2012-07-09 Natural Disaster

She's been wandering the city alone. Not a smart thing to do, not at all. Not with everything being said about her. Her hair has been tucked into her hat, and she's...looking for a job. Snag is, she doesn't have work papers for New York. Every place she has tried has told her to get her parents to sign them. That might be part of why Marissa Sometimes has drifted further and further into the bad part of town. Not the worst part of town, perhaps, but she knows, now, two things: 1. This isn't a good neighborhood. 2. She's thoroughly, utterly, lost. She's looking for a bus stop. A bus will take her somewhere, anywhere, that isn't here.

From behind Marissa comes the sound of two heavy footfalls as if someone is running. In fact, the sounds of those footfalls are getting closer and closer until a red and black suited figure passes her. Armed to the teeth with two katana swords on his back and criss-crossing bandeliers of ammo clips, the muscular mercenary skids to a stop about ten feet in front of Marissa.

"Uh...lady? RUN!" He calls out, pointing over her shoulder to ten pit-bull dogs of varying age. Each and every one of them looks very, very angry, and are doing everything in their power to race in their direction.

The mercenary taps the button on his belt a few more times. "Oh @#$@#1000 come on WORK! Why doesn't anything work when it's supposed to!" He then reaches out for Marissa's wrist, trying to drag her into running with him.

Aren't you supposed to, like, NOT run when chased by dogs? Marissa barely has time to think that before the stranger has her wrist in a firm grip and is dragging her along. "Uh!" Not that she wants to tangle with the pit bull-ish creatures chasing them. But she's pretty sure running is a bad idea. Unfortunately...mostly ordinary teenager can't compete in an arm wrestle with fully trained mercenary. She's going to get dragged along...so about all she can do is start running. He's...man. Costume. Sword. Ammo. He's got to be a bad guy!

Far off in the distance, a large number of latino gang members turn around the corner, chasing after their dogs. Nothing else turns around the corner just yet, but the situation has definitely grown worse.

"Less Talky more runny, lady! I mean, don't get me wrong it's completely awkward for me to involve you in this but..." He looks down to his belt and continues to tap-tap-tap at it, trying to get it to work again. "...I got fried chicken grease on the thing and if it would only work I could get us out and my name's Wade. What's yours?" He asks, looking over to her as they pass the front of a pool hall and a bodega that sells -excellent- wireless service plans.

He wants her to not talk and he wants her to give her name. As for involved...she sure as heck doesn't want to be involved. On the other hand, the guys with the nasty dogs are probably bad guys too. This guy is probably the slightly less-bad guy. "Mar-issa," she manages, breathless. At least she can run. She's not in *terrible* condition, after all.

"Pleased to meet you Mar-Issa! It's not often that I meet people while being chased by dogs and gang-bangers, but it's kinda nice isn't it? I mean they have whole single clubs dedicated to physical fitness and juice-drinking, and it's probably better than just getting sloshed and grinding to Public Enemy songs." His voice slows, reconsidering what he's just said. "But I mean...if that's your thing we cou--"

-+=PLOINK!=+-

In a flash of red light, Deadpool disappears, leaving Marissa to fend all for herself against the pitbull and local gangbanger population.

Okay. What do...fire escape. She dives for it, heading up it as quickly as she can. Hopefully the dogs aren't very good at climbing. And hopefully when the gangers realize their actual target just disappeared, they won't decide she's a good target for a bit of mayhem. Likely mayhem that she really doesn' want to deal with. So much for all mutants being dangerous, she thinks, wryly.

Arm over arm, when she nears the top of the fire escape, she can hear the tap-tapping sound of Deadpool trying to fix his teleportation disc. With a few puffs of reddish light, he bounces from one place to another on the rooftop, giving his belt buckle a satisfying nod.

He turns to her arrival, stretching his arm across the front of his chest, a slight bit of elation in his voice. "Well hey! You made it, Melissa! Here, let me help you up the rest of the way." He offers a hand to her. "This is kinda like Ninja Warrior: Donnybrook isn't it?"

