Emily (foresthouse) wrote,

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Deadpool. Weapon, Part I: The Devil

Previously (i.e. in Chapter 1), on Deadpool: Weapon:

[Hey cats! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood...mercenary. Um. OK, maybe it works better for Spidey. Anyhoodle, this here’s the spot where I tell all you people with worse memories than me what happened last chapter [Hey, hold up. Is it even possible to have a worse memory than me? Huh.] So...yeah. In chapter one, Our Hero [that’s meeee!] has made the ridiculously silly decision to try to stop killing people for money and be a 'real hero' instead [broke heroes are real heroes, didn’tcha know?]. Patch of the Hellhouse supplies him with a bona-fide “hero job” [that old trickster] and Our Hero discovers that he’ll be fighting...Deathstroke. No, really. I couldn’t believe it either. Apparently, Deathstroke’s been harassing those Teen Titan kids and he’s got to be stopped. Starfire [that’s Koriand’r to you] is paying...basically peanuts for the job. But hey! That’s heroing for ya.

Our Hero heads out the door of the Hellhouse, but on the way back to the 'Hut, this odd blonde girl with short hair informs him that “the readers don’t really know that much about you, Wade. So you need to tell them, right? Right.”

So...about me...um...yeah, I don’t really like to talk about me, actually. Too much of that and I might have to go in The Box. And we don’t want that, oh no we don't. So how’s about I tell you about Blind Al and Weasel instead? Coo? Coo. Blind Al’s my housekeeper. OK, maybe she mothers me a bit too. Oh, and maybe I kidnapped her and she’s my prisoner, too. Yeah, well. Sometimes you just need to lock up the old gal who almost cost your former girlfriend her life because you just couldn’t kill the crazy old dame even if that’s what you were hired for and the bosses got angry about that for some reason and did I mention she’s blind? She makes good sandwiches, but she smokes like a chimney afire. I like the word chimney. It’s fun to say. Chimney, chimney, chimney.

Huh? Oh. Right. Moving on. Weasel’d be my best bud if I actually had any best buds. As it is, he’s my weapons guy, and rigs up all kinds of weird crap for me to haul around and blow people up with. Don't even ask me where I store it all.
[No, really. Don't ask.] He made me this crazy teleporter belt [don’t you love the little Deadpool emblem? So. AWESOME.] and guns and things you wouldn’t even believe. I may or may not have just commissioned him to make me some special gear before going off to fight Deathstroke.

Whaddaya mean, you haven’t heard of Deathstroke? He’s a merc too, but MAN, is he a stick-in-the-mud. Last time I saw him, he gave me some sob story about his dad putting out cigarettes in his eye or some shit, and tried to convince me I was something like “a pale copy of the great Deathstroke.”
* What a yutz. I’m so much more tan than he is. He’s got some decent tricks in a fight, though. A mega-healing factor [but mine’s better, natch – I heard when he’s healing he’s temporarily insane. I can’t even imagine what that would be like], some kind of boomstick that makes things go WHAM, and he’s kinda really fast and stuff. Oh, and then there’s that whole, 'I use 90% of my brain!' thing. Whatever. That’s the lamest superpower I ever heard of. 'Cause you know what? I use 100%, bitch. So just BRING IT, 'cause once I get to the City of Lights [Ed. note: Wade is confusing NYC with Paris again. Please ignore] I'm gonna go completely medieval on your ass. With EXTRA SERVINGS OF BROADSWORD. Yeah, you know i--

What the...what’s that shaking?? Oh. Damn. The blonde girl’s telling me to shut up. And I was having so much fun with you all! Especially YOU, hot brunette in the tank top at the computer lab. ♥ ♥ ♥ Will you be mine?

OUCH. OK, OK. And now, our story.

Chapter 2: I forget which came first; the bad idea or me befallen by it...*

The Deadhut

The door slammed violently, but Al didn’t hear any of Deadpool’s usual ridiculous singing. Pity. The man had such a nice baritone when he was in a singing mood. She spooned some rice pudding into the bowl in front of her.

“Deadpool?” she called.

“It’s me, oh wrinkly one,” he muttered distractedly. “Who did you think it’d be, the old folks home coming to cart you off? Damn! I forgot to call them again.”

“Cute,” she said, sprinkling a healthy dose of cinnamon over the pudding. “Did you get a new job?”

“Ooohhh, yeah, I got a job.”


Well?” she said.

“Nah, we got a sink right here in the kitchen, toots. Much more modern,” he said absentmindedly, and went upstairs.

Al listened to the footsteps and closet doors slamming. Something was screwy here. She grabbed her bowl and spoon, slowly climbed the steps, and leaned against the doorjamb of Deadpool’s bedroom. “Come off it, you misbegotten merc. You know you want to tell me what it is.”

“Actually, I’m hoping if I don’t say it it’ll just kind of not exist,” his voice came back from the closet, muffled by the clothes he was rooting through. “Hey, you seen my Princess Leia gold bikini shirt? I want to fit in with the New Yorkeans.” A pair of boxers covered in little Deadpool emblems sailed past her ear to land on the bed as she moved into the room. "Oh, I forgot. You wouldn't have seen it, would you've?"

Al let that one pass. “New York, eh? Who’re you fighting there?”

“Oh, you know. Basically myself, only much less funny. Actually, now that it’s sunk in, I’m kind of looking forward to it. It’ll be a great existential crisis-type thing. Those are good for hero-types, right? Character-building?”

“...Sure,” said Al, who had no idea what he was talking about.

“Cool. Now be a doll, and go find me some socks that aren’t walking on their own yet. From all I hear, this gal that hired me’s a BABE. Got to dress to impress, eh?”

Al snorted and took a bite of her pudding. Deadpool glanced over.

“How’s the dessert, Spice Girl?” he deadpanned as she choked and dropped the bowl, stumbling towards the bathroom. She fumbled for the tap and gulped cold water from the faucet, coughed, and swallowed again.

“Wade Winston Wilson, you complete bastard!” she said.

“...What?” Deadpool said innocently. “You don’t like curry powder on your pudding? Shame. I think it gives it a real kick.” Deadpool snapped his suitcase shut and headed for the door. “By the way, I was worried you’d get bored while I was gone, so I reorganized your spice rack this morning. Have fun with the cooking!” he chirped as he strode past her. “Oh, and don’t slip on the pudding! Old-people hips break so easy.”


Chapter 3, coming soon to a computer near you.


*Chapter title from Alert Status Red, by Matthew Good.

*Thanks to taro_twist for calling my attention to the Superman/Batman Annual fight.
Tags: comics, deadpool, deadpool: weapon, fanfic, pics, writing

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