08-14-2016, 05:09 PM
”My eyes!” the mercenary yelled, collapsing to his knees. ”MY BEAUTIFUL EYES!”
A foreign narrative voice had him mention Daredevil, and the reference wasn't far off, but what had been overlooked was the discomfort of having electric volts shot into your fucking face. He dropped the katana to the floor, and balled his fists into the eye sockets of his mask. Electricity coursed through his head like a car on a race track; he could feel the nerves in his brain writhing with each lap.
“This is the last chance I'm giving you two to stand down, and allow me to apprehend Karl,” the foxy latina shouted from her hidden position.
”People and their goddamn subplots—Christa and her Princess Peach always in trouble ass sister, Red with his search for his writer's primary character, and now you, with your slightly tweaked version of Samus' subplot from last year.” Deadpool retorted as his eyes fluttered open. The return of his sight was met with a dazzle of colored blotches sparkling in his vision, but it soon subsided. ”What happened to just showing up, and getting your job done, while also rapid-firing jokes to convey character perception in your posts?!”
Hiro stood a few feet from the mercenary. He slouched over to wipe the rainbow goop off his goggles with his palms.
“Watch out for her gadgets!” he exclaimed. “She's got a bunch of things in those pouches around her belt!”
”Ah, the utility belt,” Deadpool replied, ”a must for anyone that can't shoot beams of energy from the hands, eyes, or ass. Including myself.”
He smiled. The disclosure meant that foxy cop's powers were limited to the things around her waist; if she didn't have the convenience of a healing factor, the gal was in for a long and hard day.
Lol, long and hard.
Prior to Carmelita blinding him, Deadpool had taken a moment to analyze her. For a gorgeous latina-fox (which made him feel uncomfortable—was his attraction for her rooted to some deeply hidden beastality fetish?) she had a stoic demeanor. It had probably been forged through years experience and struggle Other than that, the mercenary came up with relatively empty. He had tried to perceive further into her mannerisms, but couldn't—Omniverse mechanics, he figured.
Now, Carmelita had done what all foxes do—she burrowed into some hiding place. But it was fine; Deadpool had lost his virginity during a game of hide and go seek, and the nostalgia from it sparked a subtle thrill within him.
”Ya know, you didn't have to blind me,” the mercenary said, grabbing his katana. ”I would've closed my eyes and counted to ten for you—mississippis and all.”
He rose to his feet and slipped into a traditional samurai stance—hilt adjacent to his temple with the tip of his blade staring staring forward. Proceeding with short, sliding steps across the room, his eyes observantly swept over the piles of debris and cubicle junctions (he could have sworn the room had been empty before his vision was stripped, but thus was the ways of artistic interpretation). He looked for a shadow, or a trail of the fox's auburn fur. Nothing.
”Hey, after you respawn at the Nexus and I win this thing, how about we go out for some chimichangas,” the mercenary offered. "Just don't promise to call back and never do."
The sound of his katana chopping through a broken cubicle punctured the dead silence in the basement. The top part split from the bottom and fell over with the hollow bang of an unattended ladder.
“Your flank!” Hiro roared.
The mercenary turned in time to see an orb of energy zipping towards him. He parried the shot, glancing in the direction of its origins as he swiveled around and readjusted his stance. The blast smashed into one of the basement walls, splattering into worms of electrical current, which fizzled away in a shriek of crackling white-noise.
Crafty mamacita
Deadpool looked at his black friend, who had wiped the goop from his goggles and began to tinker with them. ”We corner this part of the room.”
A foreign narrative voice had him mention Daredevil, and the reference wasn't far off, but what had been overlooked was the discomfort of having electric volts shot into your fucking face. He dropped the katana to the floor, and balled his fists into the eye sockets of his mask. Electricity coursed through his head like a car on a race track; he could feel the nerves in his brain writhing with each lap.
“This is the last chance I'm giving you two to stand down, and allow me to apprehend Karl,” the foxy latina shouted from her hidden position.
”People and their goddamn subplots—Christa and her Princess Peach always in trouble ass sister, Red with his search for his writer's primary character, and now you, with your slightly tweaked version of Samus' subplot from last year.” Deadpool retorted as his eyes fluttered open. The return of his sight was met with a dazzle of colored blotches sparkling in his vision, but it soon subsided. ”What happened to just showing up, and getting your job done, while also rapid-firing jokes to convey character perception in your posts?!”
Hiro stood a few feet from the mercenary. He slouched over to wipe the rainbow goop off his goggles with his palms.
“Watch out for her gadgets!” he exclaimed. “She's got a bunch of things in those pouches around her belt!”
”Ah, the utility belt,” Deadpool replied, ”a must for anyone that can't shoot beams of energy from the hands, eyes, or ass. Including myself.”
He smiled. The disclosure meant that foxy cop's powers were limited to the things around her waist; if she didn't have the convenience of a healing factor, the gal was in for a long and hard day.
Lol, long and hard.
Prior to Carmelita blinding him, Deadpool had taken a moment to analyze her. For a gorgeous latina-fox (which made him feel uncomfortable—was his attraction for her rooted to some deeply hidden beastality fetish?) she had a stoic demeanor. It had probably been forged through years experience and struggle Other than that, the mercenary came up with relatively empty. He had tried to perceive further into her mannerisms, but couldn't—Omniverse mechanics, he figured.
Now, Carmelita had done what all foxes do—she burrowed into some hiding place. But it was fine; Deadpool had lost his virginity during a game of hide and go seek, and the nostalgia from it sparked a subtle thrill within him.
”Ya know, you didn't have to blind me,” the mercenary said, grabbing his katana. ”I would've closed my eyes and counted to ten for you—mississippis and all.”
He rose to his feet and slipped into a traditional samurai stance—hilt adjacent to his temple with the tip of his blade staring staring forward. Proceeding with short, sliding steps across the room, his eyes observantly swept over the piles of debris and cubicle junctions (he could have sworn the room had been empty before his vision was stripped, but thus was the ways of artistic interpretation). He looked for a shadow, or a trail of the fox's auburn fur. Nothing.
”Hey, after you respawn at the Nexus and I win this thing, how about we go out for some chimichangas,” the mercenary offered. "Just don't promise to call back and never do."
The sound of his katana chopping through a broken cubicle punctured the dead silence in the basement. The top part split from the bottom and fell over with the hollow bang of an unattended ladder.
“Your flank!” Hiro roared.
The mercenary turned in time to see an orb of energy zipping towards him. He parried the shot, glancing in the direction of its origins as he swiveled around and readjusted his stance. The blast smashed into one of the basement walls, splattering into worms of electrical current, which fizzled away in a shriek of crackling white-noise.
Crafty mamacita
Deadpool looked at his black friend, who had wiped the goop from his goggles and began to tinker with them. ”We corner this part of the room.”
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Dante's Abyss Placings
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PVP Combat Record
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3W - 0L - 0D
3W - 0L - 0D
(TAG-TEAM)
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