notsincere (notsincere) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-10-29 08:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, cinderella's prince, wade wilson (deadpool) |
Who: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) and Prince Tom
When: (the evening after Wade got arrested)
Where: Random Bar
What: Random Encounter!
Rating/Warnings: Low/Swearing
Status: Complete
Tom hadn't been out hunting for one-night-stands in a while. Or even being his charming self surrounded by friends and girls. He'd been having those weird Dreams, and didn't like the guy he became in them. The douchebag. Seriously, was he a fucktard in his dreams, or what? Was he like that in Real Life, too? Seriously?
No, tonight he wasn't at the bar hunting. Tonight he was at the bar drinking. He wasn't people watching or sneaking peeks at skirts or boobs or anything. All his usual things. All his casual things. Tonight he was feeling sorry for himself, feeling conflicted, and getting his drink on. He had no idea how to tell Cindy she was in his dreams. And that there he had feelings for her. When he didn't in this world.
See? Confusing.
So he ordered another beer.
-
Confusing?
Tom didn’t have shit on confusing. Sure, he was having some kind of dreams (and hey, any rational person knew that it was just their subconscious telling them not to eat any more Oreo’s); he did not have his fundamental understanding of reality shifted in the span of two days.
Wade knew two things:
First, he knew that what he’d seen in that bar hadn’t been the result of some mind altering drug.
Second, he knew that someone he thought he fucking knew could blow shit up.
Like really, really blow shit up.
This knowledge left Wade in a precarious position: acceptance or rejection of what he knew about what was real and what wasn’t real.
Feelings? From dreams? Sorry, pal, they didn’t have shit on questioning the fundamentals of physics and science and reality.
Wade looked fucking tired - it could have had something to do with the afternoon he’d spent in lockup and the fact that there were now people running his name through various legal databases. There were problems that could have come from his decision to venture into Walmart with a very high, very explosive Remy LeBeau.
Finding an open seat at the bar, Wade didn’t pretend that the stranger’s personal space was somehow more important than he his need for beer. In fact, he slid right on in there - arm extending out with a twenty-dollar bill in an attempt to get the very busy bartender’s attention. He’d hang there, his chest nearly against the seated Tom’s - head turned to watch the bartender.
Sorry, dude, this was going to take a minute.
-
Hey, man. It wasn't a contest.
Tom gave the bartender a gentle wave, and his beer was put down in front of him. Then the bartender turned to the newcomer to get his order. It wasn't quite as busy at the bar as it might have been, but somehow the new patron was squished up against Tom. Tom glanced over, raising an eyebrow.
-
Oh, it was totally a contest. Everything was a contest.
Well, he was actually squished against Tom and the poor girl on the other side of Tom. Well, the back of the girl on the other side of Tom. Here’s hoping that those two hadn’t been talking or anything (not that Wade cared, actually.)
“Don’t read into it,” catching that raised brow, “There’s less empties at this end and that means you guys get better service.” Yeah, he’d just slighted the lady bartender at the other end who seemed inept at mixing drinks. Whatever.
-
"Definitely not reading into it," Tom agreed with a nod. He wasn't, either. Tom didn't think that way. He hadn't even been eyeing the girl next to him--uncharacteristic as that was.
As soon as his order was set in front of the really close guy, Tom tapped the nearly empty bowl of pretzels on the bar and raised his eyebrows at the bartender. These places didn't have mixed nuts anymore--too many nut allergies--but the pretzels were overflowing. They must buy them by the ten gallon jug. At least there were enough people in here that the pretzels were eaten, and therefore churned through, and therefore not stale.
The bartender came back over a moment later with a second bowl, this one practically overflowing. He smiled at Tom.
Okay, maybe the bartender wanted in Tom's pants. Could you blame him?
Tom gave a small, charming smile to the bartender, a wink, then grabbed another little handful of pretzels.
-
Wade tried desperately not to pay too much attention to the guy next to him - especially since the guy didn’t seem to be particularly conversational.
Of course - Wade did notice the way he got everything he wished for and the way he winked at the bartender.
Now, Wade didn’t have a problem with homosexuality (everybody had to wipe their ass somehow what difference did it make which way the toliet paper came off the roll?), he just found it amusing that a wink and a smile seemed to be much more effective than cash.
“That all for you?” Asked about the bowl as he felt the woman at his back get up and move. Wade, smoothly, slid into her seat, eyeing the pretzel dish now that he had a bit more space to do so.
-
"Nah, go ahead." Tom said, giving the bowl a gentle push toward the other guy. "I hate that there aren't nuts at these places anymore, but whatta ya gonna do, yannow?" He shrugged his shoulders gently.
"It's crowded in here tonight," he added, turning to glance away from his cozy stranger to the rest of the bar. It was a bit more crowded than he was expecting. It'd be great if he was feeling himself, but with all the weirdness going on, he wasn't sure he wanted to be so surrounded by people.
-
Wade, most certainly, would go ahead. He’d reach out and take a hefty handful, dropping it onto the neglected napkin that was intended for his beer. He didn’t foresee that napkin getting much use as the beer didn’t tend to stay in the glass long enough for condensate to develop.
