2013-01-20 Deadpool's Wacky Weekend Antics!

"Well. We can say absolutely that it /doesn't/ melt cheese," Deadpool says, rather authoritatively. He pokes at the Thingamajigger in his hand- it's about the size of a can of Folger's Instant, and glows with all kinds of crazy blue light. 
Deadpool's sitting in front of the campfire that perpetually runs in front of the conglomeration of huts and habitats that is The DeadQuarters. He prods at the cylinder with a judicious finger, holding it up in front of his face with his other hand. Around him are the scattered remains of a number of experiments, including one where, apparently, someone had tried to see if it could make a magic 8 ball work better. 
"As far as I know, it just makes the magic 8 ball work better," Deadpool announces to the group- which consists of a fairly sorry looking handful of low-level street thugs. He coughs into one fist, a plume of black smoke spilling over his fingers from his mouth and into the ground. "Which is kind of groovy, if I were Miss Cleo."
A voice from the darkness says, in a fairly dull and smug manner, "That's because you're using a CT-band controller. It's not going to melt cheese. It will, however, slightly influence a variable response suspension matrix like you find in a magic 8-Ball."
The voice in the back of the DeadQuarters steps forward into the light revealing none other than Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist. Snappy Dresser. Not in one of his usual suits, he wears a pair of Jeans, an Iron Maiden T-Shirt that makes Eddie's head glow a ghostly blue (the kind of blue that's coming from the device as well), and a leather racing jacket. Backing him and his goatee up? A red headed knockout in a form-fitting black jumpsuit. She looks like an even cooler customer than Stark is. "So." the CEO saays, "Who's toybox did you jack that from? Doom? Skull?" he looks fairly casual while asking despite the congregation of various and sundry seedy individuals.
Widow didn't really know what she was getting into when she came along with Tony... but so far? Not terribly impressed. More like, highly confused. But Tony was a fun fellow, and despite her awkward and back and forth relationship with him, she cared for him. He was the first she came to visit, in fact, upon her return last night from three months stationed overseas. Wanting time away from S.H.I.E.L.D.--for as long as she could muster--the never-lackluster gentleman pulled her onto this bizarre romp quite literally as soon as she walked in the door. Already suited up, she went along for the ride.
Deadpool doesn't even glance over at Tony. He picks up the 8 ball and gives it a shake. "Oh, Magic 8 ball. Is Tony Stark ever going to get over his feelings for me?" He hums, looks skywards, then flips the sphere over and reads it. " 'Not likely'." He clucks his tongue. "Bummersauce. Whattya want, Starkers? Did you bring nachos? I have a rule about douchebag quadrillionaires dropping in without bringing me nachos." 
Suddenly, Deadpool is next to Widow. "Why, hel-lo nurse!" he singsongs, leering at her. "Tony, is she as deadly as she is beautiful? Tell me she can kill me in seventeen different love languages!"
Tony Stark rolls his eyes, "What do I want? I came to get the tech you quote-unquote borrowed. I have no desire to see what you can do with a probability influence device, even if its control is limited to an order of magnitude of three." he smirks at the Merc, "and no, I didn't bring nachos. I did, however, bring Agent Romanov. You can call her 'Miss' and the fact you're still drawing breath is a testament to her goodwill. She could kill you with a wet piece of bread, and I'm not kidding. I've seen her do it." he glances over to Widow and smiles softly.
Glancing back and forth between the two, Natasha flashes a smirk at Tony, keeping a gaze at Deadster. "I've read your file," she declares, dismissively. "A mess-maker with no agenda." She seems almost miffed. A closer look at Natasha would reveal several healing bruises and cuts along her neck, and the last remains of a black eye. She looks almost...tired, pale.
She turns back to Tony, speaking sternly... "Why didn't you just send some goon to pick this up? Why bother?"
Deadpool very carefully picks up a teacup, then sets it down next to him, abruptly back at where he'd been sitting. And sitting comfortably. Because, y'know. Ninja. "You a Vin Diesel fan? He stole that bit from me." He eyes Tony levelly, then sets down a dry saltine next to the teacup.  Hint hint.  
Deadpool juggles the doohickey from one hand to the other. "So, level with me, Tony. 'cause this thing isn't just some three magnitude doowhatsis. Miss Widow hit it on the head." He waggles the device at Widow. "Also, if you read my file, you must have read that bit where I kicked Taskmaster's sorry ass across the desert and back, /and/ how canonically /my/ issues end up with me standing on a pile of corpses. Who's got two thumbs and stopped the Skrulls? This guy!" 
"Back to my original stat scores. Assassin 9, Starkey. I may have the Intellect score of your average rent a thug, but my ability to be a Godlike Ninja, combined with the Inverse Ninja Law, means I know how rich people think." He flips the device carelessly around. "So no. I don't think it's just some device. You'd have sent your errand boys after me if it was. Or you would have just, y'know. Sent someone with a locker full of cash. Which, I know you have." He winks at Widow from under his mask. Somehow. "Or more sexy lady ninjas."
Tony Stark shakes his head, slips his hand into the pockets of his jacket. "Well, you're right wrong about the locker full of cash. It's actually a locker room full of cash." he shrugs, "But you knew that if you saw my segment on MTV's Cribs." he glances back to Natasha and then back to Wade, "Why I'm here, and brought the good Agent here with me, is because it's broke. If you keep screwing around with it, the energy that it uses could clear a city block. I'm not going to leave that with a goon or an errand boy." he takes out a hand and motions between Natasha and Deadpool, "I brought her because I'm not gonna mess around with bringing a bunch of people who you're going to easily beat when I can bring the one person whom if she can't beat you, can stop you long enough for me to get that and get out." he lets a beat pause sink in, "So. Will you please think clearly long enough to realize that if that thing goes critical and does the damage it can do, that you won't live to eat another nacho, and let me take it to my lab and fix it?"
