06-20-2017, 03:11 PM
The unlikely pair moved through the humid wetlands that lied north of the beach, the cooling ocean breeze now cut off by clumps of jungle foliage and marsh grasses.The two were moving together single file with Mad Bull prowling along with his revolver already in hand, ready to blast any perpetrators looking to start trouble. Deadpool was also walking along pistol in one hand, but the other was about 4-inches deep inside the back-crack of his spandex costume.
The red-clad mercenary teetered bow-legged as he tried to pick the damp cloth out the folds of his butt cheeks.
“Listen, Pimp-C, you gotta lead this wagon train outta here. If I gotta play another minute of Oregon Trail, I’m liable to give both of us dysentery.”
“Take it easy kiddo,” Sergeant John Estes attempted to assuage, “They got some kinda resort up past this brush. You play your cards right, the two of us might even score some old liquor and some decent shuteye.”
After a short span of time, the pair arrived at the gates of the dilapidated grounds and approached the pool area. An ancient tiki bar sat at the edge of the pool, empty bottles and broken margarita glasses littering the ground. Cracked and sun-baked plastic lounge chairs surrounded the pool itself, which was filled with foul smelling water. A diving board was perched and the pool’s edge, but any swimmer would have to skim through a solid inch of jungle grown algae floating on the top of what had become a stagnant pond.
“You had me walk through a jungle for this!?” Deadpool motioned at the pool incredulously. “Look CHiPs, this has got to be the worst idea for a vacay since that time I stumbled into a Panama City Beach gloryhole!”
Mad Bull walked towards the abandoned tiki bar as Deadpool continued to mourn the complete lack of bikini babes. With a hefty kick, the burly officer broke through the little wood door separating the bar from the non-existent patrons. “Who’d front the money to open a resort in a shit-hole like this anyway?” the Merc wondered out loud.
“Who cares!” Mad Bull replied from behind the bar with a grin. In one hand he held a half-filled bottle of tequila. “Catch!”
The policeman tossed the bottle to his new partner; after catching it, Deadpool looked the label over. “A fine vintage, my dear sleuth! Maybe Karl left a blow-up doll or two in the hotel for us to do shots with?”
Mad Bull leapt over the bartop and joined Deadpool’s side. He swiped the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. His new friend was without a doubt crazy, but he was beginning to understand the subtext between all the jokes and almost indecipherable puns. It was clear to him that the mercenary wasn’t looking to find discarded sextoys, he was asking the cop to accompany him in scanning the resort for items or hostile threats. He handed the bottle of alcohol back to Deadpool and unholstered his revolver. “Yeah, let's go see if we can find our very own MaryJane Rottencrotch, or maybe something even more useful.”
The red-clad mercenary teetered bow-legged as he tried to pick the damp cloth out the folds of his butt cheeks.
“Listen, Pimp-C, you gotta lead this wagon train outta here. If I gotta play another minute of Oregon Trail, I’m liable to give both of us dysentery.”
“Take it easy kiddo,” Sergeant John Estes attempted to assuage, “They got some kinda resort up past this brush. You play your cards right, the two of us might even score some old liquor and some decent shuteye.”
After a short span of time, the pair arrived at the gates of the dilapidated grounds and approached the pool area. An ancient tiki bar sat at the edge of the pool, empty bottles and broken margarita glasses littering the ground. Cracked and sun-baked plastic lounge chairs surrounded the pool itself, which was filled with foul smelling water. A diving board was perched and the pool’s edge, but any swimmer would have to skim through a solid inch of jungle grown algae floating on the top of what had become a stagnant pond.
“You had me walk through a jungle for this!?” Deadpool motioned at the pool incredulously. “Look CHiPs, this has got to be the worst idea for a vacay since that time I stumbled into a Panama City Beach gloryhole!”
Mad Bull walked towards the abandoned tiki bar as Deadpool continued to mourn the complete lack of bikini babes. With a hefty kick, the burly officer broke through the little wood door separating the bar from the non-existent patrons. “Who’d front the money to open a resort in a shit-hole like this anyway?” the Merc wondered out loud.
“Who cares!” Mad Bull replied from behind the bar with a grin. In one hand he held a half-filled bottle of tequila. “Catch!”
The policeman tossed the bottle to his new partner; after catching it, Deadpool looked the label over. “A fine vintage, my dear sleuth! Maybe Karl left a blow-up doll or two in the hotel for us to do shots with?”
Mad Bull leapt over the bartop and joined Deadpool’s side. He swiped the bottle and took a swig of the liquor. His new friend was without a doubt crazy, but he was beginning to understand the subtext between all the jokes and almost indecipherable puns. It was clear to him that the mercenary wasn’t looking to find discarded sextoys, he was asking the cop to accompany him in scanning the resort for items or hostile threats. He handed the bottle of alcohol back to Deadpool and unholstered his revolver. “Yeah, let's go see if we can find our very own MaryJane Rottencrotch, or maybe something even more useful.”
Quote:Deadpool & Mad Bull moving from D6 to D2. We're searching for the item that is to be dropped at 6pm.