No, napkins were for snacks and glasses were made to be emptied.
“Yeah? I haven’t been in here before,” the bar he meant. “I tried a couple of other places, but this one is closest to home.” So, it definitely had it’s advantages.
“Must be the hockey game,” he nodded to the TV - to Wade the teams were irrelevent, hopefully Tom didn’t care either. “Root for the home team and all that.”
-
"It's got it's pluses," Tom agreed, nodding. Close to home was one. When it wasn't a hockey night, the place wasn't nearly as full, either. Tom liked it. There was enough privacy that he wasn't worried about being bothered--unless he wanted to be.
Tom turned to look at the game on the television and gave a gentle, "huh" as he realized that it was playing a hockey game. "I suppose so. Turns out hockey fans are quite a bit less rowdy than soccer ones." He added, smirking softly.
-
Close to home was about the only plus Wade saw so far. The lady bartender sucked, they played hockey on the TVs, and good service couldn’t be bought. Still, it was close to home.
When winking man mentioned the lack of rowdiness Wade just smirked, “Clearly you haven’t been to Canada during the playoffs.” He shoved a few pretzels into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, “Or Sweden during the Olympics.” Them Swedes, they could get a little out of hand in spite of the birch loving ways.
-
"No. I really haven't." Tom agreed with another smirk. He shrugged his shoulders. "I take it you have?" He asked, reaching for a pretzel. Tom spent some time traveling for work, but didn't get to go do fun things in fun places. Well, not all the time. He hadn't been to Sweden. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"There are some places around here where they get really ridiculous about their sports." Tom went on. "I tend to stay away from the sports bars." He wasn't that type, really.
-
Wade wouldn’t argue about too many places he’d been to being the kind of thing listed in travel magazines. “I wouldn’t think they were the type to toss out smoke grenades, but I’ll be damned.” He took another gulp of his beer and toyed with a pretzel on his fingertip. He’d spin it around a couple of beats before turning his attention to the friendliest person in the bar (that would be you, Tom.)
“Yeah, they don’t do it for me either,” sports bars that was. “I never seem to keep up with them. I feel like there’s always somebody playing somewhere.” He laughed a little, emptying his glass and sliding it back to the tender for a refill.
“So I just hit town - what is there to do here besides drink?” Not that he didn’t like drinking…
-
"Oh, God," Tom gave a soft laugh. 'What isn't there to do here?" He asked aloud. Rhetorically. "I mean, you name it, we've got it. Short of legal prostitution and drug consumption." There were Indian casinos and topless bars, and exercise gyms, boardwalks, the beach, a short drive to the mountains... Orange County had everything.
"What sorts of things are you into?" Tom asked, lifting his glass for a gulp.
-
“Alright, you got lots of options,” he’d agree. Of course, it was followed up with that inquiry.
Truth was, Wade didn’t know how to answer.
“Most of my free time’s been spent on planes, in bars, and with ladies who’s names I will never be able to recall.” Tom could read into that however he liked. “So, hobbies are a new and interesting concept.” Surely Tom had some idea of what it meant to work to the point that you didn’t have many hours left in the day past sleeping and bathing.
Then again, maybe he didn’t.
“I guess I’m going to be dabbling for a while.”
-
Tom grinned. He thought there was a reason he might like this fellow. And there it was. Tom's passtimes sounded very similar. Especially the part about the ladies. How d'you think he got so good at making breakfast foods? Cooking for two was something of a speciality.
"Well, there's plenty to dabble. I've been looking into it myself. Trying to figure out what it is I want to do with what little free time I have." His father pushed him into his job, and Tom found he had no idea what his hobbies should be.
Skydiving with Cindy had been fun. He was debating taking an art class. Drawing naked ladies seemed like a lot of fun.
-
“What eats up your free time? Wife? Kid?” Wade couldn’t imagine anybody worked as much as he did. Nobody worked as much as Wade did if you asked him.
Oh, man, Wade and this guy were totally living on the same planet. Wade didn’t know who he was without work - and now? Well, now he was taking a break and still behaving like everything was some kind of paid mission. He just needed to learn how to chill out.
“I spend too much time travelling where work sends me. A different city every few weeks. Sure makes it damned hard to make friends and influence people.”
-
“It’s ridiculous how much I work,” Tom responded with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. “No family, no. Daddy issues. He’s got these… expectations.” It was something else he was struggling with, apart from the dreams. He’d spent so much time either doing what Daddy wanted him to do or goofing off in his spare time (all that stuff about one-night-stands and lovely ladies) that he hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do.
“How long are you in town?” Tom asked, lifting his glass again.
-
“Funny you should ask that,” about being in town. About just how long he planned to stay for.
“I moved in thinking this would be a good place to get away from work bullshit,” he smirked a little looking into his beer like it was bottomless, “I just found a different pile of shit here.” Broad shoulders rolled a little, as if forcing the stress of his predicament to flow right off hiim and away.”I figure I’ll stick around until my lease is up at least. Another six months or so.” And then? Well, it wasn’t a foreign notion to just float off on the breeze.
