Theresa Maeve Rourke Cassidy (theresaxcassidy) wrote in marvel_united, @ 2009-07-22 22:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | deadpool, siryn |
Deadpool, Siryn
Who: Theresa Cassidy, Wade Wilson
NPCs: ---
When: July 29 2009 (major forward dating)
Where: Switzerland! The Alps! Woo hoo.
What: Terry had a run-in of the bad sort with some science nerds and some really heinous chemicals. Weirdly enough, Deadpool pulls her out alright and they have a quasi-civil conversation.
Rating: PG 13
It was cold. Not that cold ever bothered Terry much – she ran an easy 106 Fahrenheit on a good day - but she wasn’t supposed to be cold. Nor feel like she’d done some serious binge drinking. Terry’d never gotten drunk enough to completely black out and forget what had happened – although by rights that’s what should have happened more than a few times – and she knew she had not gotten drunk.
Yet the world felt like it was rocking, and she was bound by… she couldn’t quite tell. Not rope, too flat. But her sonar was affected by whatever had been done and she couldn’t get clear information. Things probably weren’t helped by the fact that someone had duct-taped her mouth.
She couldn’t remember much more than bright, white lights, cold metal, and pinch of needles.
With a muffled groan she cracked her eyes open and tried to roll over. She couldn’t stretch properly, with her hands bound behind her back, and her legs tied together at the knee and ankle.
And good lord her mouth tasted rancid.
"Shhh... quiet now everyone. Here we can see the Irish lass in her natural habitat. With long fiery hair and lips of pure silver, this magnificent creature has been known to eviscerate her mate and consume his still warm entrails." Came that very distinct voice somewhere behind Terry in what amounted for a passable Crocodile Hunter impersonation. It was spoken softly from somewhere about 5 feet away. "This rugged explorer has been searching for this harpie for about four score now and he's finally bagged his girl."
Three quick steps brought Wade over to her and using a booted foot he rolled her over onto her back. There were a few kicks but Wade quickly put a stopped to that by dropping down to sit on her thighs. "Allo my little Chinchilla! Today be funny accents day! Care to join in with your muddy Irish?" His mask hid his expression which was one of utter amusement. Wade's head canted to the side as he regarded her. He had been the one to duct tape her mouth and drawn on the silvery surface had been a masterful rendition of a mouth with a pair of big buck teeth. He snickered slightly as his own joke.
"Terry. My little shnookums. I'm not here to hurt you." He held both hands up in a motion of surrender. "If I wanted to do that, I would have put two in the back of your head where I found you. Now, I'm going to take the duct tape off your mouth if you promise not to blast me into oblivion. Stomp twice for yes, and once for no. Or was it once for yes and twice for no? Alright fuck it, Fourteen times for yes, Seventeen times for no." He rested his chin on a balled fist. "Go!"
Terry figured – for the moment – Deadpool was telling the truth. If he wanted her dead, he would’ve killed her. So no, he didn’t want her dead.
He apparently wanted her to suffer. She could barely feel her hands, and having them stuffed under her back like that was not comfortable. And still groggy from the drugs, she was having a hard time following what Deadpool was saying. The world kept rocking back and fourth and she really hoped she didn’t throw up. Or try to throw up. Her mouth was duct-taped closed.
Never mind she couldn’t “stomp” with Deadpool sitting on her thighs, so Terry did her closest approximating of “I hate you” with narrowed eyes and a growl. But her growl wasn’t very loud, and it was rather raspy, which worried her.
He watched her, his eyes alight with glee. This was the woman who would constantly show up out of nowhere and hypnotize him with her sultry eyes and boob shaped boobs only to kick his ass when he tried to make a move. Women and their mixed signals. He could never understand them.
"Alright, well I'm going to take that very appreciative glare that you will be good for now. I only want to talk. Honest." He leaned forward, some of his weight now on her baby maker/stomach. Yes that was a gun in his pocket and he was glad to see her. "Now there is a trick to this… I know…" The trick being pull it off quick and fast like a band aid… But part of him still hated her so he pulled it off nice and slow.
"Yowch!" He exlaimed, rubbing his own mouth as if he felt that. "That's must be a closer shave for your mustache than you've even gotten before." Tossing the duct tape aside he got off of her body and bent down to haul her up into a sitting position. "Be nice now. We're in Avalanche country."
