Siryn's Shelter

May 08, 2015:

Siryn gets an unexpected visitor at the shelter, and for once, he behaves!


A shelter in New York City.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It was a rough night at the shelter. Some punks came looking for Smooth and after the hubbub was over, they wouldn't be coming back here again. Unfortunately, there was some damage to the place and Siryn has sent the homeless who were staying here to another place while she tidied up. Terry is alone, the other staffer leaving with the guests to make sure they are okay, and currently picking up the bits of what used to be a table.

With the shimmer of light, and that distinctive sound, something that every Trekker would know, but maybe not every Trekker, Deadpool appears in the shelter. He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt over his costume, has a surfboard under one hand, and a little drink with an umbrella in the other. "Terry," he says when he sees the Irish lass, "what happened? Did I miss happy hour?"

Siryn lets out a squeak of surprise at the sudden appearance of Deadpool… they should all be thankful it was just a squeak. "And where the fuck have you been?" she asks before his clothing would suggest an answer. "What the fuck were you doing in Tibet?" A shake of her head as she starts making a pile of debris. "Weren't nothing happy about it." A pause before she admits softly. "Nice to see you again."

"I figured Tibet had some great surfing after seeing that movie about the end of the world, what's it called, 2011, 2012, 2013, something like that. But you know what, that movie lied to us! Tibet's cold as it gets. But…" and reaches into his pocket, "I got this for you in Tahiti, it's a magical place." He's holding out a carving, "It's an authentic island carving that says…" and as he reads it, he finds that it says made in China, and he swears in Chinese. "Oh well, at least you're looking gorgeous as ever."

"Am I?" Terry asks with a smirk before wiping some dust from her face. "And you still talk shit." She takes the carving and shakes her head at the place of origin. "Were you even /in/ Tahiti, Wade? But thanks for the gift, I shall treasure it always." With a sigh she plants her butt on a table that is still standing. "I was worried you were in jail but then I realised that would be crueller to the jailore than to you."

"You are to these masked eyes, anyway. Might be the filter. I think they work like beer goggles, since you know, I can't get drunk." Technically, he can in fact get drunk, he just needs to drink absinthe, and excessive amounts of it. If it could kill someone normal, it'll have a chance of getting Deadpool drunk. Too bad, it takes all the fun out a bender. "Have I ever lied to you?" No, he hasn't. "Wait, don't answer that." Even when he's telling the truth, most people think he's lying. "And I've been to jail. Some sort of bad people wanted some really bad people broken free, and their cheque cleared, so high ho, high ho, it's off to prison I go," and he whistles the tune from Snow White.

"I meant staying in jail not freeing people from it" Terry smirks before her eyes narrow. "Wait… you broke out some bad people for money… so they could be bad some more?" A long sigh. "I'm just too tired to argue, Wade… though thanks for letting me know that I'm only pretty because you can't see properly. You sure know how to make a girl feel good. But if you, you know, do actually want to cheer me up then I could do with it." She eyes off the board. "Do you actually know how to surf?"

"Why would I want to stay in jail? I'd miss my Assassin's Creed, Pizza Hut, Scorpion, the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and my favourite easy chair." Then it dawns on him that he could get most of that at a minimum security prison. "If I were in jail, I wouldn't get to see you." See, that's a reason to stay out of jail.

"I'd take off the mask, but then you wouldn't like me as much. I'm all flesh coloured underneath it, not like my cool black, red, and white mask." And he nods, "yeah, I can surf, I could teach you sometime if you ask really nicely."

"Of course you would see me" Terry pouts, "Conjugal visits and all." She thinks on that. "No… that won't work. No one would believe anyone would stick with you like that. And I like the flesh colour under your mask. I mean, if we ever… you know… do that thing with the things and the other thing. You would leave your mask on?" A pause. "And when do I get to find that out? Are we actually having a relationship or do ya just pop in to annoy me every now and den?"

One of the eyes raises at the mention of conjugal visits, "really?" He didn't expect to hear that, even if it was said in jest. "If we did that thing with the things and the other thing, I'd want the mask on, the lights out, and I'd wear some night vision goggles. He clearly wants to see her, but he doubts anyone would want to see him. "I think so, just taking it slow, like a gentleman. I haven't even met your dad. It's not a real relationship until your dad hates me, right?"

