Sarah Connor is cursed to be ever vigilant (ever_vigilant) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-23 22:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, neena thurman (domino), wade wilson (deadpool) |
She killed Applejack!
Who: Wade and Neena
What: Wade breaks into Neena's flat to watch MLP and fry chicken
When: today
Where: Neena's apartment
Status: Complete!
Rating: PG-13 for killing applejack. you bastard
My Little Ponies was blaring on the tv. In the kitchen, blood splattered the counter where Wade had sacrificed the chicken to the god of fried foods, and he hummed the theme along with the show. The chicken was actually turning out surprisingly good. If there was one thing Wade could cook better, it was pancakes.
Which is why he was flipping pancakes while the chicken fried.
Pancakes and fried chicken...
"They go together like spice and rum!"
"Spice and Rum don't go together at all," Dom said, from behind him. Her pistol was out and pointed in his direction. She figured that she had grounds to shoot him, just on the chicken blood alone.
Instead, she pointed it at her tv and pulled the trigger. Shooting Wade was a waste of ammo, but shooting whatever abomination was on her tv? That wasn't a waste of ammo at all.
Wade grinned, little hearts floating around his head as Domino approached him, gun pointed at the love spot between his eyes. Because it was a love spot, why else would she point it at him? To say that Wade had nursed an unrequited crush on Domino would be like saying it was dark at midnight.
He reached up, plucked a heart from the air, and snuggled it against his cheek. Ah yeaaah.
Unfortunately, he'd met the taco goddess. But there would always be room for <3s for Neena Thurman.
She killed Applejack!
"You bastard!"
"Yes, I am. Apparently." Dom wrinkled her nose a bit at the thought, then shook her head. Wade was crazy, and talking to him had always been like trying to understand a conversation someone was having with someone else over the phone. She never knew what the other person was saying, because the other person wasn't there.
But he was a crack shot, and that's why he'd ended up working with them all those years back. What was he doing in her apartment now, of all times? And spectacularly blowing her cover, on top of everything else.
She holstered her pistol, and got out clorox wipes to start cleaning the chicken blood up with, "You owe me a new TV, Wade."
Hey wait, I am here!
"I know, me too," Wade replied, to no one in particular.
For all his faults and his out there -- okay his craziness -- he'd never blown a cover. He hadn't called her Domino in public. Had he? He was pretty sure, but he could be wrong.
"First thing tomorrow morning," He promised, which in Wade speak meant next Tuesday at precisely the time Neena was doing something embarrassing.
That's how it always worked.
"So why are you here of all places?"
Dom had almost managed to clean up all the chicken blood by the time he asked her that, the efficient cleany-person that she was. She dropped a bunch of bloodied up wipes into a trash can, and shook her head, "Work stuff. I own a gun shop now."
Speaking of that gun shop, she really should head by it at some point soon and make sure it hadn't gone all to hell.
"How did you find me here?"
Wade just looked at her, like she was the silly girl she was, yes she was, "Lucky Shot Guns?"
Then he served up an eighteen inch plate of flapjacks and a bucket of fried chicken.
Where did we get a bucket?
"You know, that's a very good question." Wade looked down at the bucket, as if wondering what dimension of hammer-space it had materialized from. Then he shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, what's fried chicken without walrus' bukket."
What's fried chicken without bukket, indeed.
"... I don't KNOW what fried chicken is without walrus's ... bucket. What. That doesn't even make SENSE."
And why was she expecting Wade to make any sense, anyway? That was a really good question. She really aught to know better by now. The chicken and pancakes smelled really good, though, and she was starving.
So she went ahead and dug in, hoping that perhaps if she ate, Wade would eat, too, and then his mouth would be too full to speak. It was probably more likely that he'd just speak at her with his mouth full.
And he still hadn't told her how he found her.
Wade? Make sense? Pshaw! He'd already poured syrup over his fried chicken and was dipping his pancakes into the BBQ sauce, and chowing down happily. Like he didn't have a care in the world. And he really didn't. Not much bothered Wade.
Except maybe when people got between him and Tacos. Then it was war.
"Did I tell you I met the Taco Princess? She gave me Gyros." At least that's what he tried to say through the mouthful of BBQ pancakes.
"... right, okay." Dom mumbled, between pancake bites. She had no idea what he was trying to say. She worked herself through 2 pancakes and a piece of fried chicken, then got up and started cleaning the dishes.
"You're going to tell me how you found me here, or I'm going to shoot you, for real."
"Lucky Shot Guns," He replied. Like duh?
"Like duh?"
