07-24-2016, 09:02 AM
Beneath Hiro's bronze skin, a yellowing undertone showed through his pallid visage. The painkillers had kicked in before whatever antibiotics he took, rendering him a high and ill rendition of his true self.
”Look, I know you're not feeling well—your signature depicts you as Static Shock strung out on meth, and the guy in the back must be your junky buddy—but I'm trying to think of a cool name for Karl Two.”
Karl perked his head up, furrowing a brow towards the mercenary. “Karl Two? Making less sense than usual today, huh Wade?”
”Not unless you're the same Karl I turned into a toothpicked hors d'oeuvre,” Deadpool replied. He wondered how long it took his narrator to spell hors d'oeuvre, and quelled a chuckle before it became audible. ”And if you are him, you're not getting your yacht back. I marked it as my territory and all; even cemented my own body groove into your bed.”
Karl's face showed a mixture of confusion and skepticism. “You sure your mind isn't playing tricks on you? Perhaps being at sea for so long had you hallucinating. You do have a very creative mind.”
”Number one: I wasn't at sea for that long—only like a day n' a half in-character,” he retorted. ”Number two: I got the evidence in my backpack—maps, journals, a Sasuke doll . . . I'm keeping that last one for personal reasons.” He readjusted the book-bag slung over his shoulder and gestured towards it.
A rumbling groan came from Hiro. “What part about feeling loopy don't you understand, Peter Parker?” Despite his bubbling irritation, the morphine doused his frustration with a languid tone. “You can converse about the meaning of two Karls, stuffed animals, and whatever else you want in the bunker.”
Karl gave a wry expression; drawling a hum, the executive chewed over the mercenary's words. “Another me you say,” he muttered. Then he shot a glance towards Hiro and said, “My chocolate friend is right—let's find that bunker first.”
The three of them broadened their search. They separated, but stayed within shouting distance of each other. Hiro kept near the lighthouse while hunting for the bunker; occasionally, he would lean against the graystone pharos to take a break, and wait for the spikes in his opiate high to subside (he periodically 'rested his eyes', and allowed the morphine to gradually keel him over, but before the weight of his body could topple him he'd snap back to consciousness). Karl managed to find a sturdy piece of wood. He meandered through the tall grass, whistling some made-up tune as he tapped his stick against the ground—dull noises meant earth, clangoring sounds meant metal.
Deadpool slipped away to the waterfront of the lighthouse. He sat on the side of the dock, legs swinging in the air, with his hands wrapped around the Sasuke doll. As he stared into the toy's blank gumball eyes he wondered where the little fuck went. Prior to now he hadn't given it much thought, if any (or anything else during his time in the limbo realm of inactivity, for that matter), but now memories of the last Dante's Abyss were jumping to the front of his mind—Warpool Valenchiha.
”It used to just be Warpool,” the mercenary interjected, ”but he insisted that his name be in there somewhere—teenagers.” He shook his head and chuckled. ”Where are you? Maybe your on the other side of this island, holding a Deadpool doll in your hands. I like that idea.”
But he knew that wasn't the case. Fantasizing such things was just a means to deny the bitter truth. The undeniable verity of what really happened to Sasuke; so blasphemous that even articulating it was deemed heresy in the Omniverse.
“Jackpot, boys!” Karl's voice boomed.
Deadpool stuffed the Sasuke doll into his book-bag. He got up from the dock and made his way back around to Karl and Hiro.
Karl stood with one hand holding his wooden rod and the other on his hip. The tall grass reached halfway up his khaki shorts. Hiro stood beside him, leaning forward; his eyes wandered behind closed lids.
”Look's like those raindrops finally fell, huh Eddie Cain?” the mercenary quipped. ”Nights like this, man. Nights like this.”
“Care to put those brawny arms to good use?” Karl asked. “You're stronger than me, and Mr. Protagonist here is a bit too subdued to do manual labor.”
”My STR stat is only a 1, but I'll give it a go.”
The mercenary analyzed the door, running his eyes along the exterior. Dirt washed over most of the door's edges, but at the top it it two hinges jutted up from the ground; peering at them, he could barely see the round bolts capping off their ends.
”Lemme get that stick for a second.” Deadpool said, reaching a blind hand towards Karl. The executive filled it with the wooden rod.
The mercenary took the tip of the stick and dug next to an outer hinge bolt until he felt it lodge into a crevice. A rush of satisfaction flowed over him. He guided the wooden rod along the crevice, carving out the edges of the door. When he finished, he used the stick like a crowbar and levered the door ajar. The hinges cried a plea for WD-40, screeching as they twisted around the bolts.
A dry musty odor breathed into the air, soliciting Karl to shield his nose with his forearm. The executive took a step closer to the bunker and peeked his head over the doorway. Darkness swallowed the concrete stairs half of a dozen steps down. “There should be a light switch on the right side,” he said. His voice traveled passed his arm muffled and adenoidal tone.
Deadpool nodded. ”If I don't make it back, tell everyone I died masturbating to Leslie Jones.”
His boots clapped against the steps as he descended, bouncing echoes into the bunker. Visibility dwindled, then ceased to exist. He grazed his palm over the wall like a blind man reading braille till he found the switch. He flicked it in the opposite direction.
Starting from the rear, light panels flickered on overhead, bathing the bunker in an early morning blue.
Small monitors filled the back wall from end to end. Their screens were blanketed in a layer of dust. Below them, a dashboard stretched out wide enough to accommodate for the four swivel chairs, along with the four laptops.
