2012-09-24 A Dangerous Prospect

It's been an interesting week for Domino. Yesterday's job turned into a complete and absolute disaster (though she still did what she was being paid to do so that all worked out okay,) though she didn't anticipate getting bombarded by an exploding helicopter! The night passed by with much drinking involved, resulting in a killer headache that helps to take her mind off of the pain in the back of her shoulder today. With the sun just starting to crest the horizon she's lurking beneath a highway bridge at the waterfront, the black Jaguar parked in a quiet area with various tools and instruments laid out across the hood. Medical gear including strong painkillers, clean water, a bottle of vodka, a couple of guns, some cleaning gear, and some bloodied gauze. Her trench is in the car, keeping a lot of weapons exposed in their strapped locations across her armored body. The rocket launcher she made off with is partially exposed in the tiny back seats, jutting forth from the trunk. She's been a busy merc.
	 "Ok. So. I /know/ you're upset," Wade says from his position hanging upside down off the side of the bridge.
	 Man, I don't know how Spidey does this. Freaking head feels full of a quart, at least. 
	 He lands neatly, spreading his hands to show they're free of weapons. "That heist kind of went sideways. Like a bad episode of Mork and Mindy. Klatuu nanu nanu, right?" He spreads his hands, trying to look sheepish. "But the /important/ thing is, I got you a present." He slooooowly brings one hand back, and produces from his satchel a Coney Island hot dog. "Look, a bacon cheeseburger," he says, slowly. "Aannd... the Emerald Macguffin." He produces the statuette Lunar thingy, whatever the hell it is, and holds it out. "I come bearing food and statues, you can't shoot me, legally, right? Right?"
Unexpected voices calling out like that tend to put Dom on edge, but between the voice and what's being said the tension that flows into her shoulders starts to visibly dissipate before she can reach for one of her guns. It isn't until she turns to look at you that her expression goes from irked to suspicious. "What the hell are you doing up there, Wade? You look like a rotten apple."
"-Kind of!-" she blurts out, "You tried to steal the very thing I was sent to keep from getting taken! As far as lending a hand goes, your approach needs a lot of help." Then you're offering her a ..um. That's not a bacon cheeseburger. Wait, there's more. Upon seeing the Emerald Dom's jaw gapes open slightly. "You're -shitting- me..." Aw, no. Aw, Hell no. "You left the -fake- one in the carriage?" Once again she has to rub at her forehead, something that happens more often than not around you. "They've got the decoy on display? Christ. Alright, hand it over. I'll sort this mess out later." The part about not being able to shoot you goes unanswered for the moment.
	 Wade hands her the statue, /and/ the coney island dog. "Look, I'm sorry. That really wasn't my fault," he says, sounding a bit chagrined. "I saw that guy going for it, so I tried for the intercept, but then /that/ went bad, and there I am, holding the freaking statue. And a fat lot of help /you/ were!" he says, a bit accustorily. "I got shot in the /head/," he says, poking himself in the temple where he got hit. "And you didn't have the decency to at least shoot /her/ back. I'm just saying, I feel like we had a breakdown in communication," he explains. He stops babbling and peers at the woman. "Wow, you look like ten miles of bad road. What the hell happened to you?" he asks.
"Got the breakdown part right," Domino agrees while taking both of the items (because oh god food sounds like a good idea now.) She sits on the edge of the hood, inspecting first the Emerald then the dog. Looks like a regular old Coney Island dog, alright. Screw it, she takes a respectable bite out of it. Hunger can only be ignored for so long. "Yeah, so it became a bit of a mess, but what would have happened if I shot at the archer? My priority was this," she states while holding up the museum piece. "The last thing I needed was a bunch of hero types all turning on me. You can heal and teleport and do all sorts of fancy crap. So, fine, we both acted out of necessity."