“What the flying fuck do you want?” Her voice was rough and cracked, and Terry finally identified the taste lingering in her mouth. Blood. God, why was she tasting blood. Her neck hurt.
Honestly, she’d thought Deadpool a little too dim to capture her. Furthermore, why would he want to capture her anyway? Something wasn’t adding up quite right. She vaguely remembered white light, and the pinch of needles, but that was it.
"Oh! Gee! I'm sorry. Next time I'm freeing prisoners from that fuck nut Killebrew, I'll make sure to leave your ass behind!" He dropped her a bit roughly on the floor and stalked over to a table. He sat down and began to clean the guns he had laid out on the table. The smell of gun powder was still lingering in the air. They hadn't been in their little hidey-hole for very long. "Your way of showing appreciation is very reminiscent of Wolverine. Dude decides to gut me cause I tells him his hairs a little fruity. Too Batman-esque. Bam! Snikt! Snackt! Guts me. You X-freaks got a way about you. At least with us blood thirsty merc's, we're decent folks to those who pull our asses outta the fire."
Terry squeaked – yes, squeaked - when she hit the floor. That was dignified. But the guns reminded her of something: that she was in bad shape, that Deadpool was a psycho, and aggravating the psycho under her current circumstances was not good for her continued survival.
With a grunt, she arranged herself into a sitting position, hunching over and looking very put out. It took her a moment to work through Deadpool’s chatter to the important information. “… Killbrew?” Killbrew was the one who’d originally messed with Deadpool. But she couldn’t really remember meeting him. What the hell would Killbrew want with her anyway?
It was generally a good idea not to insult the psycho. However Deadpool wasn't like crazy Patrick Bateman psycho. No, he was more like... over-grown-child-on-a-sugar-high-with-a-p
"Yeah. Killbrew. My very own Uncle Ben from the dark side of the Force. Only instead of some half-assed line about responsibility and power, he cuts out my heart and turns me into his little psycho-bitch boy. Batteries sold separately. You're lucky I even managed to pull you out of there in one piece. Turns out he still had ties with Francis.. and Francis is a certifiable nightmare compared to me." He shook his head and once the gun was completely oiled he started piecing it back together.
For a moment, her sight went dark at the edges, and she was glad she was already sitting down and hunched over. As far as she could tell, Deadpool wasn’t lieing – at least, not knowingly – so…
“Why the hell would Killbrew want me?” As far as she could tell, Killbrew’s preferences were more along what Wade turned out to be – quick healers with a love of guns and sharp things. Not long range glass-cannons. After a moment, she added, “And what do you want?” Her voice was still hoarse, but her tone wasn’t as accusatory as it had been the first time she’d asked it.
Simply put, Deadpool wouldn’t rescue the person who’d beaten the snot out of him for no reason. He had to want something. Something for something, nothing for nothing.
"Maybe cause you're ruthless? You've got devastating powers? You have information about the X-men? Or hell maybe he just wanted to clone you and make himself a nice harem of Siryn clones." Deadpool replied, not at all phased at what a violated feeling a comment like that must give someone. His whole world was already so skewed, he didn't care if he happened to skew the world of anyone else.
"What do I want?" He asked, looking over at her with his head canted to one side. "Hoo-boy. That's a loaded question. How about a membership in the Merry Marvel Marching Society? Maybe a one on one dinner with Bea Arthur? Or.." He stood up, large hunting knife in his hand. He marched over to her, shoulders square, murder in his eyes. He knelt down beside her and grabbed her wrists. He quickly slit the duct tape there followed by the binding at her feet. "Or maybe I don't want anything."
For a moment, Terry thought, I’m going to die the death of countless horror movie victims. Killed by a psycho in the woods. Lame. But instead, she was cut loose. Not that it did much good because the world was still rocking back and fourth, and her hands and feet were slightly numb. The sudden shift in her balance nearly caused her to fall over, but she balanced herself with her newly freed hands, even though the pins and needles were a bitch.
“So what, you got me out ‘just because’? I somehow doubt that.” There were any number of ways this was wrong, but her rather fuzzy thought process was having trouble grasping what.
