1775/Mori doesn't have Hobbit Feet

Mori doesn't have Hobbit Feet
Date of Scene:	21 May 2020
Location:	Alleyways: Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Deadpool and Mori have difficulty with reality. And axes.
Cast of Characters:	Wade Wilson, Mori Merritt

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Wade Wilson has posed:
"Move move move!" urges the male that comes just /barrelling/ out of the alleyway, full speed. He grabs at the nearest person just past the alley, attempting to bring her along in tow, flung over his shoulder, as if he were going to rescue her from a burning building.

"Women and children first, Gondor calls for aid!" Adds the guy urgently.

It was probably hard to get much of a look at him, but a glimpse is a thousand words. Or so they say. In this case, it's Aragorn, from Lord of the Rings, in what looks (and feels?) like leather armor, in all his handsome windblown dusty glory.

Mori Merritt has posed:
It isn't as if Mori had intended to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was the right place at the wrong time? Either way, /someone/ is suddenly there and she's scooped up in a speedy attempt at movement. There's no real fight, mostly because she's not sure what's going on. It's too weird. Then, of course, she notices that she's seeing something she shouldn't.

This, of course, is unusual. Not her usual confusion, but it's a new one. She slowly moves a finger and pokes at Aragorn's head. "... is that the way to Gondor?" It's not a panicked voice. She's just trying to sort out what bits are real. Which is why she's poking at him.

Wade Wilson has posed:
"Let's not poke your rescuer in the eyes, for the eye of Sauron is not far," Arapool requests, twisting his head away just a little when it's put into his face, and twists to look back over his shoulder. Mori's finger comes away with some blood on it: which isn't all that weird, seeing as he looks like he rolled around in the dirt and grime of orcs before charging out of an alleyway to grab her.

Speaking of that: STILL in motion, rushing down some sidewalk, leaping unnecessesarily onto a bench to run along that, then spinning around, his back to a building, and then entering another alley! Everything is DEAD SERIOUS. Until he sets her down and attempts to put one finger up against her lips. And listens, steadily, eyes large and expressive, while some blood drips down his forehead between his eyes to nose bridge. "Do I have your axe?!?"

Mori Merritt has posed:
Well, she's certainly not having a moment of lucidity. Mori wipes her finger off on her blouse, not seeming to care that the blood is now /there/ instead. Mostly because it'll help her determine how much is real when she tries to recall this later. She's carried along, set down and...

... she goes with it. It's easier. "Yes, but I left my axe in the /other/ alleyway and I'm pretty sure I don't know how to use it but you sure have my axe of moral support." She beams, though there's a hint that she's not entirely certain 'axe of moral support' is the way she should have gone with that.

Wade Wilson has posed:
"I have a replacement, hold that thought!" Arapool assures her, after gesturing urgently at her. "But for Gandalf sake, keep your hear DOWN!" he declares, squatting where he is, and starting to feel down his legs, humming a little bit of something to himself. It might be the Winds of Castomere. He isn't particularly anchored to one fandom over another, after all.

"Here we go. That's for you, halfling," Arapool says, coming up with a nasty, serraded hunting knife and flipping it around end over end to catch the tip of the blade and offer it to her handle-first.

Finally there is some noise from where they fled from, some voices. ARE they in fact being chased?!

Mori Merritt has posed:
Fighting isn't always the best when she's like this, but Mori has never been adverse to self-defense, even when she's not sure what's coming at her. She takes the hunting knife carefully by the handle, ready in case something /does/ come at her. "Right, the axe of moral support is sharper than the last time I held it..."

She does keep her head down, though, taking a moment to listen. Her sharper senses at least give her a chance to try and figure out who is coming for them before they get there. This time she's the one making the 'shh' motion as she listens.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Arapool has... a gun. That's probably from the Extended Edition. He grins broadly at Mori, clicks his tongue against his teeth like one would to a horse, winks at her, and leans out around the edge of the alleyway, panning his eyes back down to where they were when he 'rescued' her.

"I don't really need support for my morals," Arapool chatters while he does it. "Though I really would like to see the spanx of morality. Would they match with the brassiere of enlightenment, or the garters of temperence?" Wadepool wonders aloud, fluttering gloved thumb over the edge of the trigger of his gun.

Mori Merritt has posed:
Yep, this is /definitely/ not real. Mori only hopes that she's not standing in the middle of the street again when her senses finally focus back to reality. "... I'd compliment your gun but I don't know anything about guns so I don't know if it's actually a nice gun." She moves very carefully to try and peek around both him and the corner of the alley. She doesn't even know what she's looking for... or if she'll even /see/ something. Such is the nature of these things.

"Maybe the more important part is the dress you wear over it. Some people get judgey if it's not designer. I had a friend once that wouldn't wear a single piece of clothing unless she knew the name of the designer." She smiles suddenly. "She got real mad at me when I told her everyone wore Calvin Klein."

Wade Wilson has posed:
"Get yourself some Janet Van Dyne," Arapool answers, seeming to forget about looking down and out of the alley with this new topic, perked up about it. "If you like my guns, you should feel Captain America's. Steve's guns, and butt? Hoooo-boy-howdy, you'll wonder if you're dreaming," continues the ranger, while twisting to offer one flexed bicep for her to touch and/or oogle, whatever suits her fancy. A touch will in fact prove he's wearing the leather he appears to be. Just the wrong colors. It's not as red as it REALLY is.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, and my heart makes eyes all over that," Arapool laughs, his tone good-natured and playful. He then looks at his gun, a little disoriented.

"Who was I murdering?" he asks, and looks at her with a squint, then back out of the alley. "Oh yep. Not you. Don't fret. Which is just as well, I see you did not wear brown pants," he says comfortingly, before reaching out for the knife to relieve her of it.

Mori Merritt has posed:
"Pretty sure no one's going to like me touching--" Mori starts, then he's already flexing a bicep. Much like his head, she just pokes it with a finger to see if it's real. Certainly seems real enough. She retracts her hand, then looks down at the knife that's not an axe. As he reaches for it, she offers it forth, the blade moving the last few inches from her hand to his all on its own. Mori doesn't seem to have noticed.

"Uh, I thought we were running from someone, not murdering someone. And I don't see anyone..." She blinks. "Oh, this is part of the thing. Of course I don't see anyone." There's a pause. "Go ahead, murder away then." It's not real anyway.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Arapool picks up on the movement with interest, but most of it is focused on the blade. "Guinevere, are you magical? You should have told daddy," Arapool asks of the knife, twirling it once, then lifting it to spin it, pommel down, on his other palm. If he's imaginary, she's imagining someone very skilled with weapons.

Then there's a shot. "Go hobbit go! Get to your hole! FLY YOU FOOLS!" Arapool suddenly declares, and darts out of the alleyway and back down into the street with a fling of the knife, pursuing his quarry back out of sight....

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS ...GO AND COLLECT TWO HUNDRED... oh you're dead."

Mori Merritt has posed:
Usually things are more like an acid trip rather than being stoned and having the munchies, but Mori can't help it if this is what she sees. As he yells more lines, she shakes her head, yelling after him, "You aren't /Gandalf/!" But he told her to flee and sometimes it's better to listen to the figment of your imagination. Sometimes it's trying to tell you something. So she does--she sets off, running in the direction that takes her farthest away from him. She does, however, yell over her shoulder.

"I don't have hairy feet, by the way!"