Don't Trust the DP in Apartment 23

October 20, 2017:

Deadpool randomly appears in the bathtub at Alias Investigations. Azalea Kingston and Jessica Jones deal with that.

Alias Investigations, Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Home to a business and a business owner who are constantly courting eviction.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Bucky Barnes, Michael Carter


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Dusk is falling into night when Jessica Jones comes home. It's been a long day; she had a few folders of cases waiting for her at Stark Industries— normal stuff this time, no murderers or tech thefts, though there is one potential embezzler in the pile. Then it was on to start working both them, and the Rand Industries case before verifying an alibi on the Attah case.

She drops those files on her desk as she comes in, pulling off her jacket and tossing that across her chair at the desk. She rubs the back of her neck, absently, then wanders into the kitchen.

There, she opens the fridge, stares at the contents, and tries to decide what she might attempt to do with anything that's in there. She may have taught herself some rudimentary cooking, but there are still days she just opens up the thing and finds nothing but a wasteland of random ingredients which don't connect to anything.

She finally takes out stuff to make a salad like some manner of responsible adult, mentally congratulating herself for not reaching for take-out and for putting vegetables in her body and for not bringing home some form of booze to have with this salad. It's like a damn triple play of acting like a functional adult.

There are a number of habits Azalea picked up from acting as host to Xiuhnel for such a long time. Almost all of them were awful, irredeemable things that would at best greatly offend, but more likely earn Azalea a felony charge. Since having Xiuhnel's spiritual heart restored and becoming one with him, Azalea has certainly moved on to better habits. Or at least, habits she picked up from those around her.

For instance, Jessica will notice several files laying about on a general contractor Ben Urich was looking into. All spaced out on the couch as if in some chronological order.

Another terrible habit was one she picked up from her time in Gotham, where suddenly appearing directly in Jessica's path might be normal for the Caped Crusader, but is a new thing for the newly minted God now standing in Jessica's way. She's wearing the kind of cargo pants she might put on if she were going out for the night, but her shirt is just a tank top, probably borrowed from Jessica, a little to big on her and showing a few ominous burn marks where Jessica may or may not have taken a few incinderary rounds in the past.

There's a slow dip of her gaze, fixed on the salad for what seems like an eternity. Then she looks up, her eyes slightly wide, as if harrowed by some great despair from her immeasurable past.

"There's lettuce in your dinner. What's going on?"

It might be strange to hear her voice, a little deeper than one might expect from such a small person, so measured and composed. But then a lot of things have changed for Az, and the frenetic, foul-mouthed, absurd nature of her more recent behavior is a hole in Jessica's life that will just have to be filled by someone else.

So. This is how it all ends.

The Detrimental Deadpool happens to be bagged and gound in the bathroom of Apartment 23. That's right, the Jim Carrey one. Anyway, Deadpool has been turned upside down and his masked head is just inches away from being a Swirlie Sandwich. Somehow, he's been Fifty Shades of Bondage'd, because there's a combination of duct tape, handcuffs, zip ties and a frilly scarf that all combine to make it very hard for the Insufferable Deadpool to get out of this predicament.

How they managed to gag him, -through- his mask is a feat that shouldn't be figured out. In fact, it's kind of impossible. But the fact that Deadpool has a sock duct taped to his mask is something that's actually pretty hilarious so that's something.

I should probably get to the actual useful information in this pose, though, so here we go.


Okay, Deadpool, or He Who Cannot Be Gagged, lets out an angry scream following the personal pain of shooting himself in the ass. Yes, somehow Deadpool has managed to twist one of his arms around and go for his gun and it looks like he might've been trying to shoot some of the stupid bindings off his body. Either he missed or he just likes shooting himself. "Never doing that again."

BLAM! "FUCK!" Deadpool winces. "Stupid! Did it again!"

He's bleeding. But thanks to the suit, nobody probably knows.

And so it is that Jessica Jones has two near heart-attacks this evening.

One, she jumps backwards with her vegetable knife at the ready when sudden person is directly in front of her. Sometimes she startles easily, and when she startles her fight reflex almost always activates. Wide brown eyes suddenly take in who she is threatening…well, brandishing a tomato still stuck to the end of it, really, Jess isn't really all that sure how to chop vegetables in any kind of a neat or orderly fashion. She relaxes. "Az," she begins. "Where have you—"

And then BLAM, FUCK, from her bathroom.