Marissa Sometimes accepts the hand. "So, what exactly did you do to get chased by a pack of animals...and I don't mean the dogs?" Trust this guy? Not really. But he did probably get her out of a bad situation. Except that he probably *caused* the situation.

"Nothing." Deadpool replies, deadpan as he helps her onto the roof of the apartment building. "Well, not nothing, but it's nothing that they should really be so mad about. Well..." He keeps downgrading his guilt, until he eventually decides to reach behind his back and pull out a pair of gold-plated .45 caliber pistols. Nevermind the fact that they have "La Raza" etched into the side of them in cursive, they're some seriously awesome hardware. "I mean look at these? You can't have one but if you wanna pop a few rounds off I'm game." He spins one of the guns around in his hand, offering it to her, grip pointed towards her.

Down below on the street, a flood of pit-pulls and latino gang members are racing down the street like extras in a bad 70's gang movie. They appear to be looking for something or someone, and are quickly disappearing from the area.

"Why do you want me to shoot your gun?" Unless it's meant to be some kind of gesture of trust. She doesn't push more about what he did. Maybe he was trying to seduce their dogs. Or one of their women. He's in costume, he has lethal weaponry. Bad guy. Or vigilante...or...something. She's trying to puzzle him out, her brow furrowed. Puzzling out Deadpool: Bad idea.

"Oh come on like you've never popped off a round or two before to get rid of stress." Deadpool shrugs, sliding the pistols back into the holsters at his back. Once the holsters are secured, he bounces on the balls of his feet to limber up, even throwing a few punches into the air. "Okay, so, Patricia, that was pretty clever of you to climb up the fire escape. I don't know if I personally would have chosen it though, because I'm not defined by cowardice, eh slugger?" He lightly punches her shoulder, trying to tease her. "Say, do you like Broadway shows? I'm free tonight."

"I'm kinda defined by not wanting to get outnumbered," she noted. A round to relieve stress. Not really. Men shoot guns, in the world she's come from. Not women. But she almost wants it, almost wants to try it, to feel the weight of it. Dangerous. "Besides. You were running pretty fast."

"Yeah but that wasn't //cowardice// running." Deadpool retorts, a laborious guffaw escaping the lips hidden behind his mask. He raises a finger to her and taps it from side to side, correcting her. "Cowardice running has more arm-flailing and begging people for help. THAT was a tactical retreat. Besides, I wouldn't have even had to run at all if my Bamf-machine was working, but that's the sort of thing the giant hand in the sky throws in there to make my life more interesting and make it possible for people like you and I to hang out, enkindle a romance, share a pizza." To emphasize his point, he lifts a middle finger to the sky, to who he's trying to insult isn't elaborated any further.

Marissa Sometimes ahems. "Romance? I don't think so." Pizza, she might go for. Romance with this guy? Not a chance. Of course, he might also be one of those men who hits on every woman he meets, out of some kind of pure reflex. She's met plenty of *those* in her life. Many of them way too old for her and caring about that far less than they should.

"No romance? Not even a little bit?" Deadpool holds up his hand, pinching his figures together. "I mean, don't get me wrong I realize that I kind of sprung a pack of wild dogs on you, but I offered you a chance to fire a gun in city limits while not inside of a firing range. If we were in Greece, that's a valid wedding ceremony." He pauses, tilting his head. "Okay, what about some completely non-emotional making out?"

Marissa Sometimes snorts. "How about the fact that I'm seventeen, and you're who knows how old. In other words, eww." She doesn't seem scared of him now. It just doesn't seem like he plans on doing anything but flirt with her. Unless he gets mad when she keeps saying no.

