17664/Luck of the Irish Spring

Luck of the Irish Spring
Date of Scene:	16 April 2024
Location:	Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls
Synopsis:	Deadpool and Domino discuss getting the band back together. What does that mean for the rest of the world? Uh Oh. Uh Oh is what it means!
Cast of Characters:	Neena Thurman, Wade Wilson

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Neena Thurman has posed:
A lot can change over the weeks and months but some things remain comfortable constants, such as the shenanigans down at Sister Margaret's.

Back in town and itching for more action, preferrably the kind which pays top coin, Domino strolls through the familiar doors into the old merc hangout where she pauses to fill her lungs with the musty air. "Aah, the scents of tobacco, sweat, Axe deoderant, and gun oil. At least the drinks are good. Like strong enough to make you forget the smell" she continues in a lower tone.

There's some high-fives and fist-bumps to a couple of other mercs already sitting around as she heads to the bar, already getting eyed up from Weasel.

"Lost your blue look?"

"Came to realize the white torso made me look half naked" she explains about a previous uniform, now going strictly black from neck to toe. "Hit me with some tequila" is what she says with 'and I mean the whole bottle' being implied.

One bottle offered, one bottle taken, the albino quick to pop it open and take the first swig. With mental preparation settling in, she asks "Is Deadpool about?"

Wade Wilson has posed:
There's an explosion of glass as Deadpool arrives through a window. He sails clean through the bar and smashes into a table with a few patrons, ruining whatever they were doing in the first place. It only takes him a moment to sit up straight and give a wave off in the direction of the broken window and whomever's outside of it.

"Thanks for the lift! I'll call you! We'll do Easter!" Deadpool slides himself off the table and down to the floor where he's damn near a puddle for a moment. He manages to get back to his feet, slightly wobbly, before he turns his attention to the people's table he just broke in two. "Weasel's gonna' make you two pay for that. Run or Funds. Make a choice."

With that warning given, Deadpool turns back to the bar at large. "Drinks on whoever said my name last!" Deadpool flashes a big grin and starts finger-gunning his way through the mercenary slathered watering hole on his way towards the bar. He's spotting way too many familiar faces that he probably has no idea that there's an even more familiar one added to the usual mix.

"Wease! Hook me up with something expensive! The good stuff! It's on somebody else's tab tonight!"

Neena Thurman has posed:
Glass bursts inward and for a moment everything goes haywire, but that's rather par for the course around here. One guy beside Domino gets knocked off his stool with his yet untouched mug of beer happening to slide two feet down the counter to land right in front of the lone albino. Glass fragments pepper the space around her but fail to actually land on her or reach her drink. Either of them.

With perfect nonchalance she says "Nevermind" to Weasel, switching out to her shiny new beer to throw back a far longer swig.

And here a Wild Wade Wilson appears! "Are you tripping on Ambien again?" she asks with a lopsided grin. "There's probably a support group for that." And until then there's tequila! She willingly slides the mostly full bottle Deadpool's way, a rare gift for a proper comrade in arms. They've seen enough shit together, they can share the (occasional) drink.

A bit belatedly she casts a lingering look out through the now completely busted window, curious as to who it is he might be making Easter plans with after getting (perhaps literally) 'a lift.' As in for defenstration purposes.

"Business as usual, huh" she asks in a flat tone, like nothing in the frickin' world can surprise her at this point.

Wade Wilson has posed:
There's a good chance that Deadpool didn't actually read the script for this issue because he's pretty much in shocked mode when he hears Domino's voice. Recognition is all over his mask as he turns to gawk in that direction. There's two big reasons he's gawking but then there's also the gawking that comes from seeing a familiar face. When he eventually gets his vision to go up that high.

"Like no business I know." Deadpool chimes right back in not missing a beat in the conversation that he's used to having. He flops right down onto the barstool in front of him, realizes he's sitting on someone's lap, stands up, elbows them in the face and off the stool, then sits right back down.

"I'd say you're a sight for sore eyes but I just got these new allergy eye drops and they work amahzing dahlink. I can see so clearly now, it's almost as if the rain is gone." Even Deadpool might not know what he's talking about in this exact moment. But at least he's talking.

"Oh hey! The Pee Wee Herman Special! I love this stuff!" Wade holds up the bottle of Tequila in gratitude to Domino. He holds out a hand and as Weasel passes by, a big neon orange swirly straw is slapped onto that gloved palm. Wade looks smug beneath that mask somehow. "VIP Members Only." The teasing with the straw in Domino's direction happens next before he twirls it, almost drops it but eventually gets it into the bottle.

It takes him a moment to roll up the bottom of his mask so that he can take a sip. He's in mid-sip when he finally catches up to Domino's opening volley. "Wait! Is it time for a refill already?!" Deadpool frowns. "... Duane Reade? Oh, you're gonna' die, pal."

