March 13, 2018:

Phil and Deadpool talk over why Deadpool is at the Trisk.



NPCs: None.

Mentions: Rocket, Peggy


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The guardians have quite a setup outside their ship in the hangar. The couch and the laptop with the projector are really very bachelor-pad, temporary setup in feel. Right now, there is a movie indeed being shown on the wall. To the astute, it is an episode of 'Stranger things', and the sound of the extreme 80's theme resounds in the hangar. Just in case anyone wasn't aware of all that, there's a clear reminder.

However, closer inspection shows it isn't a familiar, if weird, guardian at all. It is, instead, an entirely different and familiar weirdo. The red and black tactical suit, the mask, the gear, it makes the call really very easy to make. Spider-man!…., nope, not today.

Deadpool is laying on the couch on his stomach, feet up and slowly moving to cross and uncross behind him, a phone in his hands as he has his upper torso lifted on elbows. He has a bowl of popcorn on the ground to his left and a purple blanket squashed under him, half on the ground. It's all very relaxed, like he just /belongs/!


It's a very good idea, from the perspective of one Phil Coulson, to know what his parollees are up to. Periodic check-ins to make sure they're not growing tomatoes in a nuke or some such. Or that they haven't caused an international incident by making off with a world leader's extra-comfy furniture.

But he finds the relatively sedate sight of Deadpool watching Stranger Things. He's not really up on the show, as it happens…no time to Netflix Binge, but it looks harmless enough. And if Deadpool doesn't exactly have clearance to be here, neither does he seem to be punching holes into anything.

So far, so good.

Still, he does say, "Making yourself at home?" with some manner of dry amusement weaving in and out of his mild voice.


"Does it look homey? I was going for obnoxious-couch-crasher-chic," Deadpool says with a grand gesture of hand, punctuating each of the words of the 'title', and then waggling a loosened wrist to the bounty around him. He sits up, and dramatically flings off the blanket - no, it's a snuggie. He flings the /snuggie/ off like a matador with a cape—- into the bowl of popcorn, uncaringly.

"I've heard I can be annoying. If you are here for one of the others, /they/," more dramatic pause, but then a reflective draw of hand to chin, tip of head, "are possibly avoiding me."


"How did you even get in here?" Phil asks, with the faintest hint of incredulity. Granted, it's altogether possible Rocket and Groot and all the rest just let him in. In this place, which is far more prone to chaos than he might like to admit, any number of other strange things might have happened.

He sounds more Dad-exasperated than actually worried about anything. Really, it's Deadpool in a snuggie. Then again, in his experience, Deadpool in a snuggie can escalate very quickly into things that are quite a bit less harmless.

And really, the alchemical mix between him and Guardians, resulting in something which might have caused the Guardians to flee their bunker out of sheer annoyance…

Definitely worth keeping an eye on.


"Door to Narnia, third door from the left in the gym locker room. World of snow, overcoat, whole nine yards. And I hate Turkish delight," Deadpool prattles. "It's a texture thing. And I normally like round, somewhat jelly-like things," he continues, with a clutching-curling gesture of fingers and a shrug. Letting that thought go. Maybe. "But maybe it's more that the store ones are always stale and awful."

Deadpool snaps his fingers, and squats near the snuggie. He has a black duffel bag that reeks of containing weaponry. He unzips it, and suddenly unfurls….!

Girl scout cookies. Samoa. He approaches with a bounce in his step, and offers the open box's front end towards Phil with a waggle.

"I didn't lick them," Deadpool adds.


Well. Presented with Samoas, what is Phil going to do? He takes one. Especially as they are unlicked.

"Thanks," he says dryly.

For a half a second he is glancing towards the locker room, as if wondering whether he should go have a look at that. Weirder crap has happened. Especially to SHIELD and her Agents. Having to close a cross-dimensional portal to Aslan's Realm is not off the list of things Phil might expect to have to do in the course of his life.

