Strange Brinkmanship

October 18, 2017:

A dark interrogation room. Two iron wills face off in a battle of wits. It's Deadpool vs. Coulson: whose banter will reign supreme?

//An Interrogation Room Somewhere. //

Probably not in the Triskelion.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

The room is dark, with a single light illuminating grey, flat walls. Phil Coulson leans forward, a grim expression on his face. His eyes are flint-hard as he looks across the table at the mercenary. "So," he says. "It's come to this, then."

His voice almost echos around the featureless space. Every line of his body is tense, as it often is during these sorts of encounters. It's all controlled, of course; the spy is not given to intense displays of emotion. But the signs are there, for those who know how to read them. Total focus. An unwillingness to yield. The eye of the tiger.

"At last, Shield Agent Phil Coulson, Badge Number 3719384203293283292382323238-23954438444.pi. It looks like it has come exactly to THIS! AND THAT! AND ALSO THIS!"

The mercenary in question is none other than the Merc With A Mouth: Deadpool. He stands across from his interrogator, on HIS OWN SIDE of the table. That's right, he's allowed to stand. Or, well, he's probably gotten himself out of the handcuffs that he was probably wearing. Either way, he's focused on The Agent in front of him more than he's focused on anything else. Which is saying something because Deadpool can't exactly focus on anything.

"Wait. I thought you were dead. When did you get undead? Are you a Zombie now or…?"

"What? No, I'm not dead," Phil says, giving him a weird look, and a quirk of a smile. "Why would you even think that? You know what, it's not important. And no, I'm not a zombie."

He sits, even though one of the most dangerous mercenaries on the planet is standing, a position that seems like it should put him at a disadvantage. But if he's concerned, he doesn't let a flicker of said concern mar that Cheshire Cat's smile. Instead he says, "But let's get real with one another, Deadpool. What exactly are you up to, here? Your recent activity is all over the map. You've always been erratic, but this is new even for you."

Deadpool is still standing but he's holding an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. script in his hands. He's got a highlighter in hand and he's in the middle of highlighting a few passages or something. Who really knows what he's up to. He finishes up with that highlighting and then tosses the highlighter over his shoulder. He peers up over the top of the script to look down at Agent Coulson.

"Erratic? Please, Philamena. I'm Agnostic at worst." Deadpool probably grins beneath that mask but who knows what face he's making. It's interesting to try and read him when he doesn't have a facial expression to read. Then again, the eyes of his mask do move a lot. It's so weird.

"Zombies fear what they don't understand. Which means I've got you running scared. And you know what happens when you're running scared? You're either Gregory Hines or Billy Crystal. And I'm not talking about City Slickers Billy Crystal. I'm talking about funny Billy Crystal. Comic Relief Billy Crystal."

"I never run scared," Phil Coulson says, and he either completely ignores the Agents of SHIELD script or doesn't see it at all. "All I can say is this."

He stands, now, putting both hands on the table. Leans forward and says, "Back off from this course of action or you're going to leave me no choice but to crush you once and for all. I can't promise I'll be hilarious while I do it, either."

Beat.

"There is no comic relief on this side of this table. And you don't know it, but I've already outmaneuvered you. You can't win."

His facial expression maintains that Cheshire Cat smile, and all his lines are delivered with his characteristic mildness.

Deadpool doesn't seem to like those words. Which may be why he's decided to lean on his side of the table too. He puts his weight on it and damn near puts his masked face into 'Now Kiss' range of Coulson's. It's really quite a sight to see. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with. I've taken dumps that are a bigger threat than whatever you've got up your sleeve." Deadpool looks down. "Oh wait, those are /really/ nice. Do you have a tailor or is that off the rack? Work it, Coulson!" Deadpool snaps himself out of it and gets back into Mercenary Mode.

"Look. I'm afraid of a lot of things. At the top of that list? Kevin Smith movies. At the bottom of that list? Ben Affleck running for President. But one thing I'm not scared of? Whatever it is you're planning. I'm locked and loaded, Philly Boy Floyd. Bring it on."

Phil Coulson does not back down from this invasion of personal space.

"This one was tailored, thank you," he says, with the utmost seriousness. "I have a few off the rack, it's important to have one for any occasion you know."

Wait. He shakes himself out of that. They're not here to talk about suits! So he adds, "Philly Boy Flloyd, really?"

Also not germane to the topic at hand. "I'm not asking you to be afraid. I'm asking you to see the position you're in right now. To exercise a little logic. Nobody ever has to know you backed down. It'll be our little secret." His smile ticks up a notch. "What do you say?"

This close, leaning over the table like this, the single light is really close to his head. Phil puts out one hand to push it slowly away from there, before he gets scorched by a lightbulb. That really would be Billy Crystal comedic relief. It weakens, somewhat, any intimidation value his stance might have had, but he holds his gaze steady anyway.

"Make sure I get the business card for your tailor when I escape. I could use a new suit. I've got the feeling I'm going to be attending a funeral soon." Deadpool takes this moment to turn and look at a wall that doesn't exist. "Yeah, for those you keeping up at home? I'm talking about Francis."

Deadpool's attention comes back to the table and all of that business. He grins beneath that mask and turns his attention to the table for a moment, almost losing some ground to the stare down that he's having with Coulson. "I'm not budging. I know every move you're going to make before you even think about making it and it's not because I just read the script. It's because I'm one badass motherfucker, Coul Moe Dee. And let me tell you something else, boyo." Deadpool moves in as close as he can get right now. Definitely in 'Now Kiss' territory.

"New Adventures of Old Christine was one hell of a show."

"Fine," Coulson says, in low, ominous tones. "Then I guess it's finally time to roll the dice."

And so he does, pushing his blue plastic army figures into place on the Risk Board currently between them, positioning them so that he might attack one of Deadpool's territory. He sweeps up the six-sided die and sends them boldly across the board, leaning back out of the mercenary's personal space at last and looking down to calculate the results of his deadly strike. Or what he hopes will be a deadly strike, anyway.

Why didn't he turn more lights before they started playing this game? Why did they go with an interrogation room to play it in?

God knows.

Deadpool's mask eyes widen at the sight of those dice.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Deadpool falls to his knees as he realizes what that roll means. And his three red pieces are clumped together in the middle of the board, which pretty much means that he was going to need a botched roll from Coulson to be able to survive or something close to that. He's certainly realized the error of his ways.

"MAMA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Deadpool whines his way around on the ground, pretty much ready to throw a tantrum as he's pretty sure Coulson is about to wipe his people out.

"C'mon, man. I warned you. I'm real good at this game. I gave you the chance to take back your last move and everything." No botched rolls here, but the agent just folds his arms and watches this tantrum. He doesn't make a point out of taking Deadpool's people off the board. That's just bad sportsmanship, and he is hardly a bad sport. Its hard to tell whether his smile is exasperated or triumphant. Maybe a little from Column A, a little from Column B. Thus stands the SHIELD Agent, bastion of protection for the whole of the world, staying firm in the face of the sadness of the Merc with a Mouth.

Even though it is rather a lot of sadness. Yikes.

"YOU! YOU! YOU CHESTER CHEETAH!"

Deadpool pops up and stands tall, wiping away the tears that aren't on his mask. "I can't believe you did this! You set me up! You snake! You criminal mastermind! You Prime Minister!"

Deadpool reaches up to the device that's attached to his chest and he narrows his masked eyes in Coulson's direction. "Mark my words. This isn't over. The fat lady lost her voice. I'll be back. And next time, it's personal."

Deadpool activates his teleportation device, which starts to fade him out of 'existence' or something. Except, he's got one last thing to say.

"… worst game of Checkers ever!"

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