Asking about her condition is enough to get a tired smirk out of her, "Sometimes you have a flight to catch, sometimes a flight has to catch you. Some dragon thing brought down a chopper the other day, nasty anti-mutant protests, same old. Sure it's all over the news by now." Hopefully without her being a part of any of the footage. "I managed to miss the worst of it." Just..not..all of it.
"Thanks, by the way. For returning this."
	 "Yeah." There's a little awkward pause, and Wade rubs the back of his neck. "Wow, so, insert awkward pause," Deadpool mutters, mostly as an aside. He looks everywhere but at Domino, then mutters a swearword under his breath and kicks a rock. "Aww, hell. Look, I'm /sorry/," he says, grating his teeth to say it. "I got caught up with some stuff, too- freaking robbers over in the city knocked over a jewelry store and I got this dude in a mask to go 'oh god, help us, Deadpool, help us'. I don't /like/ this hero complex," he grumbles. "Or this conscience stuff I'm developing. But, I feel like I kind of... owe.. you.. one." He looks like he's having an aneurysm. "On the house," he gets out, sounding strangled.
Along with that awkward pause Domino both finishes eating and puts the Emerald inside of the car. It'll be an awkward conversation to say the least, but she's still going to pull through with her job. Especially before a certain thief she knows catches wind of such an item being in her possession. What she isn't expecting is to hear an apology from you, turning back around and putting her good arm upon a hip as those cool eyes try to read you. Truth of the matter is, they shared some history. Not only that, but you're not the kind of person she wants to have as an enemy. This kind of offer? Not something to be squandered. "It can be a bit of an adjustment," she agrees with sincerity. "Careful with the conscience thing, you might start turning out like me." Note the smirk! She's already back to the friendly verbal jabs with you. "I appreciate it, Wade." After a bit more internal conflict, she adds "It's good to see you. How's city life been treating ya?" Strained relationship or not, it never hurts to try and be professional about it.
	 "It's good. It's, y'know, it's where I belong. I miss the Hellhouse, sometimes, but I'm getting away from the five-and-dime jobs. Knocking off Columbian warlords, you know- not exactly fun. Well, fun. But not challenging." Deadpool kicks another rock, looking for all the world like a twelve year old boy. A really tall, psychopathically disturbed twelve year old boy. "I'm just trying to get my head on right, these days. Running and gunning, I mean, it's fun, and I feel focused, but it's kind of wearing me down. I'm trying to do something different. Stealing's kind of fun, it's like murderin', but you can get away with carrying blanks, except when a fudgin' Norse goddess shows up to cleave me in half like a freaking pastrami on rye. I don't wanna tangle with /that/ lady again. You still takin' hits or are you going semi completely legitimate these days?" he asks the slender, extremenly dangerous (And kind of hot. Damn, I love those skintight pants) thief.
"Stealing's a lot easier when you can snap your fingers and be somewhere else," Dom concurs. "Seems weird having you not part of the game, though. Not a lot else out there for those with our skill sets." She sets the heel of a tall boot against the front tire, reaching for a fresh patch of gauze to hold to the back of her left shoulder. "That might have gotten a lot more intense if you didn't bug out when you did. Pretty sure I could have taken the archer alright but Miss Norse looked like a bit of a problem." Grimacing slightly against the pressure she applies to the wound, she continues. "Knockout's a peculiar one, met her in the Bronx the other day. She's ..not from around here. Having more trouble adjusting than you seem to be. Still not someone I'd care to tangle with if it can be helped."
Nodding slightly, Domino confirms "I'm still taking hits. Whatever happens to crawl out of the woodwork lately, can be a real bitch convincing some of these contractors that you've still got what it takes. Going straight legit would make my head hurt, too much red tape." Pause. "Not nearly as fun, either."