"If yer waiting to meet me Dad then we may as well call if off now" Terry shrugs, "I didn't even know he was alive until a couple of years ago and I still have no idea where he is. So I guess there's yer out." A knowing smile before her brow furrows. "Lights out and mask on… with goggles. Well… don't that sound dandy for me. Hey… yer not gonna slip out in the dark and put a horse in the room instead or something? I've heard about people like you." She surveys the damage in the shelter. "Wanna get a drink?"

Deadpool wouldn't mind introducing Terry to his parents, if he had any. He doesn't even know for certain what his real name is at this point, so it's kind of hard to know about relatives, assuming he even has any living ones. But maybe that's why he'd kind of like to meet her father, get his approval. He's funny like that. "You ever want to track him down, just give me a word, and I'll put the fine mercs of DP Inc. onto the trail." And as for the other thing, "I'd never do that. As funny as it was, I don't want to be envious of Mr. Ed."

Terry does think on the offer… seriously thinks on it. "I… I don't know if I want to find him" she admits. "And even if ya did I'm not sure he's the kind of person ya'd want to meet. Not if he's like his brother." She rubs her dusty face for a moment. "I can't remember him at all, Wade, and I… I don't think he'd be proud of what I've done in me life." At least he gets a little smile from her about Mr Ed. "Wanna come back to my place?"

"That's okay. If you ever change your mind, I'm probably going to be here. I am immortal, at least I think I'm immortal. I've survived everything I've thrown at myself, but if I ever do find a way to die, then at least you'll miss me." Ah yes, Deadpool is basically a video game character with an endless supply of lives. He can hurt, but he can't die. "And for the record, I don't believe that for an instant. He'd be proud of you, and he'd want to get to know you. He's your father. Just give it a chance, once you find him, and you're ready." As for the last part, he asks in a Southern accent, "why Miss Rourke, whatever will you do with me?"

"I actually have no fookin' idea" Terry admits at the last question. "I don't think ya'd take any of it seriously and probably teleport out at a really inopportune time. But, yeah, Wade, I do miss ya. A lot of times. But I know that yer a superhero…or superanithero…or superunclehero so it's not as if a girl like me is up to that standard. Yer probably teleporting around with supermodels or something. And as fer me Dad…I guess we'll see one day. Or not."

It's weird having her refer to him as a hero. Nobody else calls him that. Murderer, killer, insane, mercenary, funny, ugly, fugly, a face for radio, a fool, and a whole bunch of other things, but hero, that's something that only Siryn seems to see in him. And Wade kind of likes it. "I prefer to think of it as being heroically challenged," since, he does some pretty bad stuff, but usually it's too bad people too. He's not so bad, once you get to know him. "You know, I think you might just be the only girl I've ever teleported with when it wasn't for a job."

"Yeah?" Terry smiles at his admission… and even blushes! "Though if ya think cavorting with supermodels is a job then that don't really mean much" she winks, trying to find the bad in the good. "Heroically challenged? Cute. Well, if ya don't want to come home with me then at least help me clean up." She slides off the table and starts to gather up more rubbish to place in a pile. "Wade…all these superpeople you hang out with. Do you like them? I mean, do ya feel more at home with 'em?"

Nodding his head, Deadpool's little thing at the back bobs. Most people who wear masks, wear ones that are form fitting. Deadpool has a bit of cloth at the top that sort of just hangs there. It sets him apart. At least that's the theory. He does want to come with her, but he's still nervous about it, so he does help with the clean up, and works on trying to fix a table. Where the hell did he get that glue gun anyway? "Terry, your one of the few super people I do hang out with. Most of my friends are regular mercenaries."

Okay…that gets her attention. Terry suddenly stands up straight and offers him a weak smile. "Super people? No…I'm not a super person. Not at all." She doesn't have the lying skills of Deadpool. Terry tries to recall where she may have used a power in front of him and can't think of anything. Is it that obvious? Will the guys in black vans just roll up one day to take her away to pay for her crimes?

"I think you're super," he offers up as she can literally see him sticking his tongue out in concentration as he sits there, on the floor, crosslegged, and fixing a table leg with his glue gun. He's not bad at this. That table's looking as sturdy as ever. At home, he'd do it half assed. But for Terry, he's going to use his whole ass. Or something like that. "Okay," he gets up, "what's next?"