Deapool stops dead in his tracks, scratching the back of his head. Guilty as charged, he gives a nervous chuckle. "But..." He starts slowly, looking from left to right, trying to find a way out of this one. "...you said you were eighteen when we were running from the dogs. I grabbed your hand, you told me your name was Melissa and you said 'hey I'm eighteen and I love exercise'." The last bit he says with a mock female voice, wildly gesticulating with his hands, somehow trying to charade their flight down the block.

Marissa Sometimes snorts. "Okay. So you are one of those guys who has to hit on every woman in sight. But thanks for not letting me get eaten by the dogs." Or, more likely, raped by the gangers. They looked like the type, to her eyes at least.

"AM not. I'm just eligible at the moment and it wouldn't be right of me to not, you know, play the field. Besides, you're under the age of eighteen, we shouldn't even be talking about this sort of thing. Shame on you." He pulls a small bag of beef jerky out of his pocket. He lifts up a mask revealing a rather burned and scarred chin and lips, but it's a necessary evil because he can't eat through the fabric of the mask.

He doesn't miss a beat, and doesn't provide her any mercy while he fishes for a piece of jerky from the bag. "So, what do you do for a living? You're seventeen so let me guess...you were on your way to work at Cinnabon? Do you get employee discounts? I saved your life, you know and I do love me some Cinnabon."

"You think I'm going to tell a masked creep where I work?" She's grinning, though. There's something about this guy which does make it *really* hard to actually be angry with him. And it doesn't seem like he...well. He certainly has a reason for the mask. "And I'm sure as heck not going to ask what *you* do. I don't want to know."

"There is nothing wrong with being an international mercenary and assassin. In fact, this very moment here between you and I reminds me of a movie I once saw." He sets the bag of beef jerky down and once again reaches to the small of his back for one of the gold-plated 'LaRaza' pistols. He offers it to her again. "You be Natalie Portman, I'll be that lazy-eyed guy from that horrible Rollerball remake, and I'll teach you everything you know and hook you up with Danny Aiello at that creepy, seedy Italian restaurant and he'll teach you how to clean. Can we at least agree though that after your eighteenth birthday have a spooning clause?" oO(There is NOTHING illegal about that, by the way.)Oo

"See. I knew I didn't want to know." She rolls her eyes at Deadpool. "And I *really* don't want to be reminded of the horrible Rollerball movie." Help. How does she get away from a guy who can teleport? Bad part is that she's not entirely sure she wants to. He's...fascinating. And not somebody Marissa Sometimes, governor's daughter, would ever have met.

"Oh come on it wasn't that bad. I mean that guy that played the overly romantic lacrosse guy from American Pie was in it, and he's a total douchebag, but L to the L to the Cool to the J? Rebecca Romijn was in that, too, and she was married to John Stamos, which kind of enters this awkward man-crush triangle for me. Uncle Jesse is the Metallica of sitcoms." He pulls his mask back down over his face and moves to lean against the edge of the building beside her. Again, he puts the pistol away. She's not biting. "So...what's the deal? This is a pretty bad part of town. Haven't you ever seen Mystic River?"

A pause, then a final admission. "I'm lost." Her accent is definitely *not* New York, so it's possible she's even a tourist. She's from somewhere out west. "I need to like...carry around a map, I guess." Or work out how to use the GPS on her new phoone.

"Oh." Deadpool blinks, as if it should have been far more obvious. "Well I'm no expert but this is still //really// not a good part of town to walk around by yourself at seventeen. There's killers in these streets, Red Riding Hood. It's okay, though, as the only trustworthy adult present it's my sworn duty to accompany you to your destination and make sure you get there safely." He holds up a hand to try to deny any interrupting. "I know, people normally charge for this sort of thing, but I'm in between jobs at the moment and you can pretend I'm the Tin Woodsman. What say you, Dorothy?"

"You remind me more of the Mad Hatter." And she's felt a lot like Alice lately. Looking Glass Alice, even, not Wonderland Alice. Everything twisted and fallen in. But she's not sure exactly how to get rid of this guy, and if she shows up at the hotel with him, Pepper will freak. "Alright, but ya know, shouldn't international assassins be somewhat discreet." Maybe he's lying. She really hopes he's lying.