	 "Yeah, it's boring. I had this gig for a while, you know- legit. Tried bodyguarding. Got bored, so I cut the guy's hamstring and left him for the other cartel to find. Can't keep me nailed down to one place, you know? Too much drama around the watercooler." Deadpool mimics a Columbian accent. " 'Hey, did you hear Juan got his balls cut off for stealing coke?' 'So Roberto, he's banging Carlo's daughter right now'. 'Whoops, looks like the ATF is sending a bunch of SEALs in to take down our distribution plant'. Yak, yak yak, that's all they do. You'd think that producing smack is a serious business, but these guys, they're just like everyone else, they just sit around and steal out of the lunch refridgerator and smoke weed behind the dumpster." He stops babbling long enough to look at the holes in Domino. "Wait, you said something about a dragon attacking a protest?" he asks, the words finally registering with him.
Sometimes Domino questions her sanity when hanging around you. It's probably to be expected, your own mental instability can sometimes bleed off onto others. Right now, she's reminded of why it can be a good thing to do. Despite the lack of sleep, the excessive amounts of liquor, the crummy jobs and the hard to reach injuries, she starts laughing at your accented dialogue. "They've got it coming, anyway. Besides, can only take so much of that weather before I'd want to kill something, too."
"Well..there was some sort of dragon -there,-" she hesitantly corrects while trying to recall the specifics. "Not sure where it came from or what all it was doing, but one of the protestors took a bazooka to it. Didn't stick around for long, I'm thinking one of the mutant kids there tried to scare them off with it." It's followed up with a one-shouldered shrug, "I was too busy shooting people at the time. Oh, hey. Since you came back with that piece and all." She hops off of the hood and reaches inside of the car, fishing something out of a trench pocket before tossing it over. The weight and dimensions of that envelope are familiar enough. It's got money in it. Straight-up cash. "For your part of the job. I'll keep you in mind if anything interesting comes down the wire."
	 Deadpool balances the wad of money in his hand. "Nice. I used one of my last grenades yesterday. Maybe I can find someone to hook me up with some new ordnance. Weasel's kind of... vanished and I really am hoping I don't have to start knocking over pawn shops to get more ammunition. You got a line on anyone who can hook me up with some equipment? I feel a bit naked, wandering around with what I've got in my pockets. I haven't been back to the Deadhut in, like, weeks. Al's probably freaking out about me," he mutters mostly under his breath.
Well now, this is most unexpected. "Don't you have all sorts of stuff squirreled away?" Not that Domino's going to leave you hanging, there! Chin inclining a few degrees, she offers "I've still got some tri-city connections. People seem to remember you a lot better when you come to -them- with cash. I'll pass some of their info your way, we'll get you hooked up." She's tempted to make a comment about how no one wants to see you naked but manages to bite her tongue on that one, might be a little too low of a blow. "Got any deadlines to work in, any jobs requiring something you don't have? Could always toss a loaner your way." Hopefully not the launcher, she's a little concerned about what use you might find for that one.
	 "No, but you know my old Boy Scout motto- be prepared," he says, standing straight and holding up three fingers. "For everything. And if I think of something that needs a skintight catsuit and body armor, I'll try to drop some weight and see if I can't climb in your size 2," he says, managing to make it sound like a leer. "For now, I've got my awesome ginsu swords, and some .45 ammo, and some grenades, and some C4, and some triggers, and a good supply of food, so, I think I'm set. Could use more beer. You got beer?" he asks, always interested in some brewskies.
"Hey now, I'm not about to start loaning my clothes," Dom promptly cuts in. She's not sure whether to laugh or shudder at the thought of you trying to pour yourself into her armor, either way it wouldn't have the most pleasant of endings. "Well hell, you're in good shape to start a block war, already. Beer, that's a good question..." She swipes the car keys from the hood and hits the remote trunk release, wandering back there to root around through the piles of gear she's got tucked away back there. California plates on that car, either she recently stole it or never got around to changing them out. Guns..clothes..grenades..extra armor..ammo cans..oh hey! "Forgot I had this in here," she remarks while pulling out one warm bottle of brown ale, flinging it your way with an underhand toss. "Was a helluva long drive," she explains as though that answers everything in need of being questioned.
