InsaneJournal

bea boschelli (domino). (knockemdown) wrote in mutanthaven, @ 2010-02-15 20:12:00

WADE: The hotel was now ground zero. His base of operations. His headquarters for Operation: Seduce Bea Boschelli. Warren wasn't likely to hand out personal residence information to Wade anytime soon, so the mercenary had been at a loss for how to proceed with his traditional nighttime wooing -- until an angel materialised in the form of St. John Allerdyce. His tipoff from the Aussie led him to the ninth floor. The hour was late, but he crouched outside room 909 with knife in hand, dabbing and smearing bloody letters onto the hotel room door.

Sure, he could've used ink. But this was his heart, after all. His very lifeblood! There was no way Bea could see his artwork and ever doubt how much he was willing to sacrifice for her. She'd be moved by the dramatic gesture. Right?

--But unfortunately, room 909 did not belong to Beatrice Boschelli.

Partway through 'ROSES ARE R--', the door opened and Wade almost fell in.

"Scheiße!"

That was not the sweet, dulcet sounds of Bea's voice. Instead, a blue male figure was staring at the door in horror -- Kurt's gaze swivelled to focus on Wade. "Are you insane?!"

"Ha ha! Uh! What a hilarious misunderstanding!" Wade backpedalled, his hands up as form of apology. Goddamn John-- "Use a washcloth and some hydrogen peroxide, maybe some bleach afterwards, to get that out. Sorry. Get back inside, dude, you're not who I'm after."

Ten minutes later, Wade had reconsidered his plan of attack -- so he was currently breaking into Bea's room via the window. Once safely and quietly inside hotel room 910, he could spot and recognise her personal effects. Thank god.

He recommenced his bloody artistry, this time on her walls.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Let's go home
And have a screw!
xoxo deadpool

BEA: The door to Bea's hotel room swung open all of a sudden, with Bea returning fresh from Inez's apartment. She had done some 'shopping' through the other girl's closet. She took a few things, just in case Remy might be in a certain mood. Bea wanted to be prepared.

With the door wide open and the clothes draped over one arm, she continued to hold onto the door knob as her eyes land on the intruder. She hasn't quite focused on the words he scrawled on the wall just yet. "Wade, what the hell are you doing here?" She entered the room and tossed the clothes over a chair she had by the table full of books.

WADE: He whirled around. This wasn't supposed to happen yet! She was supposed to find the poem, mull over his affections, then he'd be back later--

But screw it. Onto Phase 2. Wade reached into a cavernous pocket of his coat and withdrew a crumpled, squished bouquet.

"Happy Valentine's Day!"

BEA: She stared at Wade for a long moment before she busted out laughing. "All right, good joke. Who put you up to this? Inez? Is this because I asked to borrow some of her clothes for Remy?" Bea continued to chuckle to herself as she began sorting through the borrowed clothes.

WADE: Blank stare and a wave of crushing heartbreak wrenching in his gut. "The matters of the heart are no joke!" Wade burst out, feebly waving the bouquet. "I'm deathly serious right now. I mean just look." He pointed to the (still-dripping) poetry, with a wounded expression.

"What d'you mean, for Remy?"

BEA: She shot him a skeptical look. Sorry, she wasn't really going to take anything Wade said seriously. How could she? He (and his declaration) fell into the realm of absolutely absurd. She tilted her head as she regarded his poetry, in his blood, and shrugged. So he wanted to screw her. She wasn't surprised.

She smiled when Wade said Remy's name. "Just thinking of telling him how I feel -- hey, you're friends with Remy. Do you have any advice?"

WADE: His blank stare leveled up and evolved into a jaw-dropping gape. Bea? Bea Boschelli, Domino, angling for Remy? --Oh, HELL NO. If anyone melted this ice queen's heart, it was gonna be Wade, right here.

"Oh my god! No! A guy tries to bare his heart and soul and tell you how much you -- I don't know, matter to him and all that stuff! And you squash it! You squashed my heart!"

His emotions were surging into hysteria, and Wade himself didn't even realise how irrational he was being. He needed to win her over. Needed.

"Remy isn't an option for you, Bea. I am. So I'm going to come back later with some better flowers and let you think about this for a while. Okay? Okay."

He shoved the flowers at her and stormed out.

BEA: Bea glanced around, holding the crumpled flowers and setting them aside after Wade exited. "Okaaaay..." She thought he was overreacting and wouldn't realize until later, how important his feelings for her would be in what she needed to do.

WADE: Right. His mission had just acquired a new objective: Remy Must Die. Thankfully, this time he knew exactly where his target resided: room 208.