Oh… that's what he meant. Terry breathes a sigh of relief at not being discovered - she can be naive sometimes. Though, ironically, she was just about to tell him everything. "Good job with the table" she compliments as an artful change of subject. "Ummm… you could try some of the chairs. I sort of shattered them… over the heads of the punks." Yep, that's what happened. Nothing to do with her sonic powers. "And if you keep sticking your tongue out like that then you'll make a mess of your mask."

"Oh, I've got hundreds of these. I buy my costumes in bulk orders." Then switching his accent to a fake Italian, he says, "bullets, they no-a work on me, but they be horrible for the fabric." In other words, you can shoot him, shoot holes in his clothes, but he's going to survive. But the clothes, they will need to be replaced.

Next he moves to a chair, and his effort isn't nearly as good. Of course, from his angle there, he gets a nice look at Terry, and his mind just isn't on the work. He even glues his glove to the chair, and as he tries to get it free, it looks hilarious.

Terry is bending over as Charlie Chaplin is reborn behind her. Her bending over is probably the reason for the rebirth. "If you ever do an Irish accent like that, Wade, I will fookin' roast your balls on the Blarney Stone." Irish people are allowed to make stupid stereotype comments. Looking over her shoulder she has to laugh at the glue and glove combination. "Oh fer fooks sake, Wade. You only did that to make me smile, right?" A pause before she quirks an eyebrow. "Or were you looking at me arse?" A soft sigh. "All ya ever do is look."

"I… didn't get any of that," Blarny Stone? Roast his balls? Fookin? What are these words. And how can he think about them while she's bending over like that? It's not fair. He eventually had to remove the glove, revealing his skin. It's not the smoothest, but probably not nearly as bad as he imagines it to be. "Arse?" He asks and answers in equal measure.

Terry rolls her eyes at his lack of understanding. "Don't ya speak English? I can speak bloody Gaelic if ya like but I don't think it'll do ya any good." She slaps her arse. "My arse. Ass. Whatever the fook ya call it. An ass is a donkey where I come from… and don't you fookin' say anything you'll regret." A nod at the glove. "Lucky ya have forty more pair at home… but don't leave that one there, okay? Don't want people ta think I have superhero repairmen at me beck and call."

"I speak American" and when he says that, he puts emphasis on it, sounding more like Am-er-i-can, which is kind of funny considering he's a Canadian. By now, he's managed to get the glove free, and puts it on over his hand, fixing the chair, but that one really should be thrown out. "I never regret anything, except silence."

"Then I guess you have few regrets" Terry smiles warmly to him as he rescues his glove. Oh if only he knew that sometimes she puts a bubble around him that means no one has to hear any of what he has to say. It would kill him. "Yer lucky, I got plenty of regrets. And I need to make up for them. American, huh? So a poor man's English" she teases before looking over the debris that remains. "I don't think there's much more to do here. So yer going surfing again?"

If he knew about it, he'd probably just say some things especially for her, lots of profanities, dirty jokes, that sort of thing. He could do an entire opera on her posterior. But then, maybe even she can't hear him when she puts him in a bubble like that. "So, how do you start making up for regrets? Is there a twelve step program?" There might not be much to do, but he's in no hurry to leave her presence.

"By trying to be a good person I guess" Terry shrugs. "No, there's no twelve step program. If I had to follow rules then I doubt I could do it. I'm just trying to put things right that I see are wrong around me. Maybe I'm fixing the wrong things? I dunno, I could be. Do you rely on a person who has done bad to suddenly know what good is?" A long, deep breath at something that has obviously bothered her for years. "If ya don't want to come home with me, how about ya buy me a beer?"

"I guess that means more teleporting, since you're illegal here." He grins through the mask, "I wouldn't want to break a law," and then he disappears in a flash of light, reappearing a few moments later with a case of beer. "Okay, we got beer, now, did you really want to take me home? What would the neighbours think?"

Terry gets her coat back on as Deadpool disappears for his little trip and returns with a case. "Good start" she smirks. "My neighbours wouldn't give a shit. They complain for the sake of complaining anyway. And, yeah, I want to take ya home ya lummox. So? Wanna come or not? I can just take the beer if ya want. I'm good at amusing myself these days."

In answer to her question, Deadpool grabs the beer under one arm, reaches for Siryn with the other, and tweaks the teleporter in his belt. Soon, the grim visage of the shelter is replaced by a far more pleasant view as Deadpool uses the incredible feat of technology to perform mundane tasks, as the inventor no doubt always intended for him.

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