	 "Apparently. All the way from Cali, and all you've got is warm domestic? Tssh. I can't take you seriously anymore, Dom. It's like, it's like you've lost your edge. You're out of the game, man, the-" He pops the top and slams down half of the beer- "game." He belches rathe sonorously, adjusting his mask to hide the scarring that's visible around his mouth even in the low moonlight. "Maybe if you started leaving your clothes laying around more often, you'd get more business," he hints obtrusively, somehow waggling his eyebrows through his mask .
Domino simply points to the bottle of vodka still perched upon the hood. Carefully, at that. Darned slanted surfaces and standing bottles. Looks like a proper import, even. The drink more than the car. "Beer's for washing the night away, I still prefer something with a bit more kick. You're welcome," she finishes with another slight grin. "Oh, manly belches, how those bring back memories. Kicked back in a booth, buzzed halfway to hell, a map pinned to the table by an over-anxious participant..." She cuts herself off, summoning forth a faux frown. "Can't..say all of those memories were quite so fond. Also, keep dreaming." Yeah, she heard your comment about leaving clothes about! Of course, lowering the zipper on that armored suit might well help out with the job opportunities. Eugh, last resort. "Think I'll aim for bigger explosions before I run with that tactic."
	 "Hmm. Maybe /I/ should try it." Deadpool stops and thinks about that for a moment. "I did not think that through." He stops and takes a few steps backwards in place. "Ok. So... hmm. Well, maybe I need to figure out a better way to drum up some more business. Wish /I/ was a hot female assassin. No one's hired me for my rugged good looks in a long, long time." He carefully picks up the vodka bottle, climbs onto the hood of the car, and stretches out leisurely. The empty beer bottle goes sailing into the night with a glissando of crackling glass. He takes a long belt from the bottle of vodka. "Hey, this isn't bad. You've got good taste, Dom," he informs the lissome merc.
"Do you ever think things through?" comes the friendly jab back at you. Domino makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, "You and me both. Not enough business out there anymore. I may have to broaden my horizons further, much like you're branching out to other opportunities." As the empty bottle goes flying through the air she mimics shouldering and aiming down an invisible shotgun after it, enjoying having the chance to properly unwind. "Money goes where it's deserved. That trunk fossil and all of its kin were freebies."
She clears a spot for herself on the other side of the hood to lounge upon, lying back against the windshield with her right arm hooked back behind her head. The view leaves something to be desired, all rusty beams and girders. At least the sound of traffic overhead doesn't completely overpower the sound of waves along the shore. "Maybe it's a mistake to ask you this sort of question, but do you think there's still a future for being a merc? Everything's turning so damned political, I don't want to get caught up in that."
	 Hah. Hot merc chick on the hood of a car. This reminds me of the time Sally Mason was on the hood my junior year of high school, making out with Coach Mcdonald. Heh. Man, it was a different time, of hijinks and semi-consensual sexual exploits. Oh, Mrs. Robinson, you made a boy a man that summer. 
	 "You know, we could do something about it," the Merc with the Mouth muses. "I mean- we've got senators, and this registration thing for anyone with powers or skills... Man, at best, we're going to have to start paying /income tax/ on the jobs we do. We'd have to go legit to make any money at all. And government /sanctions/..." He muses over the idea. "I mean, this Senator whatsisname... I'm just saying, we get within a thousand yards of him with some high power rifles, he'll never survive that kind of crossfire. Right?"
<OOC> Domino snickers, "The only bad part about the yellow text is that I can't respond to it ICly without breaking the fourth wall, which isn't one of my listed powers."
	 Don't you think I know that? It's there to provide narrative support. You know, to give a subtext to Deadpool's otherwise complicated and incomprehensible dialogue. 
