05-23-2015, 08:24 AM
Lol. Gingy and I riding on a mini Red Baron plane . . . there is so much humor in that I’m actually at a loss for words. In fact, that made my entire cameo in Bryan’s post worth participating in. But next time he has to remember all my dialogue—even singing—is in red text.
The comedic performances held at the far end of the lobby were coming to an end; though near the pool of portals, the mercenary could see a continuous flow of people being ushered into the lobby—not prospective entrants, but common Omniverse citizens. Secondaries, Deadpool assumed; and with every passing moment more of them filled the lobby, overpopulating it into a cluster-fuck.
“That was some fun shit, but I can’t help but to wonder what the fuck just happened?” Gingy asked. He gripped a hand around the mercenary’s crown for safety, then half-swiveled upon his shoulder to a backside view. “It was like, the lights and music put me in a trans.”
You got Retane’d, that’s what happened, Deadpool thought, cupping a palm over his mouth to quell what he assumed was a surge of giggles.
But it wasn’t. It was a brew of racking coughs, boiling up within his chest. Eruption was imminent, but the mercenary kept his posture. He knew talking would exasperate his issue, but thus was the life of a comedic character.”That is called ‘Artistic Interpretation’, muh friend,” he croaked; the end of his response jumbled through a low, heaving groan.
“You sure you ok?” Gingy looked back and inquired. Doubt crept into his voice. “Ever since we got here you haven’t been yourself. You were a lot more trippy in the Moors.”
”Yeah, Deadpool responded, with a grimace, and then a harsh cough, ”maybe that beer from THE Pub just didn’t go down right.”
“Whatever you say, man,” Gingy replied.
The words were enough to convince the gingerbread, but not himself. His sudden cough sent thick moisture from his mouth to the inside of his mask, and though he wished it was purely spit—hell, he would have accepted mucus—he knew it was something much darker in color; the pains he felt originated from something much more devastating than just some shitty beer.
But cameras littered the ceiling of the lobby, and with any luck, probably the whole damn event. The woman from the registration tent (Ruil, the mercenary remembered—his mind still seemed to be well) described Dante’s Abyss as a reality show, and if true, it could be presumed every minute detail was being recorded; even conversations within the midst of a dense crowd were caught.
Deadpool had to keep his composure; so he drew in a large breath, squared his shoulders, and exhaled. ”I’ll be fine.”
“Excuse me.” A voice came from the mercenary’s left. As he went to peer through the crowd, a helmeted figure emerged. “Are you Deadpool?” he inquired, holding a creased piece of paper in one of his gloved hands.
The mercenary noticed ‘Syntex’ stitched into the man’s vest, just like the soldiers he saw emerge after Alex’s tirade. He replied, but slowly, ”Yeah.” But then more importantly, asked, ”Why?”
“I wanted to inform you that you’ve been accepted into Dante’s Abyss,” the soldier answered, refolding the paper and tucking it under the top of his vest. “I will be escorting you to the barracks.”
“Fuck yeah!” Gingy roared, pumping a fist into the air. “Let’s get out this crowd.”
The soldier immediately threw a palm towards Deadpool and Gingy. “Not you. Only Deadpool.”
“Huh?” The pastry’s blue brows elevated; he was taken aback. “I wasn’t accepted?”
“No, just Deadpool.” The soldier’s words were bluntly sharp.
Which does not make sense, depending on which definitions you use; gotta love the English language!
The soldier’s words disheartened Gingy; with an inarticulate grumble, he dropped down from Deadpool’s shoulder and brought his arms across his chest. “Fine,” he replied, reluctantly.
Deadpool glanced down at Gingy, but pulled his attention back the soldier. ”Aw, you sure the little guy can’t come?” he pleaded. ”I mean . . . look at the guy—he’s only like eight inches tall or so.”
The soldier angled his head down and set his green-eyed gazed upon gingerbread, but repeated his words all the same: “No, just Deadpool.”
“Don’t worry about it, Deadpool.” Gingy patted the mercenary on the calf, then hugged it. “Just come find me after the event.”
The gesture warmed the mercenary’s heart, almost to the point where he felt an urge to punch Gingy in the face again, for old times sake. That’s right, because a couple of IC days equates to old times sake, in the world of Deadpool. The mercenary responded in kind with a wink. ”Of course I will,” he replied, then reached a hand into the compartment he put the cellphone and pulled it out.
“I don’t have all day,” the soldier interrupted.
”Look man, your dialogue is only making the post longer. Just lemme progress shit and I’ll follow you to wherever,” Deadpool retorted.