Point of fact, Rocket rather looks like a particularly aggressive and futuristic refugee from that realm. Here's what happens if you create a realm full of talking animals and give them bombs instead of talking animals. Rocket Raccoon.

Meanwhile, he's trying to decide what to do. "Staying long?" he asks cautiously.
"Is that a question or a request? I hear a /request/ in it. I didn't know you missed me," the intruder says, with a hand to his heart, and then miming brushing away a tear. Despite being masked. "What are we up to, then?" Deadpool asks, upbeat, settling his hands onto the sides of tactical belt, and bouncing on his heels a few times. In the background, there's some screaming and roaring from the show, as if the show itself was expressing what a terrible idea that could be.

"I'm thinking I could be undercover. Then I could add it to my resume. Show some range."


Phil actually looks thoughtful when asked if it's a question or an invitation. And abruptly he says, "Actually, it's an invitation. I have a man I'd like you to hunt down, if you're interested. Ideally alive, for questioning."

But only ideally. He'll take dead. He really will.

He simply ignores the Rampage of the Demigorgon on the screen behind them, though he does take note of its dramatic timing in this particular circumstance.

"It will definitely be something to add to your resume, especially with as little as I have for you to go on. Interested?"


Deadpool stares at Phil for a beat. And erupts suddenly, both hands flung upwards as if his most favorite team won the superbowl. It includes a little leap as well. If he wasn't a mass-murdering mercenary, he could also have been a fabulous cheerleader, it appears. There was some height and ENERGY there!

"I will do it undercover as Captain America," Deadpool agrees, entirely too upbeat about that situation, maybe. "He lets people live and everything, like your brief wants." A pause. "So, /urgh/, maybe not." That might crimp things on the fly when people end up bleeding. "Hunting hunting, blood blood blood," Deadpool singsongs to himself. That's obviously a 'yes'.


For a moment, Phil tilts his head like he is entertaining the image of Captain Deadmerica meeting Captain America. He somehow has this notion Deadpool would just…wedge the big blue A helmet on over the red mask, and wonder why nobody was buying it.

"Your methods are your own to choose," he says diplomatically, because whatever else can be said about Deadpool, he is effective. And unpredictable. It is, perhaps, that unpredictability that is needed right now. Their foe seems to know SHIELD tactics inside and out? May perhaps have links to MI6, knowing their tactics as well?

Time, then, for new tactics. And that means bringing in a wild card, one Phil has never used before.

He brings up a hologram on his watch, and holds it in the air between them. A darkskinned man, with dark hair. He's wearing a bespoke suit, and carrying black roses. True black roses. The image is, sadly, taken from the back. Another hologram shows a building, a name and address beside the building declares it to be a nursing home in northern Virginia.

"This fellow here has threatened to kill an elderly ex-agent of ours," he says quietly. "He has been in to visit her several times and might have pumped her for information. He may also be trying to intiate a hack of SHIELD's servers. He's been going by the alias George Carter. He has exceptional computer skills and has some method of sourcing these black roses. They are not dyed, they grow that way, and we don't know how it's being done. This is practically nothing to go on, but if you can find him before he carries out his hit, I will pay handsomely."


Deadpool pulled his phone out from a pocket as soon as it became clear that Phil was going to do a big long explanation, and flips on the mic. And records. At least at first. Then he shuts it off and fiddles with getting the video to work properly for the whole of the rest of the description. He ends up just taking a few selfies of mostly ceiling. Which is another distraction. But Deadpool zeroes back in towards the end of the explanation. He did hear. In his way.

"Bonus points for before the time limit. Minimal power ups. No quest arrow. Hard mode." Deadpool's tone is flat. "Okay. I make no promises about not inserting black roses - or anything else I might bring along - into orifices, though," the merc states. He takes down the address. Hopefully Phil is fine with unleashing Deadpool on that location.