"What the Hell!"

She sprints through the single bedroom with the pair of bunkbeds that still live there, and slams the bathroom door open with one hand only to see…

Something that makes no sense to her brain at all.

"What the HELL?!?" she demands, sliding into a fighting stance, but the guy has a gun, and is shooting her bathtub so it's not like she's real sure how effective that will be. She quick-glances back at Azalea, just to see if this is something she knows all about, because it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility.

For good measure:

"What the actual fucking HELL?"

The tomato menaces, and Azalea holds her ground, eyes narrowing slightly as it wavers in the air at the end of Jessica's knife. But they have no time for a mini-reunion.

There is no hesitation when the shot rings out, keeping to Jessica's side as they slam the door open to reveal the duct taped form of… is that a red ninja? When the look comes her way from Jessica her brows lift. "Are you mad he's getting loose or are you mad that he's shooting things?"

Really, Azalea can only assume Jessica has had some sort of terrible new fetish that involves tying up red and black ninjas in her bathroom to serve as an extra after-salad desert.

Very suddenly there is is a snatching motion meant to rip that gun away, her lips drawing into a thin snarl before she then reaches to pull Deadpool bodily up and into the tub, so he's at least sitting.

Unfortunately, he'll have to sit on his recently shot-through ass.

"But no really, who the fuck is this guy?" She reaches out then to rip off what's left of the ineffectual gag, her brows shooting skyward a bit. Mostly red suit. Kindof like a ninja.

Is this the Devil of Jessica's Kitchen?

Oh My.


Deadpool is not exactly happy about still being mostly bound and bathtubbed and sitting on the ass that has more than the one needed hole in it. He fights through the pain, though, because there are a couple of people all up in his personal space now and that's good. Granted, though, that's not the most important thing about all this. It's actually something different. It's actually got more to do with the fact that Deadpool's gag has been removed!

"Oh, hi, Jessica! You don't know me but I got your address from Discord so I thought I'd have my enemies drop me off here. Y'know, instead of my place. I don't want them knowing where I live in case they want to blow up my house or something. I figured they could blow your apartment up instead!"

Deadpool looks from Jessica to the other one and offers a bit of a salute with bound hands. "I'm going to need that gun back, by the way. I'm testing it and I haven't had a chance finish my Yelp! review yet. It's coming along, though! So far I think I'm gonna' give it three stars…" His ass causes more pain. "… four stars!"

Deadpool leans back against the faucet. "So. Who's up for tacos?"

"I'm mad he's there at all! I don't know who he is! I don't know why he's there! I don't know what's going on!"

Jessica believes Azalea when Azalea indicates she has no idea what is going on, that this is not some strange Azalea prank, but if Jessica Jones decided to get kinky it's not showing in her reaction now. If anything she looks pale and maybe a little horrified.

"Who the Hell is Discord? Remind me to kick his ass."

She glowers and then just steps up beside Az so she can start yanking bindings away, snapping them with ease. This is, to be fair, maybe not exactly the wisest move ever, because he certainly seems dangerous, but she can't figure out another way to divest him from her bathroom.

"Why are your enemies dropping you off at all? Why didn't they just kill you? Is there seriously a god damn bomb in my god damn apartment?"

Just a flood of questions over here.

She all but splutters at the taco question, and shoots Azalea another look, just in case the girl godling is smiling or laughing or anything that might indicate this is an elaborate prank on her part after all, an event which can be traced directly back to the taco question.

There is a smile there, slow, brimming, growing as The Deadpool speaks. Oh don't ask her to quantify it. Maybe he's a reflection of something she used to be, or a kindred spirit in some regard. Finally she sets his gun on the edge of the sink, and reaches down to help Jessica, breaking apart the bonds that hold his ankles together. That done, and for but a few bits of oddly placed tape, she hauls Deadpool to his feet, both hand reaching up to steady him by his shoulders.

"All good questions. But let's not overwhelm our new friend. I'm Azalea. You already know Jessica. I know you've been through a bondage related trauma. But I need you to focus. Imminent threat now, tacos later. Is there a bomb here? Did they say they were going to blow you up?"