After a few moments of gliding his fingers across the screen of the phone he handed it back to Gingy, who stretched both arms up to receive it. ”I’ll be coming back for the cell, so if nothing else, I have a plot reason to find you.”
As always, the mercenary’s words were utter nonsense to the pastry. Posts plot reasons—whatever, but Gingy nodded his head all the same. “Right.”
”Forreal, I’m dead-ass. I will hunt you down and remove your gumdrops.”
“Ok, just go man.”
“Listen to your friend,” the soldier remarked. He impatience swelled.
Deadpool followed the Syntex soldier as they made their way through the crowd—the latter shouted to create an open a path to a large double-door at the end of the lobby. The mercenary waved to a camera overheard as he noticed it. He even flipped it off, for good measure. The doors—wherever they would take him—were made of a strong metal, which appeared indestructible. Maybe even stronger than the shit Wolverine’s skeleton was composed—
No one cares about Wolverine. We’re in the Omniverse now, so lets focus on Omniverse characters.
”So where these doors gonna take me anyway?” he asked, looking over at the soldier.
The soldier’s hands jumped around on a touch-board to the right of the doors. Probably pushing in some code, Deadpool guessed. “It opens up to an elevator, which will take you to the barracks. There, you’ll find your room and supplies,” he replied as his index touched the last key; it doors retracted open. “Here—“ The soldier reached back into the top of his vest and pulled out a piece of paper, a different one from earlier: yellow. He handed it to Deadpool. “This paper has your assigned contestant number.”
“Cool,” the mercenary replied, unfolding the paper. It revealed the number 27.
That’s around the age I entered the Weapon X program!
Deadpool refolded the paper and stuffed it into a pants pocket as he walked into the elevator; he waved at the soldier, but got no response other than the doors shutting in front of him.
Oh, wow. So the post isn’t done yet. Ok . . .
The trip was short . . . or the elevator shot up to the barracks with a hasty grace. Deadpool was unsure of which, but either way it became apparent when the elevator stopped.
”I wish this thing had elevator music,” he said as the elevator doors ping’d back open, "that bow-cheeky-cheeky-(insert jazz flute)-bow-bow type.”
Ah, there we go! Had to include that little part, huh?
The comedic performances held at the far end of the lobby were coming to an end; though near the pool of portals, the mercenary could see a continuous flow of people being ushered into the lobby—not prospective entrants, but common Omniverse citizens. Secondaries, Deadpool assumed; and with every passing moment more of them filled the lobby, overpopulating it into a cluster-fuck.
“That was some fun shit, but I can’t help but to wonder what the fuck just happened?” Gingy asked. He gripped a hand around the mercenary’s crown for safety, then half-swiveled upon his shoulder to a backside view. “It was like, the lights and music put me in a trans.”
You got Retane’d, that’s what happened, Deadpool thought, cupping a palm over his mouth to quell what he assumed was a surge of giggles.
But it wasn’t. It was a brew of racking coughs, boiling up within his chest. Eruption was imminent, but the mercenary kept his posture. He knew talking would exasperate his issue, but thus was the life of a comedic character.”That is called ‘Artistic Interpretation’, muh friend,” he croaked; the end of his response jumbled through a low, heaving groan.
“You sure you ok?” Gingy looked back and inquired. Doubt crept into his voice. “Ever since we got here you haven’t been yourself. You were a lot more trippy in the Moors.”
”Yeah, Deadpool responded, with a grimace, and then a harsh cough, ”maybe that beer from THE Pub just didn’t go down right.”
“Whatever you say, man,” Gingy replied.
The words were enough to convince the gingerbread, but not himself. His sudden cough sent thick moisture from his mouth to the inside of his mask, and though he wished it was purely spit—hell, he would have accepted mucus—he knew it was something much darker in color; the pains he felt originated from something much more devastating than just some shitty beer.
But cameras littered the ceiling of the lobby, and with any luck, probably the whole damn event. The woman from the registration tent (Ruil, the mercenary remembered—his mind still seemed to be well) described Dante’s Abyss as a reality show, and if true, it could be presumed every minute detail was being recorded; even conversations within the midst of a dense crowd were caught.
Deadpool had to keep his composure; so he drew in a large breath, squared his shoulders, and exhaled. ”I’ll be fine.”
“Excuse me.” A voice came from the mercenary’s left. As he went to peer through the crowd, a helmeted figure emerged. “Are you Deadpool?” he inquired, holding a creased piece of paper in one of his gloved hands.