Neena Thurman has posed:
Wait for it, waaaait for iiii--there it is, proper eye contact! For what counts as proper when looking at a masked up Deadpool. The exchange between the bar stool and the guy formerly occupying it is met with an increasingly broad smirk. "Be strong, Dave" she tells the guy now sprawled out across the floorboards. "You know how he is."

Blink. "You have allergies? Huh, you learn something new every day." Taken with a grain of salt, of course. This coming from the guy who might start telling everyone he's the King of France.

The introduction of a twirly straw about has her dropping her head to the counter in laughter. "THAT...is a VERY nice straw." A pair of black capped fingers point at it like she's taking aim with a handgun. "I'm gonna get me one of those" she promises.

There's a touch of conversational whiplash as he leaps back to the Ambien dig, Wade's following remark leaving her momentarily speechless with one brow notched higher than the other. "Interesting contract" she quietly decides prior to another hit of beer.

"So, life ...uh... treating you alright there? I was thinking maybe we should try to get the band back together sometime." One of those blacked out nails reaches toward a nearby piece of glass, giving it a quick flick away from them both. "Mayhem loves company and I haven't shot nearly enough things lately."

Wade Wilson has posed:
Weasel passes back by in the other direction, carrying some boxes, trips and falls, sending napkins and other bar accessories into the air! Weasel makes quite the sound to prove how much pain he's in but follows it up with: "I'm okay. Just let me lay here for a while. Maybe I'll die." Resigning himself to the painful experience, Weasel just stays down on the floor behind the bar.

As the random bar ish rains down from above, a replica of Wade's straw finally lands right in front of Domino.

"I've had allergies at least twice in my life. Both times were consensual." Deadpool responds while dropping back into his seat from looking over the bar to make sure Weasel wasn't dead or something. "Oh, Duane? Nah, no contract. But if he doesn't get his Text For Refill Notifications right soon, I'm gonna' find him and blow his brains out. That'll learn him!"

Wade sets the now empty tequila bottle onto the bar and pulls his mask back into place because he can't be leaving his cancer skin parts all out for people to see. Gross. "Wait, which life? The one with Eddie Murphy or the one with that hack Ryan Reynolds?" Wade looks off to the side and there's a smirk beneath that mask, obviously. Then he's back to paying attention to Domino('s two friends). Maybe another reason why he keeps his mask on. "Oh no. I'm not playing bass again. Drums or I walk, baby. Drums. Or. I. WALK." He means it, too!

Neena Thurman has posed:
"If you're gonna die, try to do it quietly" Neena calls back. "I'm enjoying my evening."

And suddenly, without any rhyme nor reason: A second VIP Straw (tm). "Oh hey, would you look at that" she queries to no one in particular while picking the coveted day-glow orange straw up between thumb and finger. This naturally prompts a toothy smile toward Wade. "This means I'm in the club, right?"

No, he most certainly may not have it back. This is hers now.

Jeebus the tequila's already polished off. Dom's torn between another bout of laughter with Wade's consensual bout with allergies and a stunned gawk at what had only moments earlier been a mostly full bottle of Pretty Good Shit.

Her moment of triumph shifts to an slightly put-out expression as she defeatedly shoves the straw into her beer mug and takes another sip, now with extra style points.

"Hey, Reynolds got it going" she says while using the top end of the straw to jab in Wade's direction. "Maybe he does play the same character in every flick but he's still ..." she glances down at her own chest still mostly but not completely tucked behind zipped black leather then looks back to Wade's southward-favored stare, "... amusing as hell."

Drums, eh? "Well, I WAS thinking of letting Cable be our drummer, but...okay. You talked me into it." No, she has no fucking idea where either of them are going with this, but going there they most certainly are. "He can be on keys. Plug it right into the side of his neck, or whatever."

Okay. Real talk. "We need to land ourselves another solid gig. Secret military installations, black site labs, illegal mutant detention centers! You know. Something other than turning more tricks on the streets. I want to drive a damn tank again. Maybe pilot a gunship. Ugh" she grunts, dropping an elbow onto the counter to massage her forehead. "Feels like nothing is like how it used to be anymore. Too many damn hoops to jump through."

Wade Wilson has posed:
Just as much as he's staring, Deadpool is also looking around at everything else because he can't actually be allowed to have an attention span. There's so much to look at and see. There's also a good chance that what he's seeing is not anything anybody else is seeing because of Pool-O-Vision. Things parse differently for people like Wade.

... Nobody's like Wade. Not even Evil Deadpool.

"YES!" Deadpool's excitement seems to be built around the entire process of being in the band. "Drumpool Lives!" He takes that moment to slap the top of the bar in a manner that shows he absolutely cannot play the drums. Or at least not when he's using his hands and the top of a bar. "... Just gotta' steal a drum set now." Deadpool files that plan away for later and leans his head onto his hand to ponder on Domino's next commentary that makes him realize that there's a lot more work to be done.

