20171/In the Basement Lair of the MacGuffin

In the Basement Lair of the MacGuffin
Date of Scene:	02 March 2025
Location:	McGuffins
Synopsis:	Raven and Deadpool hang out and chat. It goes about as one might expect.
Cast of Characters:	Wade Wilson, Rachel Roth

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Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool stepped into McGuffins with the sort of swagger that only someone wearing a tuxedo over a super suit could muster. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, the fabric straining against the bulk of his costume beneath. His mask clung tightly to his face, making it impossible to properly drink from the half-full glass of wine he was holding. He tilted the glass anyway, a futile gesture, and gave a soft grunt of frustration.

The patrons of McGuffins, dressed in their own formal attire, glanced up with curious expressions, but quickly turned back to their conversations, likely too used to strange figures to bat an eye. Deadpool, however, was less interested in fitting in, and more in scanning the room. His eyes darted over the polished oak paneling, taking in the low hum of activity, and then to the discreet door that led to the wine cellar.

He approached the bar with a slow, deliberate step, the heel of his polished shoes clicking on the wood floor. The bartender gave him a raised eyebrow, clearly unsure whether to address him like a regular, or an intruder. Deadpool shrugged it off and, with a mischievous grin through his mask, leaned forward. "Do you know where I can find the real treasure around here?" he asked, tapping the edge of his glass lightly. The bartender paused, and then gestured vaguely toward the back. "Downstairs," he said with a nod, his expression unreadable. Deadpool tipped his glass in thanks, though he knew it wouldn't do anything, and made his way toward the hidden cellar, eager to see what kind of history (or chaos) awaited him.

Rachel Roth has posed:
The Titans weren't exactly known for their encyclopedic knowledge of the creatures and sundry that they tended to face - most of them seemed to be focused upon playing video games and other teenaged (even if most were in their twenties) buffoonery.

Which left Raven in place to try to stay on top of most of the knowledge mysticke and weirde (spelled with an e so you know it's esoteric).

Cyborg and the Robins could handle most of the mundane business, but welp, Raven had to handle the rest. So here we are.

Having a working catalogue of MacGuffins might save the world, universe, or whatever someday.

Raven had a coffee from the bar, black, like her heart, her deeply blue robes left behind today for a pullover, ankh necklace, and some artfully frayed jeans with a boot, her short purple hair framing her features, the crimson jewel in the center of her forehead gleaming crimson with the trapped demonic energy inside.

And she was there, lurking, the pale-skinned woman in the darkness of the cellar, looking over the real MacGuffins that the bar tended to show only the most qualified of patrons. And being a Titan afforded her that privilege, at least.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool stepped into the cellar, immediately feeling a shiver run down his spine. It was like the temperature dropped, and for a second, he couldn't shake the feeling that something... off was in the air. He paused, narrowing his eyes, then muttered to himself, "Was that me, or did an emo just enter the chat?"

His voice echoed slightly in the dimly lit space, but there was no answer, only the faint creak of old wood and the low hum of silence. His gaze swept over the rows of dusty bottles, stopping when it landed on a pale figure in the shadows. Ah, there she was, just standing there, looking like she'd stepped out of a goth dream.

Deadpool grinned and shuffled over toward her, glass still in hand. "Hey," he said, "you wouldn't happen to know the muffin man who lives on Drury Lane, would you?" His tone was laced with playful absurdity as he leaned slightly against the wine rack.

Rachel Roth has posed:
Raven was in the midst of opening a case, and inside the case, a mysterious light gleamed, lighting up her features as she peers at what was inside. With the stylus she had attached to a fancy tablet, she quickly writes up some notes on what she sees, complete with a frowny face up top.

The question that comes to her from the man entering the MacGuffin basement doesn't even have her looking up from her study, the stylus flickering over the tablet.

If she was in the tower, outright ignoring the person trying to interrupt her study or fixing them with a withering glare might be the way that she responds, but she was feeling a little more social at the moment, so she uses her words.

No," she says, her tone of voice icy, the implication of 'go away' also hidden in the undertone of the words.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool paused, the icy tone of her voice slicing through the air like a cold draft. He raised an eyebrow behind his mask, undeterred. "No muffin man, huh?" he muttered to himself, not about to let a challenge like this slide. Looking around the cellar as if inspecting his surroundings for inspiration, he began to quietly hum the theme song to Mission Impossible.

He tilted his head slightly, not quite expecting to get anything from it. "Alright, so no muffin man," he said tapping his chin. "But what about a baker? Maybe you've heard of them, or candlestick maker... wait, let me guess, you're into something a little more niche, like some mystical twinkie? You know, the kind that could end the world if someone, say, not me, were to accidentally touch them?"

He shot her a sideways glance, pretending to examine a particularly dusty bottle of wine with exaggerated interest, all the while waiting for some kind of reaction. He wasn't going to make it easy for her. He was determined to get a further response, and if it took every bit of absurdity he could muster, so be it.

Rachel Roth has posed:
It was Raven's curse. Not the demonic power that slept within her, or her world-ending father who was an actual demon - that's what gave her a cool factor and kinda a edge up in the gawth communities - no, her curse was to be surrounded by bubbly, annoying people. From aliens to teenagers to otherwise, everyone around her was SO happy, and SO 'funny'.

So as Deadpool goes on with his nursery rhyme time, she brings her chin up, levelling a placid stare upon him, still cradling the tablet in the crook of her arm.

"A mystical twinkie," she says, her tone of voice absolutely dearth and dead of anything approaching interest. And the stare demanded to determine if he was serious right now. She was an empath, for lack of a better term, so she tries to get a read on how serious this guy was about the whole thing. Or his general emotional state.

