|With Great Powers||Help Search Members Calendar|
|Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )||Resend Validation Email|
|Pages: (2) 1 2 ( Go to first unread post )||ADD REPLY. NEW TOPIC. NEW POLL.|
"Holy Christ on a Ritz! We finally get to go in with extreme prejudice!"
As per usual, Peter's plans had hit an unfortunate snag. The kind that he would have better luck placing his minimum wage on.
The Parker Luck worked that way, never bold in favor, always against. A planned rendezvous with the enigma that was Black Cat and their atypical romantic entanglement went astray at the first hint of alternative evening expectations. A tinge of the spider sense and Peter's head turned away from his swinging trajectory.
"I don't know what else I expected." Peter mused to himself and kicked a foot off of the side of a nearby glass pane building window. Inside, the office worker burning the midnight oil jumped and spilled coffee over the front of his white shirt. He shook a hand at Peter as the hero made his change of pace.
Peter took the more classical approach toward the mysterious challenge he would be facing. He stuck to the rooftops and tried to get a read of the situation before rushing in. The last thing he needed was to spurn the element of surprise with something too hasty. He did have a knack for retaining attention when he leaped into action, but until that moment he needed to tread softly and make sure his suspicions were properly placed.
After all, due process dictated that he couldn't fight crime without confirmation that there was a crime.
A New York warehouse, where only good, wholesome things happened. Peter didn't need to sense more danger to ascertain that whatever deeds were to be gotten up to without would deviate from what was lawfully acceptible. A quick leap and he landed on the rooftop with a light thud. "Now for the easy part." Peter muttered under his breath until the sound of a loud knock made him freeze. He leaned over the edge of the rooftop to spot someone clad in full body costume, likely an overeager cosplayer, to be the culprit. "Doesn't look like me at all...plus, swords and pouches? What is this, '93?" he asked himself.
Peter then saw the cosplayer leave as hastily as they had arrived. "Alright, good." Peter felt relief wash over at the idea that no innocents, as mad as they may appear, were going to be harmed in the making of this crime bust. He went back to his scheduled entry but the sun window was shut...for once. "That's...actually very thoughtful." he supposed that enough of those got exploited. Peter looked around and noted that there was a much more common place of entry, a roof access door.
The first tug on the handle implied it was locked, a little more force and it broke right open.
Technically not breaking and entering if it was for the right cause.
Peter had ventured down the stairs through darkness into a much more brightly lit room, the main storage house in the warehouse. He walked on the catwalk carefully, his steps light as he saw the men on patrol inside. He took a quick approach with a line of web shot directly at the back of an armed man. He pulled him back and caught him by the back of his jacket. Some webbing over the man's mouth and another shot in a cluster trapped him to the wall. "Hang in there." Peter teased with a pair of finger guns then leaped from the arm railing of his side of the catwalk to the other and capture the next man with a knee to the neck then webbed the unconscious body down to the ground.
A web grenade was sent behind him and clung to the wall as two more patrollers rounded the corner. It deployed as soon as the passed it and stuck to the wall. He lastly fired a ricochet web ball that bounced down the long walls and collided with the last catwalk patroller's face and sent him straight back onto the ground. Peter dusted off his hands. "That leaves the big fish." Peter praised himself with a look over the edge at the more occupied floor level. He readied to leap over when a large crash through the wall sounded off the arrival of someone who gave Peter's title as menace a run for its money.
The lenses on Peter's mask widened at what looked like a corpse flying through the windshield and the resulting damage. He then winced at the blood splatter. "...What the heck?" Peter asked himself as the man, the cosplayer from before, pried himself from the ground and resorted to withdrawing a gun and shooting a man in the face. This brought about all of Peter's alerts at once.
Peter launched downward and landed on the ground floor with a short bounce to steady himself on the balls of his feet after absorbing the shock of the drop. He didn't offer a passing glance to the walking question mark next to him that was Deadpool. "Can't help you on the 'neurotic' front but -- can we shelve the whole "guns can't kill me" plan and try something more practical and less bloody?" Peter asked with a precise amount of rhetorical tonality. He then made a swift motion, a sliding maneuver that included a spread shot of webs that tugged the guns from a pair of men's hands and launched his foot forward into one would be assailant at the median point between them. he turned and used the kick as propulsion toward the opposite direction. He released the pair of webs and next landed on another armed men on his opposite side. He slid the man across the ground with his feet placed on his chest and abdomen.