"Hmmmmmm. Another solid gig." Deadpool brings a hand up to tap his chin. "I'm like ninety percent sure we can just post on LexTok about this. But if that doesn't work then I suggest we kidnap about ten different crimebosses and force them to pitch us some ideas for gigs! Then we choose the ones we want to do! Like an reverse Shark Tank!" Deadpool sits up a bit straighter, proud of himself for this idea. "Hoopless."

Neena Thurman has posed:
Domino is more than happy to let Wade live in his own convoluted world. It's times like this she's glad to have not been gifted the powers of telepathy, dealing with his antics on one plane of existence can already be a full time job.

At least she knows how to put a spring back into his step! The slap to the bar causes glass fragments to dance and drinks to slosh about in their various vessels. Pre-emptively, the albino holds up a hand and clarifies "The gig is not to steal a drum set."

Because she knows just enough about how his mind works to cut SOME ideas off at the chase.

"You want to pull a major score off the 'Tok?" Crime bosses? The guy's all fired up now and it's nice to see the enthusiasm but through all of it she slowly, quietly, holds a single finger up in a 'hold please' fashion, waiting until he catches his breath. At that point the raised finger simply hooks downward and points in the fallen Weasel's direction.

"Or we could just have him find us a thing" she suggests with a look.

That same hand comes to the side of her black-lipped mouth as she calls out "No dyin' tonight, Weas!"

An attempt at being all dignified is made as she leans forward with folded arms to take another sip through her mighty straw of VIP-ness.

"Think about it, Deep. Crime bosses, while fun" she again holds an index finger up, "aren't gonna have the sort of caliber we're known for going after. We deserve better than mundane. Just like you" she reaches that hand out to slap the back of his shoulder and take up temporary residence there, "deserve a bitchin' set of drums."

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool sits straight up on his stool for a moment. "I mean, we could have Weasel do it. I don't think T.J. Miller's problematic anymore. At the very least, he's no longer trending so maybe we can pull this off after all." Deadpool leaves that weird statement to hang in the air for a bit while he moves his ADDHHDDHHDD brain on to the next thing.

"You're right. We should definitely be thinking bigger. Like maybe we can shoot up the UN? I hear that's popular this time of year." Deadpool drums some fingers on the bar. "We could go back in time and kill the parents of a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist and then come back to the now and run at each other at an airport in Germany. That's always fun." Deadpool probably would keep going but Domino knows how to get his brain to focus and the drum set is brought right back up in the nick of time.

"Yes! Drum Set! I want the same one that Electric Mayhem uses. You find me that drum set and I'll do whatever gig you want me to." Deadpool almost sounds desperate. For drums. For gigs. For anything. "My life is so boring now. I feel like I'm-- and I can't believe I'm going to say this-- content." Deadpool shudders wildly. "I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it."

RCue Gagging Noises.

Neena Thurman has posed:
'Content.'

The single word echoes in Domino's own mind as she picks up something of a thousand-yard stare before she quickly reels herself in, pinching eyes closed with a quick but firm head-shake.

Sometimes it's easy to get swept away in one of his moments. But there's some legitimate weight to the word, largely spawning from its delivery. A mercenary who isn't working is no mercenary at all, and people like these two? They LIVE for that shit.

Here sits a man living in a deeper hole than the one Domino has been trying to crawl her way out of. Being starved of adrenaline is never good for one's soul.

"Okay, I'll put out some feelers for your drums and you can look around for a time machine, I already have a half dozen names on my list of stupid rich people who we could all do without. But before all THAT..." she pauses to one-handedly massage Wade's closest shoulder, "we're gonna find something crazy, stupid, and frickin' lucrative to tackle. Like 'unscheduled HALO jumps out of a commercial airliner' stupid."

Here she pauses to leeeean forward and hiss a whisper to the yet floored Weasel, "Cut him off!" No more booze for THAT merc.

Beer finished, straw retained for later if for no other reason than to screw with Deadpool at a later date, and one more glance to the shattered window as she roughly pats his shoulder again. "Don't go to pieces on me, Wilson. There's still plenty for us to do."

Once more to Weasel, she instructs "Call me when you've found some leads" before eyeing up the exit. All good things take some time to prep and there's more damage she can be doing out on the streets.

Wade Wilson has posed:
"Hey, I got a whole team up thing with Wolverine in July. I can't fall apart now. That'll really ruin the marketing."

Deadpool gives Domino a bit of a wave and the features of his mask become expressive once again. "But thank you. Thank you for saving me from a life of mediocrity and suburban bliss. Seriously. It was getting so bad, I had to start doing training sessions in the Danger Room. Me! Training brats! With /Bishop/!" Deadpool wants to faint but he keeps himself upright long enough to remember that Weasel's already down.

"I'll see what kind of trouble I can stir up on my end. Maybe we can hijack a moon base or something." Deadpool nods towards the exit. "No go on and make a dramatic exit so I can watch you walk away and we can feed the algorithm's male gaze quota for tonight."

Deadpool probably punctuates that last bit with a wink but since the mask doesn't wink, you're just going to have to take my word for it.

He definitely wunk.