Deadpool stood once more and shuffled over to the table again and tossed the hunting down onto the wooden surface with a clatter. For the merc with a mouth, he was being awfully quite while he reached into his back pack and pulled out some astronaut ice cream and about two dozen Fruit-by-the-Foot's. He sat down in his chair and pulled the wrapping off one roll of fruity goodness. He ate about three of them before he decided to speak again. He would "have to learn to open up and share with others if he wanted to make any progress." That was what Dr. Bong had said anyway. So here he went.
"That madman held me captive for what felt like lifetimes. Torturing me nearly everyday in the name of science. That's why to this day I'm unable to support stem cells despite my blinding hatred for babies and fetusesesesese." Wade turned his head away, a streamer of tropical berry blast dangling from his lips. "It's a weird feeling to long for death everyday of your life and when you finally think you've got your wish. When you can feel... her lovely hands embrace you and draw you in… this healing factor kicks in and tears it all away."
He grabbed a handful of the packages and tossed them over to Terry. They were an assortment of flavors. "Having experienced that first hand for... who knows how long… I couldn't just leave you there to suffer the same thing I went through." He rolled his shoulder in a shrug. "I'm not a complete monster y'know."
Terry almost said, “Had me fooled.” But in a rare moment of tact – do not piss off the guy who can kill you – she kept that to herself and riffled through the fruit rollups. … she couldn’t believe Deadpool ate the things. Although the man was a loon, so in the realm of the unexpected, it actually made a certain amount of sense.
So it came down to how far she could trust Deadpool not to change his mind about rescuing her, until she’d recovered enough to move about and defend herself under her own steam. As far as she could tell, she was in one piece. Except for the dizziness, and the fact that her power seemed to be off kilter. “Did they catch you? Is that what happened?” Was Deadpool more like Bobby, taken against his will and subjected to science?
After a moment of fiddling with the wrapping, Terry gave it up and rested her chin on her knees, eyes closed. That seemed to help with the rocking.
If it was bad for you.. If it was made of any random assortment of chemicals or god forbid.. trans fat (gasp!).. If it mutated you or gave you cancer.. then most likely Wade ate whatever it was. He had a cast iron stomach and horrible taste in food products. Then again, the dashing and daring life of a mercenary called for portable food. Now if they could invent Roasted-Pheasant-by-the-Foot.. Then you'd be in business.
Scooping up the astronaut ice cream, Wade went ahead and cracked that open as well and began to chow down. Bland and delicious. "They told me they would cure my cancer. Of course I was as gullible as sorority girl at a frat party. I should have checked the fine print where they inform me that the cost was my soul, sanity and Archie comics collection." He frowned at the freeze-dried section of strawberry icecream. he set that on the table instead of attempting to devour that.
“They lied.” Terry could understand that. Nobody had lied to her enough that it had left her deranged and (for a while) deformed. But Tom had caused… other problems. “So you went after Killbrew, but found me there instead.” Pause. “Thanks.” Was Killbrew dead now?
And how the hell had he managed to capture her in the first place? The last thing she remembered clearly was going to bed and… well fuck. He snuck up on her when she’d been asleep.
"Yeah, they lied.." Deadpool said, idly chewing on his ice cream. "Which is funny cause they're weren't even women!" He said, in a dry tone before looking away. Okay so he tried to keep people at a distance with humor when he was reliving the harshest moments of his life. He cleared his throat before tossing the rest of his food onto the table. "I found you. I found about ten other people. I freed you all. Francis didn't show up until I was getting you out. I had to move and fight at the same time. Hopefully you're not too sore. Even if you were, it's the least I could do to pay you back…"
He cleared his throat "Oh and I may have used you as a human shield at one point. I can't be too sure."
Terry decided it was best not to ask what he was paying her back for. “Well, I don’t seem to be bleeding and I don’t have any bullet holes. Who’s Francis?” But her voice still cracked and rasped alarmingly, and she couldn’t seem to get it above ‘indoor voice’ level. Craaaaap.
But this was… interesting. She could see past the joke interjecting – Terry did that herself, when she talked about her past at all. But she wasn’t quite comfortable with the whole ‘sympathy for the devil’ routine that was going on.
Was that his angle? The paranoid portion of her mind – it was always on – gnawed at the idea for a moment, before concluding that Deadpool lacked the finesse and the brains to try staging a rescue to wiggle his way into her confidences.