-
"Same shit different day?" Tom suggested. "Different shit different day?" He added, trying to figure out what the best saying would be. But what kind of a saying could there be about a place like Orange County where people had fucked up Dreams and turned into goblins, or whatever?
"Six months isn't bad." So long as the big one didn't hit, or Orange County didn't kill them all. They were both a possibility. “It’ll go by fast with all the things you’ll be doing here in the County.”
-
“Same shit, different dog.” He smirked. Because it had less to do with the time than the person doing the shitting - and Remy LeBeau had done some major shitting.
He’d laugh a little when the stranger qualified six months as ‘not bad.’ “You make it sound like I might not make it that long.” Maybe he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time Wade disappeared on a landlord.
“Yeah, we’ll see if it’s worth sticking around after it’s gone by.” So far he’d been fucked over by Remy -- but, he had met his own personal version of Katniss Everdeen and that might be worth sticking around for a little while. Wasn’t often Wade met a girl he wanted to share more than two sentences and vigorous pelvic thrusting with. Nah, Katniss was too entertaining to relegate just a couple of sentences to.
-
"I dunno, I'm debating getting my ass out of dodge, really." Tom said, almost reluctantly, turning his attention back to his glass. "Just keep yourself sane." Off ridiculous social media networks and out of the insane happenings around the area. But Tom didn't want to say those things and sound absolutely bonkers.
Because it was. Bonkers. Absolutely batshit.
"Good luck. I mean that." He added, dropping to a serious level for a moment. "Hopefully you'll make it better than some of the rest of us," he added, thinking about Hans. But hey, Hans got the girl in the end, didn’t he? Tom was just stuck with weird feelings and hard liquor.
The latter part wasn’t so bad.
-
Wade Wilson, keep himself sane. There were many people who would laugh their asses off at the thought.
“Good luck?” He laughed at that, “You make it sound like six months is going to be a stretch.”
Wade pondered for a second before letting his brain-mouth filter drop. “I almost forgot my qualifying question--” Oh, yes, he was qualifying people now. Tom seemed like a pretty stable guy, but that could all change depending on how he responded to Wade’s next inquiry.
“Are you drinking all that ‘dream’ KoolAid that’s out on the ‘net?”
Answer wisely, stranger.
-
Maybe six months would be a stretch. Especially if this guy started up with those ridiculous Dreams that people--
Speak of the devil.
"Not on purpose." Tom reluctantly admitted. He turned his attention back to the glass in front of him. He really didn't want to think about those Dreams.
-
Well, that was an interesting answer.
“Oh man, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a crazy one.”
Wade had already had his understanding of reality challenged - he most definitely had little desire to have it challenged further.
“I don’t think anybody goes nuts on purpose.”
-
“I wouldn’t have pegged me for a crazy one, either,” Tom agreed. He hated that he’d joined the throng. And he didn’t even have interesting dreams. Others got to be villains and vampires and superheroes and shit. All Tom got was the stupid prince dreams. Where he was a douche. Ugh. It made him angry. It definitely wasn’t fair.
“Maybe I should turn myself in somewhere. I bet some really good drugs would make the dreams go away.”
-
“How about we pretend you don’t have them?” The dreams that was. “I mean, you seem sane enough otherwise. And I could use a bit of a partner in crime since the only other single guy I know in town completely ruined my concept of reality.” He said that so cheerfully and so fast that it was possible that Tom didn’t really comprehend what he just said.
“I mean, you’re looking for a hobby, and so am I. I’d bet you can use a wingman, too.”
-
"I like that plan." Tom said, lifting his glass as if in a toast. He could agree to that one, it'd been his plan ever since the first Dream hit him. He wanted to ignore them--to pretend like they'd never happened. That was definitely his plan. Those fucking dreams, man. If only they'd go away. That was a very, very good plan. For as long as it lasted.
"...ruined your concept of reality? All right then." Tom wasn't going to ask questions. "...I can always use another wingman."
-
“Yeah, you ain’t seen shit until you saw a polaroid camera just fucking explode.” Wade’s eyes rolled and he took a rather impressive gulp from his beer. There was no pretending about what his objective was. You’d never, ever catch Wade Wilson driving to a bar.
Wade would raise his half-emptied glass for a toast.
“To booze and boobs.”
-
Tom raised both eyebrows at that. Again. In surprise and intrigue. But he wasn’t about to question it. He was interested, sure, but enough with breaking reality. That’s what they were toasting to, right?
“To booze and boobs!” Tom agreed whole-heartedly, lifting his glass to clink against Wade’s. Then he gulped down the last of it. Tonight was turning into a much better night than he expected.
-
Sometimes everyone deserved a nice night. Wade deserved a nice, normal evening - and it was great that Tom seemed to be willing to partake in one, too.
Good. Normalcy. Nothing too crazy.
“See, I knew I liked you.” He had gulped down the last of his beer and slid the empty glass to the bar’s edge to indicated he desired a refill. He wanted multiple refills.
“So, what’s the scoop? Is this the best place to accomplish our mission or what?” Booze and boobs that was.
-
“Hear hear.” Tom agreed with a nod. To coin a very old pop culture reference that had become a cliche, This looked like the start of a beautiful friendship.