Whoa. Things suddenly got -real- deep, right here. Domino's eyes look slightly vacant as she stares up at the bridge's underbelly, her mind processing everything that it just heard. This time she wants to make sure everything is accurately parsed before responding. "Are you honestly considering assassinating the Senator? It would draw some serious attention to a lot of different things, but..damn, Wade, I don't know. Even if I was offered to do it for financial reasons I'd really have to think that one through. Then we'd be left trying to play both sides of the contractors, whether they're pro or anti-mutant, not to mention the amount of heat from the Feds..." A job like that would take some serious incentive, as much as she hates the idea of mutant registration!
	 "Yeah, I guess that's true. But- look at our lives, Dom." Deadpool plants the sole of one foot on the hood of the car, crossing his ankle over his knee. "If we gank him, we stall out the major name driving this bill forward. We don't even have to make a political statement about it. We get contacts in Columbia to make some fake narctoics exchange documentation up, scatter it around where he lives, and make it look like a mob hit." He rubs his chin through the mask. "This is like when I stole my neighbors girlfriend, and then framed him for murder by burying three people I killed behind his house." He laughs. "Hah. That was an awesome summmer. Too bad that his girlfriend killed herself in despair. That could have gone better. But the principle is sound," he assures her.
This is bad. No--wait. This is -scary.- The methods are right there in front of her, the motivation exists, and with or without Dom's help you'd still be able to pull the whole thing off just on your own if you felt so inclined to. Still, there's the whole risk versus reward thing to think about! This isn't an official job (yet,) so no financial return. This isn't a personal matter (yet,) so there's no sense of fulfillment from revenge. Plus, aside from being an anti-mutant prude, is he the sort of guy that falls within her peculiar guidelines of 'better off dead than alive?' What sort of damage could he do if he's still alive, and what sort of ramifications would result from outright killing him before such damage could be done?
Domino holds her hand out across the hood to you, seeking out the vodka. "Think it's time for another shot of that stuff."
	 Deadpool passes the vodka back up to the woman behind him. "See, even a broken clock is right twice a day, you know," he points out to the mercenary behind him. "Fudge it, Dom- I'm pissed off, I'm bored, and I'm watching them flush our future careers down the toilet. This registration act isn't going to just be about hauling around an ID card- they're going to start taking away our livelihoods. Want to go murder someone for money? You'll get nailed for murder one AND being an unsanctioned mutant. /I/ don't want to work for the gub'ment; I had my fill of that with those damn Canadians. We could nip this snake in the bud," he says, gesturing with his fist, skywards. Way to mix metaphors, genius. "It wouldn't even be /hard/."
Yoink! Slam. Feel the burn. "Goddamnit Wade, never thought I'd say this but stop making sense!" Well..partial sense. Okay, a moment of clarity. A tiny moment. Still, it's enough. Beyond that fog of insanity lies something worth seriously considering. There's also the matter of you being bored and armed with C4, hoboy. With the way things have been in Domino's life these last two weeks there's more to mull over than the matter of a political hit. There's that -other- job offer that's coming through the works, one that may not be directly connected to any governmental body but would sure hit close enough to home to feel like it was. This is a serious crossroad for her, one way leading toward becoming more legit and the other taking her toward becoming a mutant radicalist.
She claims another swig of the bottle, frowning. Gently sighing. "This is exactly what I meant before. Shit's gotten way too complicated. I can't give you a decision on this one without having some time to work it over." If you happen to get impatient and try for the hit on your own, well..lucky her? Heck, she doesn't know anymore.
	 "Sane people /suck/." Deadpool does something that looks like it's out of Cirque de Soleil, except more fluid, moving to a single-plant handstand, rotating, and ending up sitting on the roof of the car. It groans a little under his two hundred pounds of muscle, but holds. "But, you might have a good point. It wouldn't kill me to stop and think things through once in a while. I just... it just makes soooooo much sense to me right now. You know like when Janet and Chrissy moved in with Jack? /Just/ like that. Sure, there's wacky moments of misunderstanding, and maybe questions about sexuality, and the constant unspoken possility of a threesome, but it /makes good television/, damnit." He seizes the vodka bottle and takes another triple belt. "C'mon, you gotta h'amit, this'h bout striking a blow for /us/. Not for mutan's or respec'ble people or whatever, but f' freedom, and in'vidial rightsh of shelf determinashun." Deadpool's getting a little drunk.