A beat more.

"Why are you here?" she asks, with that unrelenting gaze still levelled upon him.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool's grin faltered for a split second at her dry response. He stifled a chuckle, not wanting to completely lose his cool in front of this unimpressed enigma of a woman. She had that dead inside look that always made him want to poke around a little more, like an old, cursed treasure chest begging to be opened.

He leaned against the wine rack, letting his glass dangle from his red gloved fingers, his posture casual, but still intent. "Why am I here?" he echoed, his voice lowering slightly, as if he'd just cracked some code. He rubbed his chin with his free hand, thinking. "Well, I'm here for fun, and probably more than a little bit of confusion. But mostly, I was hoping to find some answers to the big questions of life. Like, 'Why is my wine glass perpetually half full?' and 'How does one get invited to a basement like this without being super important?'"

He shifted his weight, pushing off the rack, and making a show of looking her over, his gaze briefly lingering on her crimson jewel. "But hey, if you don't want to talk about mystical pastries and ancient artifacts, that's cool, no biggie. We can talk about something else... like why your aura is the exact opposite of mine?"

"Or, you know, you could just tell me where the real treasure is. I promise not to eat it. Or, maybe I will. That's still up for debate with the writers."

Rachel Roth has posed:
When her empathic senses get pretty much nothing except something like anxiety at him not wanting to lose his cool, Raven frowns a little bit more, her attention now fully on Deadpool, not mirroring his casual posture - hers was closed off, withdrawn, tight.

"For... fun," she says. "These items have saved the nation, universe, galaxy..." she points her stylus in different directions, indicating an item with each.

But never once does that stare or frown leave Wade.

"An orphanage," she indicates a tattered doll in a glass case. "And a franchise," she says, pointing at a mysterious movie poster titled 'Deadpool and Wolverine', likewise enshrined in a glass case.

"But your wine glass is half full because you drink it, and they let you down here because of the mask, probably," she says.

"Although they should reconsider, because you look like Deathstroke," she says.

Her brow quirks, and she tilts her head, frowning.

"This is where you say that the real treasure is the friends that we make along the way, right?" she says.

"But... why do you think our auras are opposite?" she says, her tone of voice remaining droll.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool walked over to inspect the "Deadpool and Wolverine" poster, a smirk spreading across his masked face. "Ah, look at that. Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman. Talk about a power couple," he gleefully remarked, running his gloved finger along the glass, clearly impressed. "I mean, I always thought I was the true superhero, but these two... they give me a run for my money." He shook his head, smiling beneath the mask.

Then, Raven's words cut through his momentary reverie. He froze, his hand still resting on the glass, and he rolled his eyes under the mask. "Really? You're gonna pull that card? Look, lady, we're like... estranged cousins, twice removed, okay? Distant relatives in the 'I-wear-a-mask-and-use-swords' Wilson family. Big difference. I'm the fun one; he's the grumpy, 'I-take-myself-too-seriously' version. You'd like him. If he wasn't actively trying to kill you at the time."

He straightened up, his playful tone dropping a notch as he crossed his arms. "And don't even get me started on the aura thing," he said, walking back toward her. "Look, I'm like a firecracker dipped in sarcasm and surrounded by chaos, right? So, yeah, my aura's probably, I don't know, a vibrant explosion of weirdness and unpredictable energy." He shrugged, his mask's expression unreadable. "But yours? Yours is the exact opposite. All dark, serious, and... brooding."

"It's like you're a storm cloud of 'don't-make-me-ask-again'." He took a step back, trying to get the vibe right in his head. "That's how I see it, anyway. We're basically cosmic opposites. You know, like... peanut butter and... more peanut butter. One's light, the other is dark, but both are... probably terrible for you."

Rachel Roth has posed:
He was continuing to talk. And with each word, one could almost see the worsening annoyance ticking in at the edges of her expression. The tightening of the edges of her eyes, the deepening of her frowning, all of this came on as he speaks.

But her tone stays somber, neutral, at least. And maybe at the end of it all, those subtle little changes in expression smooth out again.

"I don't, in fact, like Deathstroke," she says.

"Mmhmmm. I've been told I need to be in Gotham before," she says. There was that awkward silence again, Raven subtlely wishing she had someone more upbeat - or more social - by her side to field this guy. A beat, and then she says the death of actual conversations everywhere.

Even if she might regret what he does say.

"So. How can I help you?"

Wade Wilson has posed:
He couldn't resist the opening. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. You don't like Deathstroke? What's wrong with him? Come on, he's like the brooding, half-mask-wearing, badass uncle we all need. You sure you're not just playing hard to get?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know, maybe the two of you could, just hear me out here, go on a nice dinner date, talk about your shared love for deadly combat and, I don't know, maybe end up as a power couple. The world could use more of those."

"I mean, I'm not saying you should be into him, but... why the hate? Not a fan of the whole 'death and destruction' vibe, or does he just have bad manners?" Deadpool grinned under his mask, the absurdity of the suggestion only adding to his amusement. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, likely an eye roll or another cryptic comment, but he had to admit, the possibility of setting them up was too funny to pass up.

He fiddled with his wine glass, waiting for her response, pretending to be all casual, but his eyes were gleaming with mischievous curiosity.

Rachel Roth has posed:
Raven just keeps her stare on Deadpool for a long moment as he says such a thing about setting her up with Deathstroke.

She keeps that deathstare on him for a few moments longer, before casting that thought away with a "No."

A moment more, and the woman brings her hand to the hood of her hoodie pullover, flipping it up over her head. Of course the hood was done up to have an appearance suggestive of a corvid, with wings of dark ink decorating the material.

She turns her back on him, is how he sees that, deciding to quietly return to her study.