and Deadpool
“Trained with a pink helmet, huh.” She was talking fast, just like any other hyper-active teenager, and most people his age would of had a hard time to keep up, but Wade was different. Very different. “A friend and I came up with it. Well, he used to be my friend, now he’s a dickless, son of a bitch because he vanished without sending me a text, or a tweet. Tweet, right? Whatever, who gives a fuck.” Another pause, his eyes squinted and glanced to either corner of his eyes before his gaze fell back onto her.
“I’m Deadpool because everyone always like to make a bet that I’ll die. You know, like a pool. I can’t die, though, so jokes on them.” He gave her another wave, a hand resting onto the back of her shoulder and ushering in the direction of the theater. It wasn’t forceful, or pushy. If she had wanted to step back, she could have. The movie was surely going to start soon, and Wade didn’t want to sit in no corner.