Shifting into a more present-minded stance, Natasha considers Tony's threat. Conniving, yes, at times, but he was not one to suggest bomb threats without some grain of truth. Stepping ever so smoothly and graceful, in a slow arc towards Deadpool's right, it's almost like she's taking a position. In her mind, she was forcing Deadsy to look at her--or Tony--but not both... at least not in the same moment. She regretted not asking about this on the ride over, assuming this was some sort of fancy dinner date. Taking a moment to snap a photo of Deadpool and his device with her wrist bracers, she quipped, "What do you want here, to make this easy, Wade?"
Deadpool throws up the mahalo with his free hand and strikes a pose for Widow. "Peace, love, mutual respect. I'd you for a date, schweethart, but I don't think you're here on contract with His Starkiness here. Stark, you'd hook a brother up, right?" he says, thumping his chest with his fist and throwing some props at Tony. "Word. How about we exchange some StarkTech for some StarkTech? It's not like I need to get Domino some kind of crazy reality changing tech for her birthday. But, I could use some new gadgets and toys." 
If he's concerned about Widow shifting position, it doesn't show. He even kicks his legs out and crosses his ankles, lounging comfortably. "It's not like I couldn't find something to do with a few pounds of high-yield explosive, y'know. Why not help me do something more productive? Maybe I could do you a favor. I bet Miss Widow here is a lot less fun to have around than I am."
Tony Stark tightens his jaw, almost imperceptably. "That.." he says, looking at the device, "..is not one of mine. But, fair enough. I can trade you in toys if that's what it takes." he says, "..but I'll listen to what you have to say. What do you have in mind as far as your productivity goes?"
"I will give you my personal guarantee that if you get me the hookup- and I mean, for the realz, yo- I will personally leap out of the most unanticipated and hilarious place possible, in the most public setting possible, and hit Justin Hammer in the face with a rancid banana cream pie." Deadpool Fonzies at Stark. "Do we have a deal, sir?!"
Listening to Tony's offer, she holds back the slightest little laugh, and quietly slips out a small pocket computer. One of the gathered thugs starts to look over her shoulder, the moment she starts to type, and Natasha effortlessly jerks her right hand out, pulling his pinky finger at a weird angle. A crunch is heard.
"Ahh, mother#$@," he whimpers, recoiling away from Natasha, who still seems unconcerned with his movement. She's busy reading up on Wade's activities--or at least whatever S.H.E.I.L.D.'s managed to record. Knowing full well that her queries will be reported to Fury, and she's technically on Rest Leave... she doesn't care. 
"What...the..." she mutters almost inaudibly to herself, as she reads a chronical of Deadpool's exploits. It reads like a Jackie Chan movie written by David Lynch. She considers many tactics for restraining him, should it come to that.
Tony Stark watches the exchange between Natasha and the thug and chuckles softly. He looks back to Deadpool, "I leave here with the device. In exchange, I will give you a hookup that I'll work on personally, AND you're agreeing to pie Hammer in the face with a rancid banana cream pie - have I got that right, Pool?" he asks, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Having read all that she can bare while keeping her sanity (what's left of it), Natasha shifts from the SHEILD Database into her targetting systems. Getting a lock on the device in question, she figures she can latch her Widow's Line to it and yank that sucker away if needbe. Flipping her computer off, she looks up again, hoping somehow her little digital work was unnoticed.
Deadpool is abruptly peering over Natasha's shoulder at the document file she's going through. Because, again. Ninja. Also, hilarious.  I'm an example of the Inverse Ninja Law combined with the Law of Comedic Timing. I'm an exponential scale of hilarious ninja antics!  "Hey! That was Deadpool #23! I loved that one! It's got me in it, and I'm on the cover!" He peers at Natasha. "...howcome /you/ don't have a cover series anymore? Didn't they do a Widow run in the 80s?" 
And he's back!  As if he'd never moved, Deadpool fist pumps and goes 'Yess!'. He pumps his hand once and tosses the cylinder vaguely at Tony. "Catch! It's a deal! Pleasure doing business with ya, Stark, I'm looking forward to Deadpool #100 being a special issue of Deadpool, with Special Guest: Iron Man! Deadpool is: IRON POOL!" He paints a vista with his hand, staring all sparkly eyed off towards a rusty wall.
Tony Stark snags the device out of the air and holds it with more than a small modicum of respect, which is really saying something. "I don't know about Iron Pool, but we'll definitely look at upgrading some of your equipment. Give you a makeover, you'll feel like a whole new merc." he glances over at Natasha with a bit of a relieved expression and nods quietly.
Oddly surprised, yet thrilled that she didn't have to have yet another battle her first day back in New York, she gives a genuine smile to Deadpool, showing some of her surprise. "I'm glad we could figure this out." Moving to depart, she turns her back to Deadpool, walking out. "I won't tell S.H.I.E.L.D. about the all the stuff of theirs lying around in here. For now."
Deadpool coughs and kicks a heavy crate under a blanket, the only visible markings of which read -vate prop- -ck Fury SHIE- "What stuff?"
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