busting heads, the freeing of women destined for the black market… Just like Wade says, it's a triple win. Complete with a cash advance.
There's just one..potential..catch.
"Wade. You wouldn't be using this opportunity to try and screw me over as some sort of elaborate revenge scheme because of what happened before… What I'm hearing is equal play, equal pay. Hold to that and there'd be no reason to turn on one another. If we can keep this gig on the level then count me in."
Who knows? Maybe he's more forgiving to being shot than the others in this game! But a certain degree of caution goes a long way.
"I don't play games," Wade says. Suddenly, the whole clown-like demeanor is gone. "If I were gonna screw you over, you wouldn't see it coming." He winks at her, before leaning back and frowning. "Actually, you probably wouldn't need to see it coming, and it would probably backfire on me, because luck is apparently a power. But, you know, that shit's a waste of time. Why screw someone over, when you can just…" He makes a gun with his finger, points it in the general direction of Weasel's head, and squeezes the thumb hammer.
Setting back in his bar stool, he says. "Really. Water under the dam. Wasn't the first time, probably won't be the last. You take shit like that personal, in this line of work, you end up dead. Or horribly disfigured."
Seems there is a real man somewhere, behind the mental illness, spandex and tissue damage.
A slight hesitation follows with the 'water under the dam' remark but soon enough the dark smile returns, now complete with a showing of hands. "Just making sure. A girl can never be too careful. We haven't had many opportunities to sit down and get to know one another."
It's also refreshing to see that someone else in this line of work can view the situation objectively. It's not often the norm.
Furthermore… There are, of course, also stories about the Mouthy Merc. Going by word of mouth people just looove to exaggerate. She's only now starting to see the man behind the maskliterally in factand sure enough there is an actual person under the guise.
Maybe this can all work out after all.
"Alright, Wilson. I'm in. What's the next play and when do we start? Other than cargo-sitting for an out of state roadtrip my schedule's clear. Real exciting stuff, I know."
"Cargo-sitting with or without WiFi?" Wade asks. "Because WiFi makes all the difference."
Sitting back, he pulls out a cell phone and calls up a location on Google Maps, street only at first, but he pulls down the menu and raises the satellite view before sliding it over to Domino. It's pretty standard. Warehouse in one of the many docking areas, this one on the Jersey side of things. "Haven't done recon yet, but, you know, aside from watching that new mob movie on Netflix and maybe binging out on a bag of edibles before collecting from Kilroy the Styx-Hating Asshat, I'm free."
"All signs pointing to 'without,' Domino says with something of a dark mutter.
When the phone is slid over it neatly settles beneath the albino's fingertips, already on the screen like the device had been there all along. "Yay. Jersey," she deadpans while checking out the surroundings. "At least we won't have to worry about cleaning up after ourselves."
Typical urban docks. Plenty of cover. Likely shoddy to non-existant security measures. Plenty of nooks to hide out in. Delayed police response. No alarms are sounding in the back of her mind yet. It all seems pretty tidy.
"Well I'd hate to get in the way of your TV time," she idly remarks while copying the address over to her own phone then sliding his back. "That's serious business. So we can play this safe and do some recon or we can throw caution to the wind and do this shit live. Normally I'd lean toward the latter but if there's civvies on the scene then it couldn't hurt to do some scouting. Not a big fan of the friendly fire."
"Who knows," Wade quips. "Maybe you'll get lucky and there'll be some unprotected network nearby."
Motioning for another shot, Wade tries not to think of the tab he's building up. The downside of a healing factor is that it takes a lot to get him truly drunk, but the fist full of benzos he took half an hour ago are making that at least a little easier.
"Not a fan of friendly fire, either," Wade agrees. "I mean, it's not like they did anything to deserve a skull full of buckshot, and really, if there's one way to get the cops up your ass, it's collateral damage. Recon it is. The most exciting part of this industry."
The sarcasm is thick with this one.