"Also, maybe the other agents here can not shoot at me for a bit. I mean, unless I ask. It's the consent part that I'm lacking." There was a report of Deadpool at the shooting range amid the targets, and also a report that he DID shoot first when engaged. Nobody actually hurt - they had a vest on. Meaning, Deadpool was playing.


"As long as you don't insert them into the orifices of allies or innocents, I don't care," Phil says flatly. "Without consent."

He briefly looks intrigued as to what shooting with consent would look like…seriously…but he decides not to indulge his curiosity. When he's convinced that Deadpool has all the ceiling selfies he needs to get on the case, he switches off the hologram. He takes out a blank access card and a card programmer. "Don't try to go places this won't let you go," he says, maybe a little tiredly, "And yes, you can hang out here awhile as part of your payment. It mostly takes you places that the Guardians are also allowed to go."

He doesn't quite imply these are all the rooms that have been more or less childproofed versus certain whacky personality types, but…that's basically what is going on there. He gets the card programmed, and holds it out. He got a Samoa printed on there too, just because whacky types wear him out doesn't mean he doesn't have a streak of their sense of humor, however muted.


"If it doesn't let me into YOUR room, I don't even know that it's worth it," Deadpool sighs deeply with longing. "How will I drop in to do my turns for Risk?" he questions, accepting the card.

"Ooh. It's /warm/," he adds in a relatively creepy manner of pleasure, flipping it over, and then tucking it away into one of eighty little pouches with phone. Next to a grenade. That'll be fine. And a big reminder that he is extremely armed. He pat-pat-pats the pouch with a palm. All safe.

The cookie reminds him that he has real cookies. He'd set them down at some point, and bends to grab them again. Just to hold them under one arm. "We don't know what info Rosie wants with your agent? Other than a lack of breathing? Or is that more a 'it's need to know, and you don't need to know, deadpool' category?"


"Unfortunately she's 112 years old. She couldn't exactly even tell us what tipped her off that there was trouble," Phil says ruefully. "Not in anything other than vague statements and riddles. She's very sharp for her age, but he could have gotten all sorts of things out of her. And that makes his threats all the more curious, because almost anyone else would just…wait for old age to claim her, right? But this is somehow personal to him."

Phil just ignores the antics, though he smirks, faint and tired, at mention of Risk. They'll find a way, that smirk says, but he leaves it at that. He says, "You honestly know just about as much as I do about him at this point. The fact that none of what is happening out at that nursing home makes any sense is something keeping me up nights right now."


Deadpool suggests, "Alcohol. Drugs. I'll live vicariously through your addled awareness." Such longing. Sadness. He remembers drugs fondly.

"112, that's going to extra mile. Good on granny; telling death to fuck off til she's ready. A lady after my own elderly heart. Okay." A sweeping salute at upper brow then aside, and down. There was a tiny spark of real /training/ in there despite all the bullshit and antics.


"I'll keep it in mind," Phil says. "You want your advance in cash, on a prepaid card, or in Bitcoin?" Because despite all the antics, he is in all actuality aware that Deadpool is worth the money. He also is aware that being generous may serve as a safeguard against Deadpool getting bored with the whole thing.

But he smiles fondly at the mention of Agent Carter and her words to death. "She'd be a mite more polite about it, she's British. But yes, basically, that is exactly what she's doing, and we would all like to help her do it."


Deadpool getting bored is a thing. But that tends to just push the job to get completed, he doesn't just DROP things. In fact, that can be an issue. He won't. drop. it. It can all work out, really. "Hmmm hmmmm, I'll think about it. Hang onto it for now," Deadpool says, distractedly. He isn't all over needing advances, evidently. Or at least not at this present second. Mercurial doesn't even begin to describe him.

"So far there's barely enough to even START," he assesses, suddenly businesslike, out of nowhere, and flat in tone. "I work miracles of death, but. Epic hard mode." He recalls his cookies, looks in the box. Counts them. "We'll play by achievement; when the tutorial ends, I'll swing by," Deadpool supplies, tone still flat. Until he finger guns at Phil. He's on it.

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