More difficult than showing up on Remy's doorstep, however, was grappling with the prospect of actually shooting Remy LeBeau in the head. Not only was Remy one of his best (and only) friends, but the man was head over heels for him. An unexpected development, sure, but--

"Who wouldn't be hot to trot for me, AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT," he mumbled to himself as he approached the door. He settled for the most direct approach. He knocked.

REMY: Wade knocked. Remy answered.

The door to his hotel room jerked inward in an enthusiastic burst, as if he had been waiting for this visitor the entire day. Now here he was. Remy stood stock-still in the doorway, unsure of what to do next, except stare at Wade with wide, shining eyes completely at odds with the bad boy persona he so enjoyed cultivating. Did he lunge at him? Did he respect Wade's personal space? He didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize his chances with his cher amour, but the temptation to make some sort of gesture was almost too overwhelming.

"Hello," he breathed, hand drifting up to Wade's face slowly, pads of his fingers making the barest graze across his beloved's cheekbones. So high. So defined. So very exquisite. His hand dropped after making brief contact, and swept inward to beckon Wade in. "You're here. How nice."

WADE: All of Wade's limbs froze at the touch, his arms and legs motionless and right-angled while his face went into a rictus of terror. He finally relaxed once Remy removed his hand and stepped back. Wade, in the meantime, had his hands hidden innocently behind his back, a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

"I dunno what's gotten into you, amigo, but you are acting exceptionally mouth breatherly today. Juuust sayin'."

REMY: "Love has gotten into me, mon ami. Mon cheri," Remy declared grandly, hand still frozen in sweeping pose of 'won't you join me for an aperitif in my boudoir.' Normally, a suspicious hand -- his hands, his beautiful, dexterous, talented hands -- tucked behind Wade's back would not have escaped Remy's notice. However, in these extraordinary circumstances, he hadn't gotten that far yet in his appraisal of the merc. Remy was ravenous to rediscover every detail of his beloved as he gazed upon him with new eyes -- new, enlightened eyes -- but there was so much territory to cover. It took time.

"Are you here so we can talk?" he asked, eyes still flicking over Wade with a feverish cast.

WADE: "Uh. Yee-eees," Wade answered cautiously, drawing out the syllables. "Sure." Should he bring up Bea? Should he indulge in the patter? The preamble? The introduction? Or just go for it?

--In the wise words of Nike: JUST DO IT.

Wade took a few steps into the room, following Remy's inviting arm -- and he immediately slammed the door behind them, right arm whipping up to train the gun directly on his once-friend, now-admirer.

"Say hello to my little friend."

REMY: He gazed down the barrel of Wade Wilson's gun. The thief was unphased by the over nine thousandth firearm being pointed in his direction over the course of his young life, and thus could only think of one thing to say:

"Oh, Wade," Remy exclaimed, eyebrows a-waggle. "You kinky boy."

WADE: Wade's jaw worked noiselessly, words caught in his throat. For one of the first times in his life, he was at a loss for what to say. There were no preconceived sitcom scenarios that sprang immediately to mind. No quotes or citations he could steal. What did you say, in a situation like this?

He stared at his friend's arched eyebrows, mouth silently gaping, fish-like. Finally, Wade shook off the shock with a full-body convulsion, like a dog bristling and shaking off water.

"...okay. Okay, this is too weird, even for me. Th-th-th-that's all, folks. I am out of here. I got nothin'."

He spun the gun around, uncocking it, and immediately strode out of the room, not meeting Remy's eye.

BEA: Bea Boschelli found out what room Wade was staying in. This made things easier. Since it's come to her attention that Remy couldn't be hers -- not until Wade was out of the picture -- she decided to take matters into her own hands.

She knew this hotel better since working on the security team -- which also meant she could avoid suspicion as she managed to lower herself down on the balcony outside. She had a small pistol at her side as she stepped softly onto the floor, testing the balcony door. Unlocked. Well, at least he was being helpful in her pursuit to remove him as the competition.

She crept inside the dark room, allowing her eyes to adjust. She caught sight a sleeping form in the bed, moving around the mattress to double check it's him before raising the barrel of the gun to his temple.

WADE: "PEEK-A-BOOOOOO!"

Sudden movement. Arms circling from behind, Wade's voice was suddenly breathing down her neck as he swiftly knocked the gun out of her hand. He'd relocated from Deadshack → hotel in order to better woo his blessed paramour, but the recent failure on Remy Must Die meant that Wade had his hackles (and his guard) up. The pile on the bed collapsed, revealing its true colours as a stack of pillows; he'd been prepared for nighttime attacks. Possibly indecent assaults from Remy. But Bea? Right here?