For Jessica it will be a display of essential calm Azalea has hardly ever been known for. For Mr. Pool it will just be one more person who's put their hands on him today. And no, she does not mention or otherwise seem to indicate that this is some prank surrounding the ill fated family Taco night when it became horrifyingly apparent to Jessica that her sister Did Not Listen(tm) when it came to a certain roommate.

Unfortunately Azalea doesn't have a quick remedy for this one. Her senses are sharp, but it's unlikely she could hear a bomb, given that they are mostly not like cartoon bombs with actual ticking clocks.

Or are they?


Deadpool looks like he's trying to focus. Really, he does. Somehow. He's happy that he's no longer bound like he's supposed to be destroyed or something. He's happy to be able to move about with his limbs and stuff. He's actually even doing a bit of a dance. "I've been stuck like that for 127 Hours. I feel like James Franco trying to audition for any role that actually requires acting." He shakes his head a little bit and then turns to look back at the ones that have decided to rescue him from his James Bonds.

"So this is where the magic happens, huh?" Deadpool looks around the bathroom. "I like it. It's small but if we turn the shower on, we could probably do some fun things in slow motion. Zack Snyder style." Deadpool waggles his eyebrows beneath that mask of his and he just starts checking his various pouches and holsters to make sure that there's weapons galore and maybe a S'more. "Wait. Did you say…?" Deadpool starts freaking the hell out now. Which means he's jumping up on the toilet and screaming like any woman in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. "A BOMB?! A BOMB'S IN HERE?! OH MY ZOD! GET IT OUT! GET IT!" Deadpool stops and turns to look back at his ass. "That healed quicker than I thought it would." And then he's back in the mix of terrified insane person. "OH LORD CHEEZUS! A BOOOOMMMMMMMB!"

For the record, True Believers, there is no bomb.

It is just as well that someone is calm around here. It's a sure bet Jessica Jones notices the changes in the young woman, but at the same time, this is not exactly a time when she can interact with, observe, or even so much as comment on them in any meaningful way.

All 127 of those hours could not possibly have been in her bathtub, but she bites back the comment on that. She stares incredulously at Deadpool as he talks about doing fun things in slow motion, her expressive face taking on a sneer of irritation that is uniquely her own.

She steps out of his way and out of the bathroom, not going after his gun on the sink even, because he's got plenty more and she doesn't want him to freak out. But to say she's at all comfortable or calm in the face of this individual would be a flat out lie. Her heart is still caught in her throat, and when he starts shrieking she tenses like she's about to lose her shit.

Instead, she turns and starts just lifting furniture up and rifling through drawers to conduct a search of her own apartment. Dresser, bunk beds, the whole nine yards.

Her silence is almost ominous. It is the silence of a woman who recognizes that contributing to the panic won't help. It is the silence of a woman who knows contributing to the crazy won't help. It is also the silence of a woman who is trying to decide if she has guts enough to attempt to defenestrate a heavily armed and armored crazy man.

Well, calm is a relative thing. For instance, even Azalea can't help but grow wide-eyed at the idea of frolicking in the shower with Deadpool to get those perfect slow motion shots he's talking about.

Her jaw sets.

Her eyes narrow, scrutiny sent prickling in Deadpool's direction where it concerns matters of explosion. Explosions that might bother him as little as bullets might. Finally his screaming forces a roll of her eyes. She can only hope this isn't some dubious triple psychology and in fact, his reaction means there is no bomb.

"Here." She reaches up to grab his belt, tugging to pull him off of the toilet so that she might jam his gun into his holster.

"You're going to have to help me out here. Start with a name. Then who the fuck you are. Because here's the deal, friend. We're not the judgmental types. You are not even the worst thing Jessica has found tied up in her bathroom, I'd imagine. But you absolutely need to start making a little more sense, otherwise my good friend over there is likely to lose her mind and toss you out a window. Honestly? I'd prefer you stay. If bad people are after you, and now think our home is your home because of this 'Discord' fellow talking to much, I'd rather we understood just what we're dealing with."

If only she could put the 'why' into words. But she looks at him like he's the apex of something, some pinnacle of… oh right. Absurdity. For someone steeped in certain paradigms, she relishes those who exude their own.

With that she gives him the room to talk, backing out of the bathroom, and even crooking a finger to indicate he should follow.