"Dommy Dommy Dommy..." Wade shook his head.
"That place isn't LINKED to this one." She pulled out her gun and pointed it at him.
The little hearts around Wade's head popped, and he stared down the barrel of the gun, with the saddest face. He put down his syrupy piece of fried chicken, and said solemnly, "I called in a favor."
"A favor. Really. Is that so?" she clicked the safety off and squinted at him, "A favor with WHO?"
"Nuh uh. Not how it works." He waggled a fork at her, and then bit into another pancake. Because pancakes were best cakes, "I answered your question, now you answer mine. Do these pants make my butt look big?"
Dom shot him a dry look, then shook her head at him like she couldn't even believe she was playing along with this, before finally answering, "Yes. They do. Now answer mine."
We need new pants.
"Yes, this can't stand. We'll buy new pants, asap!" Another piece of chicken, this time dipped into...was that chocolate sauce?
"That dick at the CIA. The one that had the affair with his stepdaughter and well okay it wasn't calling in a favor more like 'Tell me where Dommy is and I don't send these pictures to your wife.'"
The stepdaughter in question had been over eighteen, if barely, which didn't really excuse things but it made for excellent blackmail.
Wade's favorite was using those pictures to acquire his guns. They were very fine guns indeed.
Where the hell did he even get chocolate sauce from?
"Fuck, seriously?" Dom clicked the safety back on and holstered her pistol, then kicked her chair a few times, "That guy? How in the hell did he... I need to move apartments. This is getting ridiculous."
That guy was going to be shot when she next saw him. She'd pretend it was some kind of gun cleaning accident, and then he was going to learn how to keep CIA secrets. Or any secrets at all.
"He needs to keep his dick in his pants," She added in a grumble.
From the store, of course. He grinned at Domino, all chocolate covered face, and then wiped his face clean. On a napkin.
Only replace napkin with one of Dom's white shirts.
"He had it in his daughter-in-law when I popped in," Wade replied, helpfully. Not only was he a perv, but he cuckold his own son!
Under the table, Wade was doing something. Not perverted. He was pulling out...a marker.
Domino's eye twitched, and she immediately grabbed for her shirt. Chocolate was impossible to get out, but damned if she wouldn't try anyway. She went straight into the adjoining laundry room, in fact, and started applying SHOUT to it.
"That's great, thanks. I really needed that mental picture."
Sneak sneak sneak went the Wade, little hearts following him again as he snuck up, like ninja. Then he whipped out the marker and started to give Neena an eye spot. Because reasons he didn't understand and didn't bother to try to understand, only he had to fix it.
She instantly reached her hand behind her and grabbed his, then twisted it around, while the other hand reached for the pistol above the washing machine and pointed it at him. Safety was off within a second, and a bullet whisked past the sharpie and lodged itself in her kitchen wall.
She stood there, staring at him and his sharpie for another second, then blinked her eyes and clicked the safety back on, "Damn it, Wade."
"Reflexes check out!" He tried to scribble on her face again, as if he hadn't almost been shot.
That sharpie was as good as a field knife where she was concerned. She increased her grip on his arm and twisted a bit, trying to get the sharpie pointed in his direction, "I've always had good reflexes."
"Dommy, I'm trying to make you better."
"If you get that sharpie near my face I will carve your own face up like chum, and feed it to you."
She was probably joking.
"But I'm not hungry anymore," He replied. He'd already ate!
Dom's lips thinned into a line. She stole the sharpie out of his hand, and tossed it into a nearby trash can, then got back to shouting out the chocolate on her shirt, "That's a shame, really. What are you going to do with all those leftover pancakes?"
Wade shrugged, casually, "There's this hobo down the street. Only he's really not a hobo, I think he's watching you."
"... So you're going to feed the pancakes to the hobo?"
The rest of that information,the idea she was being watched and Wade had made him that quickly, but she hadn't... all of those things, along with the rest of the past week, made her question her ability to do this job anymore. She didn't like that feeling. It'd been bad enough when Shepard had caught her.
"He wasn't there when I came around yesterday," Wade added. "There he was today! He was getting all set up, even had himself a little port-a-potty."
"That's great."
Wade gave her two thumbs up.
"I mean, thanks for noticing. Do you think you could bring him pancakes and go chat him up?" Her unspoken words involved finding out important information in the process, which she probably should have stated.
"Hopefully I get a reach around," Wade muttered, entirely seriously. "I'll send you any information I get!" With that, he saluted! And Wade and his little hearts marched out of Domino's apartment.
The second he was gone, she pulled a bag out of the top of her hallway closet, and started packing.