He flipped into the air after the move and shot a web that he used to pull himself upward to dodge the incoming gunfire.
Wade was caught completely off-guard for the most recent of many times in his life as a skinny-ass neurotic guy in red and blue tights entered the game.
"...oh, thank God, it's not Tobey Maguire." Wade quipped with a sigh of relief just before he yelped out at a bullet whizzing past his head and ricocheting off of a nearby eighteen-wheeler that had been parked. He ducked down under it, crawling around to the other side and popping out, readying his guns again. "What's that, Spider-American?! You want more bullets?! I GOTCHA!!!" Wade called out. Already, the remaining thugs were trying to fire on both him and the wall-crawling newcomer.
Wade leaped out of cover and started firing. "Ohhhh! I rode my bicycle past your window last niiiiiiiight!!!!" He crooned very unpleasantly off-key as he plugged one of them in the head with a shot. "I roller-skated to your door at dayliiiiiight!!!" Another two shots, two guys down. "It almost seems like you're avoiding me!!!" One tried to come up behind him and Wade grabbed his arm, jerking him forward and over him before doubletapping. "I'm okay alone, but you got something I need!!!!!"
Someone got a few lucky shots off. Somewhere between two and three hundred of them (it was really hard to keep count after about one hundred and fifty). Unfortunately for them, regeneration was a thing, so all it did for Wade was stagger him...and that staggering got him in behind some crates. Regeneration took hold after that, and the dumbass who wasn't smart enough to keep his distance to reload got close enough...and a red and black form leaped over the crates with two shiny blades that were then immediately perched at the man's throat.
"WHERE WERE THE OTHER DRUGS GOING?!?!" Wade growled in a voice that definitely was not a Christian Bale imitation.
"Wha-what?!" The thug had, by that point, dropped his gun and was backing away.
"Oh, shit, sorry...uh...WHERE IS 8-BALL?!" Wade quickly regained the imitation as he pressed the blades in at the crate the guy had backed into, a mere inch or so from piercing the guy's head at either side if he just moved them slightly toward it.
"The hero's busy fighting off the Shit Squad and bullets only tickle me. Start talking."
"Dude," Peter began with a squint toward Wade, his mind set to wonder about what direction this guy's thoughts were coming from. "What are you talking about?" the inquiry felt weighted with yet to be achieved situational irony, saturated with what would certainly answer itself with perpetuity in using those very same words. "No, I said --" Peter tried to correct the man who was no longer where Peter last left him. A quick dodge of gunfire with a back handspring provided a vantage point of Wade making his dramatic effort to retaliate with his own gunfire.
The sound of bullets piercing skin and the resulting splatters of blood was not missed on Peter's part. Despite his focus primarily being placed on both staying alive and trying to apprehend the would be assailants with the least amount of unnecessary damage, here was this guy dressed in the fashion of a ladybug making avant garde confetti out of human beings. "Is that a real song...?" Peter asked himself while pushing both of his feet off of the chest of another gun wielding attacker and shooting a pair of webs that caught the sides of the wall to use the momentum of the kick to pull himself forward like a slingshot.
The motion threw Peter out of the way just in time as the gunfire flooded in. There was a cringe at the waves and blazes of bullets. The lenses of Peter's mask widened as he saw the target and the impact. "Oh my god!" the sight of Wade somehow managing to get behind crates. Peter assumed that, by some miracle, there was a shred of life left in the guy and was determined to get him to the hospital, even though so far the guy seemed to have a body made of industrial 50's radioactive off brand Jello.
Peter's motions were swift, he pushed off of the wall he clung to and fired webs that gummed up the barrels of each of the weapons that had been firing, each web had an intermediate attack inflicted on the assailant. Peter stood afterward surrounded by unconscious bodies bound in web the last target was turned toward, a fist made in preparation for the last attack until slowly lowering.
"The swords are real?" Peter asked incredulously.
He jogged over and stopped a few feet away. A pair of hands rose enough to try and calm the situation down. "Hey, Ladybug Murder-Man, can you -- like -- not kill for ten seconds? The guys already scared and there's only so much honesty to coerce with fear." Peter explained his prospective on how to go about things then looked to see the bloodshed from before and cringed. "God, I think I'm gonna puke...also what the heck, how are you...not dead?"