"Honeybear! I'm so glad you're here!"

BEA: With her gun gone, she struggled against him. Admittedly, she was caught completely off guard -- but she should have seen this possibility. She twisted in his arms as best as she could to wedge an elbow between them, to gain some sort of distance. "Wade! Let go of me!" She came her to do very particular things to you and this was not it.

WADE: One surprisingly sharp elbow in his ribs, and one flailing woman later, Wade had almost managed to keep a grip on her -- but he was loath to hurt his love, so Bea soon slipped free.

But-- no! He couldn't let her get away! The second she was out of his grip, Wade bodily flung himself at her. He tackled his love.

BEA: Her fingers barely wrapped around the barrel of the gun before Wade threw himself at her, their bodies hitting against the mattress. Before she could think about it, she swiped and struck the butt of the gun against his head, shoving him away from her. She moved the gun around in her hands to point it at him properly, ready for his next -- wait.

She waited for him to move for a moment before she gave his shoulder a shove. Huh. ...He seemed to be breathing. In the dark of his room, she weighed her options -- she could finish the job (though it did not seem sporting to off an unconscious man) or she could leave. She thought about who could have heard him or the struggle and decided not to chance it -- she'll have to try some other time. She immediately stood up, stepping over his legs hanging off the bed and leaving the way she came.

Wade. Wade. Wade. Wade. It was every pulse in his veins, it was tattooed over his heart, it was his alpha and his omega. Wade. It was music. Wade. It was poetry. Wade. It was perfection, the universe's ideal of configuring four letters with one another. Wade. It was unparalleled beauty, both the name and the mercenary attached to it. How Remy LeBeau had ever missed it he did not know -- but remedying this oversight had somehow become as essential as his next breath.

A series of tubes was not sufficient for conveying the depth and weight of his passion. It deserved more. It needed to be declared in person, but tracking his target down was proving difficult. After Wade had fled his room, Remy had tried to make a house call of his own, but Wade didn't seem to be home, no matter how hard he knocked -- no matter how closely he searched the shack after he broke in.

No chance he was with Madeline 'Yesterday's News' Pryor. Could he be with Bea?

That bitch.

Half an hour later, he knocked hard at Bea's door, but again, received no answer -- and again he was forced to break right in. No one home here, either. Remy cursed his luck, gaze swinging from side to side to look for something, anything, that might give him a clue about where his erstwhile darling had gone.

ROSES ARE RED. VIOLETS ARE BLUE. Remy's eyes widened. Wade had been here, as he'd suspected, but the Cajun had simply been too late.

LET'S GO HOME AND HAVE A SCREW. The words were painted with red, as if written in Wade's blood -- Remy's own blood rose in anger and jealousy at the words of passion that the merc had written for someone else. They should have been for him. That XOXO was his. Only his. But how to make it his?

Those were his kisses. His hugs. He'd show them all.

Suddenly his legs were propelling him forward, stumbling to the base of the wall at which the XOXO had been scrawled, opening his mouth as if to receive a holy sacrament. His mouth was affixed to one of the X's clotted on the paint in the next moment, tongue darting out to the surface to lap at the bloody letter inscribed upon it.

The paint was chalky and the blood metallic, but Remy let out a sound of undisguised delight as his mouth slowly traced a slick line from one X to one O, then again from O to X. Nothing could be more exquisite than the act of taking Wade Wilson inside of him -- and Remy LeBeau was determined to savor every last drop.

BEA: Right. So coming after Wade with the sole purpose to eliminate him was not going to work. Hrm. She had to rethink her strategy. After she mulled over his affections for her and her affections for Remy, it became clear: she needs to get him close to her, needs to get him relaxed and comfortable for her to make the killing blow. This would be easy to manipulate his feelings for her.

She showed up at Wade's door sometime during the morning after Valentine's Day, dressed in a little number from Inez's closet -- a black dress that would normally make Bea very self-conscious. She was revealing a lot of her white skin, fumbling slightly in the heels. She wasn't going to get to use these clothes for Remy's benefit until Wade was removed from the equation, so she might as well use them to help in her mission. Also, maybe she could learn to walk in these goddamn shoes.

She posed outside Wade's door, ruffling her hair to try for that sexy look that didn't quite hit its mark. She then knocked on his door and waited, swearing to high heaven that if he wasn't here and made her stand out in the hallway where someone could see her? He would be dead for a whole new set of reasons.