"Ooooh. A tour? Nice! If we're going to the bedroom, you'll have to be gentle! It's my first time! And I have Netflix!"

Deadpool pats the gun that's back in his holster and turns to peer through the words on the screen that doesn't exist and offers a head nod that has to be a wink. He then takes off with a quick-step to catch up to the people that are assisting him with whatever he's doing here. Or something.

"Francis. That's his name. That's the pepperoni flavored shitstain I'm after. I was hot on his heels when some of his goons got the drop on me. I shot their nuts off but not before they swarmed me and threatened to send me sky high. And even though that movie had Bruce Campbell in it, I did /not/ want to spend two hours of my so-called life sitting through that piece of shit again. No way."

Deadpool's touching everything that's not nailed down by the way. He might even be stealing shit. It doesn't matter what it is. If it can fit in one of his pouches and it looks momentarily interesting, he's pouching it.

"Anyway, Discord's less of a who and more of an Annoying Internet Based Chat Program for Nerds, Geeks and Dweebs. It's complicated. Especially if you have an Apple. Ugh." Deadpool rolls his eyes a little bit and finally stops to lean against one of the walls.

"There was something important we were supposed to be looking for though, wasn't there?" Deadpool reaches up to scratch his head, turns around to look back towards the bathroom as if attempting to retrace his steps. And right there. On his back. Is the fucking bomb. Duct-taped and counting down. Fast as fuck.

"Was it my contact lens? I hope not. I just bought these!"

Fortunately, Jessica carries the vast majority of her life inside of her phone. There's not much. There are coffee cups with snarky slogans, dishes, silverware, a knife with a tomato stuck to the end that got dropped on the kitchen floor. There are a few nicknacks on the shelves. Jessica shoots Az a grateful look— she's being the one who is responsible and asking the right questions now, while Jessica deals with what is, in fact, the first invasion of her home that has scared or unnerved her for more than a few seconds since moving into this apartment.

The references to going into the bedroom do not help. They visibly make her even more pale than she already is. Her head is scrambled between the fear and the aggression.

"Francis," she says flatly. But then he's talking about Bruce Campbell movies and she's not sure if Francis is even real.

But then he's turning around to reveal the bomb. "Shit!"

There's no Michael to help her diffuse that one. And she's not sure Az has bomb skills. And she's not even going to trust Deadpool's.

She rips the bomb right off his back and stares at the timer. 38 hours, 24 minutes, and 36 seconds isn't exactly a 'right now' type of situation, but is the timer even accurate? Right now she isn't sure of anything. She's not sure he didn't duct tape the damn thing to his own back at this point.

"Yeah okay. Um. There is literally no safe place to put it. Even if I throw it in the river it might get some boat and kill a whole bunch of people." Ironically, had the timer been a bit closer to time she would have done that, but at that point she'd have had the ability to avoid boats.

She considers phoning a friend. Hi Bucky, a guy was in my bathtub and he had a bomb and I need help. Is he recovered enough from Wakanda to do that? Or Michael, she could call Michael. Maybe she should just call the bomb squad.

"I hate bombs," Jessica says, and now she really is shaking with adrenaline. The thing about Jess is she can do all sorts of dangerous things, may have committed herself, indeed, to a life that guarantees it, but she has not developed the unflapple will in the face of danger that many of her friends share.

Before Az can address Deadpool's fantasy that this ends in a bedroom experience, he's telling a tale as old as time. Or at least 127 hours old, old enough that the bomb they placed on his back hasn't gone off yet. Her teeth grit, and she's certain that wasn't there before, when he was hogtied. But maybe it was. Maybe, in her enjoyment of his delicious chaos, she made a mistake.

Jessica has the bomb, but Azalea can see it all over her friend's face, and in the harrowed shaking of her hands. Terror reigns but Azalea's touch is a cool, steady thing, curling over Jessica's fingers to ease the device from her grip. Everything she needs to know is in the steel of her gaze, and when she reaches into her pocket it is not for her phone but for something else small and electronic. Does it have.. Bat Ears?!

A red light scans the device, and then from the other end she dispenses something that almost looks like saran wrap, turning it over and over until it's wrapped up in the stuff.

"Wait here."

There are no more words after that, and she breaks into a running leap that sends her across the apartment in the blink of an eye.