Wade had been in more firefights than he could count, even with all his hands and toes. At this point, even without his superhuman abilities. It was second nature, and he reveled in it. While the kid seemed content to just restrain them with some sticky, white string-
"At least get dull ones so you're not chopping people's limbs off?" Peter commented, trying to hold his lunch in at the bloodbath that resulted from Wade's version of enacting justice. Levels of heaping disgust were mounting as he grew to learn more about this mysterious madman in the few minutes he was in his company than he did most. As far as Peter was concerned, he was definitely guilty of plenty. Murder, for a start. Self defense be damned, he saw the bodies bounce off of the truck and knew that counted as shooting first...sort of.
Peter's head tilted at the retort offered to him. "Spiders aren't insects." he pointed out, noting that it did not carry any weight apart from sounding needlessly nerdy to point out. "Ok, put down the weapons!" Peter commanded with both webshooters aimed toward Wade. Even if the guy was battling the same common foe, that did not immediately assure he was an ally.
Peter's face scrunched underneath his mask, a form of disgust with the lewd approach to designating the man and the potential for death or imprisonment. "Prison rape joke. Charming." Peter commented, the heat in his chest from the rising tide of nearly vomiting still present. Peter's arms lowered when the katanas were sheathed.
He tensed up at Wade's sudden close proximity and looked down toward the bloody hand on his shoulder before redirecting his attention back toward Wade. The story had too many things to question, so many that Peter was not even sure where to start with it. So, this guy was a madman. Seemed simple enough. That fit a lot of people who did this kind of thing...casual mass murder. In a way, asking a question might have been worse and led to more outlandish explanations that made it even more impossible to digest.
"My name isn't --" Peter attempted to interject that his name wasn't Jimmy when his face was tapped upon with a bloody hand that made Peter swat away at it. Seeing how deep the rabbit hole went was both interesting and too indulgent of insanity to be good for either of their respective healths. Peter was prepared to try and put a cease to this nonsense when there was familiar pang that drew his attention before the sound met their ears.
Peter started changing his webshooter cartridges while Wade reacted more severely to the escaping enemy. "Ok, so, it's been fun but now I think I should just go...what are you...oh no." Peter realized he was talking to himself by the time he looked up and heard Wade making a literal call to action. Peter facepalmed. "I'm gonna be called an accessory to all of this, aren't I?" he asked him with a look around. At least he knew the guy was aiming at the right enemies, albeit with a likelihood that no one on the other end of gun or sword would be making any recoveries. Peter figured he would have to go along, if for nothing else but to make sure this seemingly immortal guy didn't commit more murder going after the enemy. He could, potentially, make sure these guys see some due process.
Peter aimed a shot a line of web upward and out of the warehouse though the hole in the wall left from Deadpool's response to the doorman's rudeness. The web was pulled taunt before Peter readied himself to swing. A leap and a tug threw him up into the sky.
"What? So then they get tetanus? What am I? A monster?!" Wade asked, giving the young man in the red and blue suit a horrified look. "And don't you judge me, Mr. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Dork! You got five - count 'em - five movies that range from 'ok' to 'what in the actual hell were you thinking?'. Me? I managed to fuckin' nail it in one. One! Numbero uno, ese! ¡Este mercernario está en llamas!" He added, giving a dramatic hair flip for hair that did not exist. "So you wanna talk about crime, buddy? I killed people, but you killed a franchise. Twice!"
"Yeah, maybe? I don't know you that well but you do give off 'monster-y' vibes." Peter offered an answer that likely was not requested. A usual antic of his. "Dude, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about..." One of the lenses on Peter's mask squinted, making him certain that this may have been someone in need that escaped from the ward. Maybe they had stumbled into a costume store and got their hands on high grade weaponry. A very at risk citizen with some sort of fantasies that are exacerbated by powers to not die...
That or this was the worst kind of nightmare to ever fall in to.
Peter leaned a bit to look at Wade who had turned his back and was, seemingly, scolding himself about something involving Liam Neeson. To say this was troubling would have been putting it lightly. The escape of the focus for the evening put a rest to explanations of someone old that Peter had little knowledge of or care for. Considering that, he also was a little curious about what a not old Clint Eastwood was. His best guess was that his most notable thing was a Gorillaz song being named after him. It might as well have been the other way around for Peter.