Deadpool tried to choke back a yawn but it managed to get pass. "Shame." He said idly before stretching out his arms. He continued to work on the guns before him in the off chance some sort of unspeakable half robot half human killing machine decided to drop by at this hour. It'll be like that week and a half after the second terminator movie came out...
"Francis. I wouldn't go so far as to call him my Joker… I'd say he's move like a minor B-list. Maybe the Calendar Man or quite possibly the Mad Hatter." He held up a knife and examined it closely. "He's the guy who cut my heart out with this knife." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "I mean sure, it's no Muramasa blade but then again what is? I don't need one big ol' weakness like that floating around out there in the world."
Terry translated that as: second string, not worth being concerned about. Ok. “You gonna try going back after Killbrew?” When he tried it, she’d probably get the hell out of there if she could. Though from what she could hear of the weather outside – snow – that wouldn’t be pleasant. She couldn’t get a clear reading of much from her sonar though, no matter how she tried.
If by not worthy of her concern she meant, run in fear of the cyborg who is as sick and twisted as they come, then she had the right idea on how to handle him. Deadpool spun the knife around in his figners before gripping the handle and driving the point into the wood of the table. "I doubt my little attempts to kill him succeeded but yes, I'm going back and I'm goingto make sure he's dead, even if I have to pull his heart ouf through his ass. Chapelle style."
Run in terror? Pssh, yeah right. As if Terry ever did that. … though weirdly enough, jumping head first into situations that would kill a normal person seemed to work for her. She had no idea what Deadpool meant by ‘Chapelle Style’ but it couldn’t be that important. “Have fun with that.” She said dryly. “Where are we?” Just how far off track was she anyway?
Deadpool merely rolled his shoulder in a shrug at her statement. "I always do. It's one of the many advantages of being me. You constantly have fun, you constantly blow shit up and you constantly have erotic fantasies involving older cast members of 70's sitcoms." The mercenary stood up once more and began attatching weapons to his body in various places.
"Wait! Did I say that out loud?"
Uh, yeah.
"Oh shut up, no one asked you." He said to no one Terry could hear.
Yeah. You did.
"Lalalala, I'm not listening to you." Last but not least he grabbed the pair of Katana from the table and swung them impressively before sheathing them on the pair of scabbards on his back.
"There's a map on the table over there marking our location." Wade crossed the cabin once more. "But what do you say Red?" He held a pistol out to her, barrel in his hand, grin pointed at her. "Care to get a little payback with me?"
She… was just going to ignore most of that. “Doesn’t that seem horribly predictable to you?” Terry shook her head at the gun. Odds were she’d just wind up shooting herself on accident, with all the drugs that were still swooshing around in her system. She needed a serious detox. And she couldn’t afford side trips unless she wanted Tom’s trail to get cold.
"So predictable, they won't know it's coming." He replied coolly. "Trust me on this one, I know these things. It's my book after all." With another shrug he spun the gun and tucked it into the hostler on his belt. Those sixth months on a dude ranch had really paid off. It could have been worse; his pants could have fallen down around his ankles like they tended to do when he attempted that trick.
"Well maybe when you sober up and stop pulling this little Keith Richards routine of yours and get down this god forsaken rock we can grab a Sarsaparilla sometime." He started hoofing it to the door pausing momentarily. "And hey!" He turned to look at her. "I want my teleporter back, It's a classic gag and I miss the cool belt buckle."
Terry briefly wondered what Keith Richards had to do with anything, before mentally shrugging. “Oh, so that’s what it is.” … it was not perhaps, the best time to say that it may not be in working order anymore, since she had taken it apart to figure out how it worked. How on earth had he managed a teleporter? Tony Stark hadn’t even made one. If that’s what it really was. Deadpool was not entirely right in the head.
“Um, sure though. Just don’t go blowing up crap or shooting things as a way of saying ‘hi.’” Whatever it took to get him out of there.
Keith and Terry had a lot of stuff in common at the moment. They both loved high altitudes and they were both strung out to the point of being unable to stand up. The mercenary nodded in the affirmative at her bit of constructive criticism. "My people skills aren't quite up to date…" He offered by way of explanation. "Well and I love explosions…" Another shrug.
"Catch ya around Terry." He opened the door allowing a gust of freezing air to come rushing inside. The last thing that any normal person would have heard as he charged out into the snow would be "The shrinkage! The horror!"