WADE: When the door opened, Wade wasn't there. After getting some verbal confirmation from Bea, it opened via a complicated system of pulleys, levers, and rope that he'd set up overnight -- circumstances had gotten increasingly fucked up at the hotel over the past 72 hours, and you could never be too careful. But as paranoid and defensive as he wanted to be, and as much as he knew Bea had tried to kill him the night before...

Well, he just couldn't say no to his baby.

After a second, Wade popped his head around the corner and peered into the hallway, and let out a long slow whistle of approval.

BEA: Okay, when did things get this elaborate? She eyed the mechanics that opened the door, almost unsure about crossing that threshold. She lingered in the doorway, remembering that she was supposed to be seducing Wade Wilson (ick). She tilted her head to the side and spoke in a low voice. "Is it safe for me to come in?" Could she end her life right now?

WADE: Answer: Ever since Inez gave him the heads-up, of course. But when he looked at Bea -- overwhelming adoration, adulation, and affection washed over him in waves. He loved every last pale inch of her, sexy dress or no sexy dress. He needed to tell her how he felt, every minute of every day. And he couldn't do that if she was stuck out in the hallway.

"Come in! Come in!"

BEA: She came through the doorway, her eyes trailing the rigged mechanisms before focusing on Wade. She even took a second to close the door. She gulped, steeling her nerves against what was necessary. She didn't carry her gun this time, instead having a knife strapped to her thigh -- not her weapon of choice, but it wouldn't raise alarms as she stopped short of pressing herself against Wade. Best get this over with, right?

"I hope you didn't miss me," she breathed, tilting her chin up to look him square in the eye. She wanted to keep his eye contact so that he would hopefully be distracted from what she was doing -- gently hiking up her skirt to wrap her fingers around the handle of the knife and hold it at her side. "I wanted to apologize for the mix-up last night. You see, I wasn't coming after you..." Please continue to not notice the glint on a blade in your periphery, Wade.

WADE: Wade stirred from the mess of ropes and strings and dangling guns which comprised his boobytrapped lair; with a few more wriggling and stepping cautiously over tripwires, he managed to fumble his way to Beatrice's side and they met in the centre of the room. He was prepared to embrace her, absence be damned.

"Missed you like the deserts miss the rain, snookums, but as long as you come back to me, I'm o--"

--Wait, what was that. He caught her conspicuous, guarded movements. Wade looked surprised, but it was a moment too late.

"WHO THE HELL BRINGS A KNIFE TO A LOVE SCENE?" he bellowed, staggering backwards, arms windmilling. "I'm kinky but not that kinky--"

BEA: She gladly interrupted his words. The blade plunged into his side, Bea twisting it at the hilt as she kept her eyes on Wade's face as if it would give any indication that her plan was working. His powers would make things difficult, but Bea could be creative when she is focused.

"Someone who's not really lookin' for lovin', baby. I just need to get you out of the way -- nothing personal, I swear," she explained through gritted teeth. "Seems to me you just keep getting in my way. And I really can't have that right now. It's always been just business, you understand?"

WADE: "ET TU, BRUTE? I mean Bea! I MEAN BEATE," he yammered, trying to yank himself away, but the knife had lodged fast. His arms flailed, trying to shove Bea off him -- they stumbled back and forth, limbs tangling in the ropes strewn across his room. One tug of the rope brought a box of books tumbling off a shelf, near-missing the two; a loose bullet fired, embedding itself in the plaster above their heads; thumbtacks spilled underfoot. Every time Wade managed to dance away from his beloved's blade, Bea was all over him again. One misstep in the room ended up with her slashing it dangerously close to his aorta (ouch, he hated it when that happened) -- but finally, he managed to whirl away from the homicidal lady-merc, bloody and aerated.

Exasperated, he ripped the knife from his shoulder and flung it at her. The knife sang slightly as it sliced through the air; it buried itself in the wall a bare centimeter from her face.

Goddamn her preternatural luck.

"Get out," Deadpool snarled, digging a thumbtack out from his shoe. The tiniest voice of reason was starting to whine in the back of his head. "I love you, Domino, but I might just have to kill you if you're going to behave this way."

BEA: Her eyes slid from the knife to him, staring at him for a long moment. She could take the chance to finish the job -- off Wade so he wouldn't stand in her way to Remy's heart. But something about what he said struck a chord with her. She in no way returned his affections but to have it articulated plainly, without frill, made her second guess her motivation long enough that she could see the sense in his demands for her to leave.

She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing away from the wall. "Fine -- but if you go anywhere near Remy? I'll have to exercise that same right." On that, she manuevered her way through the remnants of the traps he had laid to leave him with his own guts.