"Tobey? What? Dude, do you need to get back to a hospital or...?" Peter tried to allude to getting Wade help but the other masked individual in the room went right into another fit of words strung together that it would take more time than he could account for to make reason and sense of. "Spider-Man. Not Jimmy. Spi-Der-Man." Peter pronounced his name slowly. Currently he was considering that Wade really was not all there and he might need to help him in a completely different way.
Peter tried to keep up with the quickly moving red suited man.
Soon, Peter took the lead, needing to find a means of stopping the man in his quick escape. In the midst of a swing something red and blurry skated by. A quick doubletake presented Peter with confirmation of what he suspected.
Deadpool on skates.
"Why is he -- is he singing?" Peter asked himself while clung to the side of a building, watching Deadpool's pursuit of the wheelman.
Peter winced at the collision. "That can't be good." he muttered and swung over. He had hope that maybe he could calm down the situation. Arrest the guy, maybe small fish could lead to big fish. Let due process have its day. He kept to the skyline version of travel while Wade dug his katanas into the side of the van. Peter landed gracefully on the top of the van and crawled toward the windshield, keeping a tight hold against the jarring swerves of the vehicle.
Peter leaned over the side to the driver side window and gave a knock. "You're gonna wanna pull over! There's a madman with swords on your starboard side and I think he wants to hurt you!" Peter called out, the words mostly muffled due to the window being closed and the speed they were travelling.
"That fucking hurts to hear!" Wade gave an exasperated sigh. "And here I was thinking about all the lucrative opportunities we have before us for crossovers if you'd just get the stick outta your butt!" He threw up his hands. "I mean, c'mon! Beating down bad guys! Truth, justice, and the American Way! All the fangirl tang and snozz-berries you can gobble up! It'd be perfect!" Wade sighed. "But noooooo....you gotta be all straight-laced noble and what not. Of course."
"It's just being a decent, not murdering, human being." Peter expressed his own take on his perception of the interaction. Why he was attempting to reason with this guy was beyond him, but maybe there was some kind of fundamental empathy for a guy trying to fight crime...albeit in a much more permanent way than Peter's method of accountability and not fatality.
Peter squinted at the correction that Deadpool offered. Semantics be damned, he sure was determined and found of property damage. He would have to ease off of Sam in the future now that he saw how far things really could go.
A quick swerve of the car caused Peter to correct his hold on the van and left him available only to continue being the middleman to the tug-o-war between two morally repugnant individuals. "How about you pull over and I'll talk him out of it?" Peter offered, an option that might have been better for everyone and likely would result in less potential trouble from the powers that be.
"Anakin? Ew." Peter commented with equal parts disgust and confusion. This guy needed to come with a disclaimer and subtext to express reasoning. "Ok. We're doing it my way." the words served as the final warning and Peter launched himself from the side of the van, swung forward enough to clear distance. He started to weave a web net and connected it from one side of the street to the next. In one, singular flip he landed on the street beside it. Arms folded and watching the van head directly into the web that took on the speed of the vehicle to pull it to a stop.
"Excuse you! I am not a murderer! I am a U.S. government certified
Creative Problem Solver." Wade snapped back. "My version of problem solving just happens to involve guns. And knives. And guns that shoot knives!" He stopped at the thought. "Ooooh! I really should write that one down. That's a good one!"
Alas, the joys of weapons would have to wait as Wade found himself impaling his way through a van to get at the driver and Spidey attempting to talk the guy down. When it seemed that the guy didn't seem to have an interest, Spidey did the unthinkable...he leaped away.
"U.S. Government certi -- no, there's no way that you're official at doing...that stuff." Peter removed a hand to gestured to the whole of the man on the other side of the van, trying to express as much disbelief as he could, hoping that it could be further agreed to by the criminal they were on the quest to catch. Well, for Peter to catch, and potentially for Wade to range from maim to murder with.
"A gun that shoots knives? That's impossible. Right?" Peter asked said crook, who was a little preoccupied at the moment.
Peter looked up from his proud position, obviously patting his own back for the job with the web net, to see an upside down Deadpool. Wade passed a compliment on and Peter smirked a bit under his mask. "I know, right? I'm still not as fast at weaving it as I'd like to be but I -- wait, why am I talking to you?" Peter asked with a squint of his eyes mirrored by the lenses on his mask.
