15187/What Makes You Think You're 7-11 Caliber, Betsy

What Makes You Think You're 7-11 Caliber, Betsy
Date of Scene:	20 June 2023
Location:	Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls
Synopsis:	Wade has an idea!
Cast of Characters:	Wade Wilson, Betsy Braddock

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Wade Wilson has posed:
    "So this..." Wade enters Sister Margaret's with his arms open wide as if laying claim upon the entierty of the bar as his. "Is where the magic happens. Feast your eyes."
    Slooowly Deadpool turns around, walking backwards along the aisle between bar and the first few tables in the middle of the room. He gestures with his gloved hands toward the clientele making use of the facilities at this late hour. "Welcome to Sister Margaret's, America's #1 premiere mercenary employment dispensing service and wholly locally owned straight farm to table pop up molecular gastronomy pub."
    To which Weasel looks over, sighs as he says without looking up from his cellphone. "We don't serve food, Wade."
    Deadpool's answer? "That's part of the service. We know our limits. Our boundaries. Our areas of expertise."
    He turns back and starts to walk across the entirety of the bar, stopping over near the bar. "So this life of action and environmental social governance can be yours! If you decide to ditch those geeks over at Xavier's."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
She really should be more selective yet here she was. Following Wade into a mercenary bar after running into him randomly. Again. Betsy was beginning to wonder if he was stalking her but it was a rarity so she didn't think so. While she couldn't read his mind, she'd likely be able to tell the chaos of his brain if she had sensed it nearby normally. Yet, it was just a rare moment here or there when she would bump into him doing something insane usually.

She immediately had her hands out of the pockets of her jacket upon entering, just not wanting anyone to think she was going for a weapon or the like. She was dressed casually. Jeans, short black boots with a blocky heel, a dove gray blouse and a lightweight charcoal colored jacket. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, high and tight. She glanced at those in the room, gauging, mind opening to pick up thoughts and to be on guard.

Then she followed Wade over to the bar, careful not to lean against it yet. "And why would I want to become a mercenary?" she asked simply. "I don't need the money and I presume that is why most people pursue this as a ...career."

Wade Wilson has posed:
    The thoughts in the room were ones that would not pass well among general audiences. The eyes of the mercenaries as they fell upon a woman like Psylocke were not charitable. And the thoughts she picked up were ones she likely picked up now and again, just more stern and severe and... blatant. But, to be fair and to their credit, none of them give sign of moving toward action. The crew of Sister Margaret's know and know well how formidable the female of the species can be. And someone like that, coming in here, likely has her own share of kills.
    Still, that doesn't stop them from looking. Nor from imagining.
    Wade boots out a chair at the table nearest the bar and slaps the back of it. "For the kicks, baby. The kicks. Real groovy dealio you got going on here." His voice had taken on a deeper gravelly tone to it, but then returned to his higher nasally voice as he pulled out another seat and drops into it.
    "But really sorta why I take some jobs. I mean I need the money so if you've got too much I'll happily relieve you of it in exchange for... any questionable... activities. You might need." Those white eyelets widen a little enough for the 'wink' to be noticeable as he gives her double guns. Then he calls out, "Garcon!"
    "Fuck you, Wade." Weasel says as he still hasn't looked up from his cellphone.
    "Two of your finest bottles. Of malted barley!"
    Still without looking up, Weasel grabs a pair of bottles from under the counter and just throws them in Wade's general direction. He catches one... then the other. Then starts fishing around in his pocket for a bottle opener.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy is used to it. Between having worked at Xavier's as a teacher for a time, around hormonal teenagers who couldn't mask their thoughts if they wanted, to owning a nightclub where she was around hormonal adults who couldn't mask their thoughts, she'd seen it all. Or heard it. Whatever. Either way, there was nothing new her in this crowd. Except she still couldn't really read Wade. A random thought here or there but it was like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. It just was impossible to keep track of his brain. So she didn't even try anymore.

As he was fishing for the bottle opener, Betsy arched a brow. Then she reached over. "May I?" And if he allowed her take one of the bottles, she would use the edge of the bar and a well applied slap to pop the top off. Then take a long swig from the bottle itself.

A glance is given to Weasel then back over to Wade. "My...questionable activites are well taken care of, though I do appreciate your offer. Is there some sort of drive going on? You get a free six-pack if you recruit a merc?"

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "Whaaa? No." Then the 'eyebrows' of that mask slide upwards. "I mean, that's a good idea." He turns his head and calls out, "Weasel, write that idea down!"
    "No." Weasel says, still swiping a fingertip across his cellphone.
    Turning back to her, Deadpool's eyes follow as she opens the bottle with that slight 'pop' sound that causes the cap to fling away off into the distance. He laughs, "Well, I mean, sure. I could do that just... I was being polite. Since you're all posh." He brings the bottle to the edge of the table and starts to lightly tap it a bit. Then gives it a thump. But the cap doesn't come off.
    Which doesn't stop him from talking as he says, "But no no, more we keep running into each other. It's more like I get the feeling from the powers that be we're supposed to do like a limited series or something. Like Deadpool and Psylocke, with a caption like, 'On The Road Again, For the First Time!' and then have this really like super sexy cover done by Frank Cho so we can get all the thirsty boys and girls. But then when they actually read it we can do the old switcheroo and have some schlub like Greg Land do the art, since Cho... he costs _money_."
    Wade's gaze had distanced there for a bit, but then he looks back. "So yeah. You interested?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
And she stared at him. For a long time. Then shook her head.

"I swear you do not speak English. I would know." Considering Betsy was from England, she should be able to recognize her native tongue. "I know you Americans have butchered it yet it still normally can make itself known as what it really is. But there are times when I am positive you are not speaking it."