REMY: He'd found him again, his cher amour, his Wade -- but it just so happened that his Wade was still too shy to accept the idea of his passion.

He scrubbed at a rusty stain still lingering in the corner of his mouth before continuing the declaration of his love. "I know it's sudden, but you gotta believe me," Remy told him. "I know you have to feel the same way, mon ami -- mon more than ami."

In his life as a ladies' man, the idea of any girl not dying of love for him was a foreign one. Now in the first flush of his career as a gentlemen's man, that attitude persisted. How couldn't Wade not be in love with all this? Such a thing was impossible.

WADE: Wade had been taking steady steps backward from his rampant admirer as the advances continued, his hands raised in an attempt to Calmly and Politely ward off Remy.

Unfortunately, Deadpool's equivalent of 'calm and polite' was mass panic.

"No no no. My friend, our friendship is so friendly, they can't even make rom-coms about us. We are so asexual, Plato won't even know what hit him." He was gibbering. "We are one hundred percent full-blooded masculine men, manly men, men in tights and/or spandex, and I mean so what if maybe I've entertained the occasional fleeting curiosity in general, I mean everyone has thoughts sometimes, but I know it isn't a serious consideration because my heart is tied up with--"

He tripped. A moment later, Remy's footsteps carried him forward and he collapsed onto the other man in a frenzy of ardent love -- and it was then, their limbs entangled, Wade shrieking and flailing, that Bea walked in.

BEA: Bea had heard the unmistakable shrieks of a Wade Wilson in mid-panic and she rushed through the door, preparing herself for the worst. Which is precisely what she finds when she burst into the room. Her eyes land on them -- entwined -- and she trained the barrel of her gun onto Wade's head. Clearly, this was all his fault -- if he didn't get involved, Remy wouldn't be ridiculously distracted from her. Remy'd be free of whatever hold Wade had over him. And he'd be able to see her.

She kicked the door shut behind her, keeping her gun and focus fixed on Wade. It'd be easy to take him out right now, but her finger hesitated on the trigger. "Get away from him, Wade," she said through gritted teeth. Why was she hesitating? Did she not want Remy to see her work? Her aim was steady but her nerves were a wreck and she just wanted Wade to get away from him.

WADE: Jittery nerves and hair-trigger tempers stirred into unnatural violence were an unhealthy combination, particularly for this volatile situation. All three of them froze like deer in headlights after Bea levelled her gun at the two men.

"Get away from him," she repeated, one last time.

"A Mexican standoff!" Wade crowed from over Remy's shoulder, struggling to extract his limbs from his friend's. "God, I've always wanted to be in one of these. We need more guns, though. I'm not sure which movie I want this to be -- all of my pop culture references end up with us dead. Inglourious Basterds... The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly... I think it's pretty clear that I'm the Ugly, but what does that make you two?"

Five minutes later, Remy had heaved himself at the gunwoman with a strangled cry of rage for targeting his amour; the two of them had grappled on the floor; the gun had gone skittering away, kicked by a flailing foot; Remy had gone crawling after it with Bea attached to his waist like a limpet, arms locked around his belly as she yelled at him to return. The last mercenary hovered on the outskirts of their disagreement, hopping from foot-to-foot and trying to see where he could jump in to protect his ladylove.

By the time the Cajun reached where the gun had been, however, it was clear that it had found a new owner.

"Never fight in a basement!!!"

Gunshots -- but something went wrong. Deadpool's bullets ricocheted, rocketing off furniture in the bedroom. The men ducked. The gun went flying again. Rocks fell; everyone died.

No, wait -- scratch that last part. Rocks did not fall, but the altercation did end with all three of them in a tangled mess in the centre of the room, ducking and weaving and trading blows. To Wade's eye, time seemed to slow down to a Zack Snyder-esque crawl. Fists flew in agonising slow motion, bones crunched, and heads snapped back after knuckles collided firmly with jaws. Soon enough, they lost track of who was fighting for whom; it was all a flurry of hand-to-hand fighting and people being flung into walls, tripping over each other and smashing into furniture. One chair literally exploded, sharpened woodchips flying everywhere. Bea ducked them; Wade took them square in his chest, and one in the eye.

Finally, eventually, it ended with the three of them all scrabbling over the gun once more, wrestling for control. The mouth of the weapon kept tipping left -- right -- left -- as it aimed from face-to-face, depending on who had the upper hand at that moment in time. Everyone was a second away from death or severe maiming. Teeth were gritted. Immaculate beads of sweat trickled down brows. The air crackled with dramatic tension.



God, they'd feel like such idiots in the morning.