Peter rounded the van to the driver's side where the man was freaking out. Peter's eyebrow rose at the warning. "Okay okay, calm down, we're not gonna hurt you. What can you tell us about 8-Ball? Who is he, where is he, what is he?" he asked gesturing an open hand with each inquiry, trying to piece together a profile on who he was going to have to go after...and from the look of things, who Wade was going to pursue as well.
As the guy explained Peter nodded his head in understanding. A hand tucked under his chin as he considered that maybe he should call in reinforcements. Young Avengers? Avengers? The options might have been a bit bigger if this guy was that scarred.
Nah, Peter could handle this. It was his usual bag and he had faced worse. "Don't worry about him getting to you, thank you for your cooperation." Peter nodded a thank you just as Deadpool collided with the street below next to him. His eyes drifted downward to the crumbled pile of red suit on the ground. Peter extended a hand to block the path the pistol could withdraw in. "No no, c'mon. He just cooperated and outed a bigger fish. Regular arrest, no killing." why he was bargaining with Deadpool now was beyond him...
"Check it out, follow my lead." he tried to instruct and cleared his throat while turning back toward the driver. "My associate and I will do what we can for you so that you remain unharmed by 8-Ball." Peter nodded then requested the window be rolled down. After it was done he placed his hands on the frame of the open window. "Got a paper and pen?" he asked and took both when they were handed to him.
Dude's an informant. Go easy on him.
- Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man
Peter then shot a web that coated the driver and stuck him to the seat. A hand moved forward that pressed the paper to his chest, sticking to the adhesive. "Okay. Let's go. This is a one time only team up, just because I don't want anyone to get killed. Got it?" Peter brought up a scolding finger toward Deadpool. His hopes for it to be the first and last felt unlikely to him. The Parker Luck worked in mysterious and unfortunate ways.
"What kind of a lunatic would give you a government issued licence to kill?" Peter asked, legitimate concern about the well being of the nation's institution of safety based on this fact alone, among others that were not nearly as immediately troubling somehow. Trying to piece together just what the ladybug fellow was talking about seemed to be a task more daunting than trying put an end to the mysterious 8-Ball's would be crimes.
Peter's newly found reliance on sighing took place in response to the seemingly earnest explanation from Wade about the reality of a knife shooting gun. At least it wasn't the even more bizarre other way around gun shooting knife. "...What kind of tech is even hardwired in that?" he asked in relation to Wade's expressive mask.
The words said earned several seconds of silence. "Your name is Deadpool? Why? You know what? Never mind, that's fine. Deadpool. Sure." Peter settled on it, somehow, being fine. Not the worst name he's heard. They were going after a guy named 8-Ball. He was sure that it wasn't literal.
Peter nodded along as the driver shared his lead. Information that was going to be helpful, that was for sure. Maybe this wouldn't be a total failure. "The Painted Lady, eh? Seems crime boss hangout-y. Thanks."
Peter's comprehension and experience with the place was limited to nill, but Wade seemed to know more about it. Peter's attention was captured when Wade fell to the ground then quickly rose. The expression worn by Peter underneath his mask was one that was adjusting to this kind of behavior, however involuntary as it was. "Girl revenue?" Peter raised an eyebrow at the expression. "No killing." he added when Wade stated that he was looking for Matchstick.
Peter capped the pen and looked at Wade with a shrug of his shoulders. "Leave notes? Well yeah. If I don't, they might think it's just some random dude webbed up. Doesn't really help cops much if they don't have a hint at where to start."
There were several blinks of Peter's eyes while Wade took his hand to shake and went into what might be one of the most confusing string of sentences he had ever heard. "What?" he asked and Wade was already skipping away to the truck.
"What makes them...that?" Of all the things to home in on as a question, Peter felt that question needed to be asked concerning the phrase "dick-breathing nutwaxers". There was so many things to unpack with what Wade had to say that you had to choose your battles. At least one of those things sounded like...something he could recognize. "Since you're so familiar with The Painted Lady, where is it?"
"Now now, I don't think that's remotely prudent to the conversation." Wade said. "Besides, if I told you, you'd never believe me. Okay, fine fine, I'll tell you. It was Professor Jon Robinson!" He admitted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanted them to keep Sam Elliot since he was the only thing that was any good about that other movie, but hey...Kevin Feige made the call and I can't really argue with the man. He's brilliant." He shook this off. "But anyway, not important."
"I dunno, but I want one." Wade said.
|TOPIC OPTIONS. Pages: (2) 1 2||ADD REPLY. NEW TOPIC. NEW POLL.|