Domino watches that single-armed handstand, not even protesting to the rough landing upon her car. Frankly she's surprised that it's survived a trip across the country with her, already. "This one's big, you don't want to jump in half-cocked and wait to see what happens when you're done spitting lead. But... You're kinda right," she cautiously admits with another drawn-out breath. "Things can suck now, they'd be a lot worse if he had his way." Uhm. Janet, Chrissy, Jack..? A black brow amidst a sea of pasty white hooks upward as she watches you upon the roof. So much for making sense! Except the television bit, they'd broadcast the hell out of that guy getting gunned down. "There's a fine line between being a mercenary and being a terrorist, Wade. I'm not sure that I want to cross over that line just yet." With the vodka going to your head she figures it's time for a change of subject, anyway.
"That was a good hot dog."
	 "Yeah. Don' tell anyone, but I'm trying t' shee how long it takesh eve'one to start callin' them bacon cheeseburgersh. Half 'people think I'm crazy, but /no one/ passessseh up a Coney Island dog. Once I get bored with that, I'll start calling 'em 'ratdogsh' and see how long I can make /that/ fly for." He takes another heavy belt of vodka. "Mikey over on forry-first shtreet makeshem. Awesome guy." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, vodka bottle not far from her grasp. "You ever think 'bout what life would be like if you weren' killin' folk fer a livin'? What'd you do wi' yerself?"
With the bottle lying so close to Domino's grasp she makes a snap decision and tugs it out of your hand, already reaching for the cap in the same motion. She doesn't want the problem of figuring out what to do with a passed out Deadpool on her hands, things are tricky enough without that adding to the mess! "I'd probably be bored numb, for one," she admits. "Once you get started it's a difficult thing to turn your back on." She thinks about it some more but nothing comes to mind. "Military life is too structured, becoming a contractor is too boring, running a shop is just irritating..." She shakes her head, "If I knew the answer to that question I probably would have changed professions some time ago. At some point we just have to face it, we're here because we're good at it and we enjoy doing it--and why the hell would you want to start calling them bacon cheeseburgers? Have you been on the internet again?"
	 "No." "Maybe." "...ok, yeah, but that'ss shides th' point." He belches. "Shee, you'n me, kid, we're peash in a bucket of pods. We gota stick t'gether. Those sonsh of bitches up on Capital Hill, y'know, they're tryin' t' make ush like all th' nomrals out there. Married, two pint six kids, li'l house in the hills, th' worksh. We kin roll over and take it, or we kin fight back an' make sure that we ruin our /own/ livesh. Right?"
Sometimes, it's like dealing with a child. An insane, very well armed child, that Domino never wanted to have. Isn't that how it always turns out, though? Except the well armed part, perhaps. "We're not the kinds of people they can -make- do that sort of thing, even if they come to power. Things get bad enough, we'll leave a smoking crater then move on," she says with a hint of determination while setting the bottle within the crook of the windshield wipers. "Ah, damnit. I'm bleeding all over the windshield. Listen kiddo, it's been good catching up but I think we both need to clear our heads. We'll figure out some sort of plan. Always do." Or, rather, -she- always does. Your success rate in randomly pulling things out of your keester seems to be doing well enough.
	 "Look who yer callin' kiddo, kiddo. You don' *hic* call me kiddo, kiddo, I call you kiddO. I'm way older'n you, you littl whisspnshapshernator." He heaves to his feet and starts staggering off towards the city of Gotham. "Look- give it some though'. Yoy know how t' find me if you think it thought. But I'm thinkin' I'm makin' a whole lotttta sense, Dom." He turns and looks over his shoulder at her. "You look, Neens," he tells the woman, his tone softer and a litle more emotional. "'s good t' see ya." He waves and staggers off, his path far from straight.
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