She took a sip from her bottle, not offering to help him with his. "Limited Series? Sexy cover? Frank Cho and Gred Land? They are words that I know individually. But put them together in a sentence in that manner and they be completely unintelligible."

Another shake of the head. "I have no problem fighting for a cause but not sure that fighting for a profit is in my genetics. It seems at odds with doing the right thing."

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "They make perfect sense, just you've touched grass in your lifetime, so they are confusing and out of context." Wade offers as he again thumps the bottle on the edge of the table, the corner of his mask's 'mouth' curve downward as he is unable to get the cap off. He adjusts the angle, and continues.
    "But long story short, we have a pull of karma, fate, kismet, destiny. Any of those things. Otherwise why would we keep running into each other? Must be some otherworldly call to action. Like maybe this is how Dr. Strange is trying to call out for help from the dimension of too much hair coloring treatments and beard wax. Benjamin Cumberbund, you're getting old, accept it." That last part delivered as he turned to the side and pointed off into space. Then he turns back.
    "So I have options, if you're interested. Mercenary shenanigans. Or... hmm, maybe something with my rise of anti-foh group. We're going to create a cool crew to fight the Friends of Humanity. We're anti-Friends of Humanity. Anti-Foh. You see. It's super clever."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
She should offer to help. It would be the polite thing to do. Yet here she sits sipping at her drink and watching him continue to struggle with the cap from his. All in all even funnier as it probably would just twist off if he tried it.

He did finally say something she understood and she had to hide a smile at mention of Doctor Strange in the folically challenged dimension out there somewhere. It made her almost giggle too and she quickly put a hand over her mouth to stifle any sound before it escaped, and to hide the upward curve of her lips. Do not encourage him!

When she was certain she was good, she lowered her hand again. "I don't believe that is really a good name. Though fighting the Friends of Humanity is a great cause. They are a bunch of twats." Strong words from the Brit!

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "Oh yeah, fo sho. But this would be ironic. It's complex. Really my humor is..." Wade holds a hand up high, "Soooo high concept, it would take a scientist to explain." Which has a nod given.
    Then finally he gestures toward the door, "Oh shit is that Nimrod, Evil Sentinel From the Future!?"
    And should that be the moment that Betsy actually does glance away, Wade _quickly_ sneaks his bottle opener out of his pocket and *POP*.
    He hides it as quickly as possible, even if Elizabeth didn't even look at his gesture. Then he proceeds to act like he totally hit it off with the edge of the table by saying, "Tink."
    He then lifts the bottom of his mask up, takes a sip.
    "Or, you know, if you have stuff going down, I could hang out with you. Maybe we're coming at it from the wrong angle. Maybe you need to be the headliner."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy was not sure she would consider his humor high concept but she let that one go. Even as she purposefully looked toward the door though she was positive there was nothing there to be concerned about. As expected, no one and nothing coming in the door.

When she looked back, he had his bottle open. And she had to smirk despite herself. "Headliner?" That word did catch her by surprise and she quickly shook her head from side to side. "No thank you. I get enough of that in my work. When I'm doing ...this sort of work, I prefer to just be somewhere in the shadows doing my part instead of out in the front giving the grand speech to rally the troops. If that makes sense?"

Dear God, he was a bad influence on her. She felt like she was starting to speak American here and that would never do.

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "Fine, fine. But don't say I didn't offer." Wade says as he takes another sip then sets the bottle down with a soft glassy clink. He looks across the way at her, "Though you have to admit, the penchant around here... sometimes people seem to accidentally run into each other rather often. Same people, over and over. Or same spiritually... connected people. Like the whole Small World Phenom taken to an extreme."
    A beat, then he adds, "And so often at coffee shops. That's weird isn't it?"
    That said he shakes his head, "Anyways, topic change. I have a sort of ask to mention. A thing." He spreads one hand open to the side, "I've been thinking about the mark I'm leaving in this world. I had a thought. About Xavier's."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
"I am not adverse to helping fight the Friends of Humanity. I would just need more information about the situation at hand before deciding."

And then Betsy let him lead her down that myriad of side streets which was his way of thinking until he came to something that sounded serious.

It was enough to catch her attention.

"What sort of thought, Wade?"

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "Well, I was looking into how people commemorate things like that, you know." Deadpool folds his arms over his chest. "Something to last beyond a person, right? Like a statue, or a memorial. But then I was thinking... what about those jerks that give a ton of money to a learning institution? They get a whole like wing or building named after them. And I was thinking, if/when I go out, that's how I want to be remembered. With my own wing or building at Xavier's. Something like, Wade Wilson's Educational Wing of Alternative Tactics for Children That Need Better Help With Handling Bullies."
    A beat. "Or something."
    He spreads his hands, "So like ballpark, how much money are we talking here?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
That was not what she had expected. Betsy felt a warmth spread out from her heart as she heard what he was saying. Sure, his name for it was silly. But the meaning behind it, that he wanted to help children who were being bullied, was actually endearing.

It was not something she had expected to hear out of his mouth.

Thus she had to take it seriously when he asked how much it might be to have a wing or building added to the campus in his name. "Well, it wouldn't have to be the full amount," she said as she considered. "And I am not an expert in this area. It also depends on how large you want the wing or building to be. It could be anywhere from...say two-hundred thousand to a few million."

She bit her bottom lip a moment as she considered. Not having fully put together what he actually meant by his version of anti-bullying. "That's truly wonderful that you would want to help the kids that way, Wade."

Wade Wilson has posed:
    "Yeah, I'm a pretty great guy once you get to know me..." Wade says with a nod, "Here... let me tell you more about my idea..."
    And then the informining... begins!