The crash through the window alone should shred her to pieces, to say nothing of the fall that waits, her momentum carrying her past the fire escape and into the alley below -

-where she promptly dunks the bomb into the open dumpster and presses the button on the Bat-Tool.

The ballistic wrapping does it's job, turning what might have been a building-leveling decide into something that simply knocks the dumpster across the alley and sends fire shooting to the sky.

Deadpool looks as sheepish as he can with his mask on. He even shrugs when there's a bomb removed from his back. "Uh. Happy Hannukah?"

Deadpool is fine and dandy with whatever's going to go down with the bomb since it is no longer attached to his back. In fact, he seems to be quite not-even-bothered in the slightest that the people he was hunting just tried to blow him up. "Don't worry about saving that! I get one like every six issues! It's practically in my contract at this point!" Deadpool calls out after the Bat-Bomb Dispenser and such.

Deadpool slides over to the seat nearest him and plops down on it. "Whew. Well. That was certainly not intense at all. We should probably get to the part where you show me your boobs since I totally just saved your asses from TOTAL ANNIHILATION OF THE HEART!" Deadpool air guitars a sweet riff and then kicks his feet up on his seat as well. "This is really comfortable. Futon? IKEA? Dumpster Number 37 behind the Old Firehouse on 17th Street?"

Deadpool plants his hands behind his head. "I think I'm gonna' like it here. We're gonna' make one helluva a three-way. I shall call us: Deadpool & The Racks."

Huh. Az has bat toys now. Jessica Jones is pleased she seems to know what to do, even as she leans out the window and watches the shot of fire shooting up into the sky and the dumpster thumping across the alley. "Good one," she calls, momentarily so relieved that she forgets to be angry or afraid.

Deadpool fixes that in short order.

She spends half a moment trying to decide how she's going to handle this situation. He's still armed. He's still nuts. He's now ensuring she's going to throw that couch out and get a new one.

She finally adopts her sweet basic white girl voice and comes sauntering up to him. "Oh gosh, really? You really want to stay and have lots of wild, crazy sex all over my apartment?"

When she reaches for him it looks gentle…

But she's basically going to try to pick him up and fling him right through her door in what may be the perfect re-enactment of a certain iconic moment from some kind of opening episode somewhere.

And whether she gets to enact her will in this or not, she shouts, "Get the HELL out of my apartment!"

No unflappable calm, but plenty of temper that eventually takes over and makes her do possibly ill-advised things, bypassing even her wariness about his armed and armored state.

Certainly there are things about Azaleas new state of existence that allow her a broad perspective on all sorts of things. Millennia of existence on this planet, countless eons in space before that as a primal aspect of creation. A vast wealth of being that translates to a nearly infinite patience.

None of it is a match for Wade Fucking Wilson.

At first his chaos was a lure, a primal swirl of something she could process far better than your average citizen. She used to be some fraction of his crazy. By the time he's headed towards Jessica's door, the smoking, soot-covered Aspect of Redemption is climbing the stairs, and without comment she slams a fist up between his legs to taint-punch him with brutal, inhuman force towards the stairwell.

"Don't even think about telling me your fucking safe word."

It is in fact the best way she can tell him to fuck off before she's stalking into the apartment, a smoldering mess that Jess will determine is superficial - her clothing is ruined (YEAH DEADPOOL YOU GOT A PEEK FUCK SAKES) and her hair is frazzled, but she's just fine physically.

To Jess, she levels an iron stare. "We need to find out who the fuck Francis is." If only because she has a sinking feeling that Deadpool will in fact return, and the next time who knows what terrible wrath he might bring.


Deadpool goes sailing out of the door and is actually in the air for a good long while before he smacks into the floor and just rolls. And keeps rolling. "Fuck! Shit! Dammit! Ow! Mommy! WIIIILLLMAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Eventually, whether there's an elevator involved, or stairs, Deadpool's descent is going to be one painful one.

There's a lot of cussing. A lot of pain. And maybe even a couple of weapons of his that go off in the meantime. Eventually, Deadpool ends up on the ground floor of this building and just lies there.

"Next time, I'm wearing my John Travolta suit." Deadpool picks himself up off the ground and starts to limp away, humming Stayin' Alive the entire time.

He hasn't even realized he's got one of his katanas stuck through his body.

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