The mercenary noticed ‘Syntex’ stitched into the man’s vest, just like the soldiers he saw emerge after Alex’s tirade. He replied, but slowly, ”Yeah.” But then more importantly, asked, ”Why?”
“I wanted to inform you that you’ve been accepted into Dante’s Abyss,” the soldier answered, refolding the paper and tucking it under the top of his vest. “I will be escorting you to the barracks.”
“Fuck yeah!” Gingy roared, pumping a fist into the air. “Let’s get out this crowd.”
The soldier immediately threw a palm towards Deadpool and Gingy. “Not you. Only Deadpool.”
“Huh?” The pastry’s blue brows elevated; he was taken aback. “I wasn’t accepted?”
“No, just Deadpool.” The soldier’s words were bluntly sharp.
Which does not make sense, depending on which definitions you use; gotta love the English language!
The soldier’s words disheartened Gingy; with an inarticulate grumble, he dropped down from Deadpool’s shoulder and brought his arms across his chest. “Fine,” he replied, reluctantly.
Deadpool glanced down at Gingy, but pulled his attention back the soldier. ”Aw, you sure the little guy can’t come?” he pleaded. ”I mean . . . look at the guy—he’s only like eight inches tall or so.”
The soldier angled his head down and set his green-eyed gazed upon gingerbread, but repeated his words all the same: “No, just Deadpool.”
“Don’t worry about it, Deadpool.” Gingy patted the mercenary on the calf, then hugged it. “Just come find me after the event.”
The gesture warmed the mercenary’s heart, almost to the point where he felt an urge to punch Gingy in the face again, for old times sake. That’s right, because a couple of IC days equates to old times sake, in the world of Deadpool. The mercenary responded in kind with a wink. ”Of course I will,” he replied, then reached a hand into the compartment he put the cellphone and pulled it out.
“I don’t have all day,” the soldier interrupted.
”Look man, your dialogue is only making the post longer. Just lemme progress shit and I’ll follow you to wherever,” Deadpool retorted.
After a few moments of gliding his fingers across the screen of the phone he handed it back to Gingy, who stretched both arms up to receive it. ”I’ll be coming back for the cell, so if nothing else, I have a plot reason to find you.”
As always, the mercenary’s words were utter nonsense to the pastry. Posts plot reasons—whatever, but Gingy nodded his head all the same. “Right.”
”Forreal, I’m dead-ass. I will hunt you down and remove your gumdrops.”
“Ok, just go man.”
“Listen to your friend,” the soldier remarked. He impatience swelled.
Deadpool followed the Syntex soldier as they made their way through the crowd—the latter shouted to create an open a path to a large double-door at the end of the lobby. The mercenary waved to a camera overheard as he noticed it. He even flipped it off, for good measure. The doors—wherever they would take him—were made of a strong metal, which appeared indestructible. Maybe even stronger than the shit Wolverine’s skeleton was composed—
No one cares about Wolverine. We’re in the Omniverse now, so lets focus on Omniverse characters.
”So where these doors gonna take me anyway?” he asked, looking over at the soldier.
The soldier’s hands jumped around on a touch-board to the right of the doors. Probably pushing in some code, Deadpool guessed. “It opens up to an elevator, which will take you to the barracks. There, you’ll find your room and supplies,” he replied as his index touched the last key; it doors retracted open. “Here—“ The soldier reached back into the top of his vest and pulled out a piece of paper, a different one from earlier: yellow. He handed it to Deadpool. “This paper has your assigned contestant number.”
“Cool,” the mercenary replied, unfolding the paper. It revealed the number 27.
That’s around the age I entered the Weapon X program!
Deadpool refolded the paper and stuffed it into a pants pocket as he walked into the elevator; he waved at the soldier, but got no response other than the doors shutting in front of him.
Oh, wow. So the post isn’t done yet. Ok . . .
The trip was short . . . or the elevator shot up to the barracks with a hasty grace. Deadpool was unsure of which, but either way it became apparent when the elevator stopped.
”I wish this thing had elevator music,” he said as the elevator doors ping’d back open, "that bow-cheeky-cheeky-(insert jazz flute)-bow-bow type.”
Ah, there we go! Had to include that little part, huh?
[float=right]
![[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/Deadpool_Funny.png)
Dante's Abyss Placings
2015 - 4th
2015 - 4th
2016 - 2nd
2017 - 4th
PVP Combat Record
(One-on-One)
3W - 0L - 0D
3W - 0L - 0D
(TAG-TEAM)
1W - 1L - 0D
[/float]![[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]](http://s137.photobucket.com/user/Aerogfx/media/sigs/Deadpool_Funny.png.html)