”We're good!” Deadpool shouted. He gave a thumbs-up to Karl and Hiro.
”Look, I know you're not feeling well—your signature depicts you as Static Shock strung out on meth, and the guy in the back must be your junky buddy—but I'm trying to think of a cool name for Karl Two.”
Karl perked his head up, furrowing a brow towards the mercenary. “Karl Two? Making less sense than usual today, huh Wade?”
”Not unless you're the same Karl I turned into a toothpicked hors d'oeuvre,” Deadpool replied. He wondered how long it took his narrator to spell hors d'oeuvre, and quelled a chuckle before it became audible. ”And if you are him, you're not getting your yacht back. I marked it as my territory and all; even cemented my own body groove into your bed.”
Karl's face showed a mixture of confusion and skepticism. “You sure your mind isn't playing tricks on you? Perhaps being at sea for so long had you hallucinating. You do have a very creative mind.”
”Number one: I wasn't at sea for that long—only like a day n' a half in-character,” he retorted. ”Number two: I got the evidence in my backpack—maps, journals, a Sasuke doll . . . I'm keeping that last one for personal reasons.” He readjusted the book-bag slung over his shoulder and gestured towards it.
A rumbling groan came from Hiro. “What part about feeling loopy don't you understand, Peter Parker?” Despite his bubbling irritation, the morphine doused his frustration with a languid tone. “You can converse about the meaning of two Karls, stuffed animals, and whatever else you want in the bunker.”
Karl gave a wry expression; drawling a hum, the executive chewed over the mercenary's words. “Another me you say,” he muttered. Then he shot a glance towards Hiro and said, “My chocolate friend is right—let's find that bunker first.”
The three of them broadened their search. They separated, but stayed within shouting distance of each other. Hiro kept near the lighthouse while hunting for the bunker; occasionally, he would lean against the graystone pharos to take a break, and wait for the spikes in his opiate high to subside (he periodically 'rested his eyes', and allowed the morphine to gradually keel him over, but before the weight of his body could topple him he'd snap back to consciousness). Karl managed to find a sturdy piece of wood. He meandered through the tall grass, whistling some made-up tune as he tapped his stick against the ground—dull noises meant earth, clangoring sounds meant metal.
Deadpool slipped away to the waterfront of the lighthouse. He sat on the side of the dock, legs swinging in the air, with his hands wrapped around the Sasuke doll. As he stared into the toy's blank gumball eyes he wondered where the little fuck went. Prior to now he hadn't given it much thought, if any (or anything else during his time in the limbo realm of inactivity, for that matter), but now memories of the last Dante's Abyss were jumping to the front of his mind—Warpool Valenchiha.
”It used to just be Warpool,” the mercenary interjected, ”but he insisted that his name be in there somewhere—teenagers.” He shook his head and chuckled. ”Where are you? Maybe your on the other side of this island, holding a Deadpool doll in your hands. I like that idea.”
But he knew that wasn't the case. Fantasizing such things was just a means to deny the bitter truth. The undeniable verity of what really happened to Sasuke; so blasphemous that even articulating it was deemed heresy in the Omniverse.
“Jackpot, boys!” Karl's voice boomed.
Deadpool stuffed the Sasuke doll into his book-bag. He got up from the dock and made his way back around to Karl and Hiro.
Karl stood with one hand holding his wooden rod and the other on his hip. The tall grass reached halfway up his khaki shorts. Hiro stood beside him, leaning forward; his eyes wandered behind closed lids.
”Look's like those raindrops finally fell, huh Eddie Cain?” the mercenary quipped. ”Nights like this, man. Nights like this.”
“Care to put those brawny arms to good use?” Karl asked. “You're stronger than me, and Mr. Protagonist here is a bit too subdued to do manual labor.”
”My STR stat is only a 1, but I'll give it a go.”
The mercenary analyzed the door, running his eyes along the exterior. Dirt washed over most of the door's edges, but at the top it it two hinges jutted up from the ground; peering at them, he could barely see the round bolts capping off their ends.
”Lemme get that stick for a second.” Deadpool said, reaching a blind hand towards Karl. The executive filled it with the wooden rod.
The mercenary took the tip of the stick and dug next to an outer hinge bolt until he felt it lodge into a crevice. A rush of satisfaction flowed over him. He guided the wooden rod along the crevice, carving out the edges of the door. When he finished, he used the stick like a crowbar and levered the door ajar. The hinges cried a plea for WD-40, screeching as they twisted around the bolts.
A dry musty odor breathed into the air, soliciting Karl to shield his nose with his forearm. The executive took a step closer to the bunker and peeked his head over the doorway. Darkness swallowed the concrete stairs half of a dozen steps down. “There should be a light switch on the right side,” he said. His voice traveled passed his arm muffled and adenoidal tone.
Deadpool nodded. ”If I don't make it back, tell everyone I died masturbating to Leslie Jones.”
His boots clapped against the steps as he descended, bouncing echoes into the bunker. Visibility dwindled, then ceased to exist. He grazed his palm over the wall like a blind man reading braille till he found the switch. He flicked it in the opposite direction.
Starting from the rear, light panels flickered on overhead, bathing the bunker in an early morning blue.
Small monitors filled the back wall from end to end. Their screens were blanketed in a layer of dust. Below them, a dashboard stretched out wide enough to accommodate for the four swivel chairs, along with the four laptops.
”We're good!” Deadpool shouted. He gave a thumbs-up to Karl and Hiro.
Quote:My Count: 1094/Site Count: 1155
[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)