High overhead a toy helicopter starts descending towards the rooftops. The litle copter stops and slowly rotates in place. It finally stops, and appears to be facing Deadpool and Marissa, though of course it is a couple hundred feet over the rooftop that they are on. Down the street a figure in white pauses in her surveillance of the street below her as she pays more attention to the sight offered up by her copter.

"Discreet you say?" Deadpool replies, offering her his arm as he intends to stroll toward the fire escape. "I'm very discreet when I can be, but sometimes there's, you know, security and fences and glass doors that get in my way when you have to go with plan B, well you know sometimes you have to shoot your way out." He turns to her, offering her the bag of beefy jerky. He seems a little dizzy, out of focus. "More tea? Normally these are suit and tie tea parties, but you're welcome to wear that bikini again at the table anytime-o. You can have ALL the tea you want." He tilts his head. "What? You want to watch pro-wrestling and spoon? I'm always been more of a Golden Girls kind g--"

Deadpool is apparently daydreaming, armed to the teeth, and it's unfortunate just how in his element he currently is. He's the one that just stole some firearms from low-level gangbanger arms dealers no less than ten minutes ago.

Marissa Sometimes shakes her head, stepping back from Deadpool slightly. Of course, he's probably not quite that nuts so much as taking the Mad Hatter comment and running away with it. "Are you actually insane, or is it all an act you put on so people won't take you too seriously." She looks...pretty ordinary. NOT the kind of girl who should be on a rooftop with Deadpool, which might lead whoever's flying the mini-copter to be very curious about the lead-in to this.

The toy helicopter drops a bit lower and down the street the woman in white gives one more look over the edge of the roof, then slaps a small package on the outside of the building. Once that's done she starts jogging in the direction of Deadpool and Marissa. She crosses from rooftop to rooftop at a good speed until she gets closer. Only then does she slow her approach, monitoring the pair of them from her copter before she exposes herself. From a rooftop over she calls out, "Everything okay over there?"

"Crazy, Dorothy's my favorite too because she's this tough old broa--" Deadpool starts until he's interrupted by a new voice. "We are FINE! Just two consentual ad--, well, people enjoying some tea and..." Deadpool glances around, finding only some beef jerky in his hand and Marissa to be a few feet further away from him than he remembers.

Hee.

"Patricia?" He asks Marissa, looking over to her. "Did you just call out to us asking how things are going? That didn't sound like you." He steps in closer, pulling one of the pistols out of its holster. "Okay, if they come out shooting just stay behind me. Don't ask, and don't change, Patricia. You're going to grow up to probably be hot."

He clears his throat and calls back. "We're fine up here, how are you?" He giggles, looking to Marissa. "Oh Star Wars."

"Not sure. Depends on how far into looneyville we are..." The parkour expert suddenly has quite a bit of her attention. NOW what does she do? Probably nothing. She has no clue who the good guys are, she knows Deadpool is a bad guy, but he's being nice to her. In his own completely insane manner. Still. She wouldn't mind a rescue, just not in the 'I'm in physical danger' sense. NO, more in the 'I'm in this bar and I can't get away from this creep' sense.

Gearbox hops up onto the wall of her building, "Yeah? All fine? Just a little tea party?" She jogs along the wall then leaps down to the rooftop that Marissa and Deadpool are socializing. She hits the rooftop and rolls, coming up to her feet quickly. "Everyone likes tea right? Not everyday you see a tea party and a guy in a supersuit." She studies Deadpool now that they are the same roof and across the city her whirlybird slides out of its rooftop hanger. Gear doesn't give the commands to get it underway however. "I'm Gearbox. You've picked a pretty nice rooftop here. Good view of the streets here."

"Supersuit? Hey lady, the suit isn't what makes me super, it's my machismo." Deadpool retorts, pointing the pistol at the ground between him and Gearbox. It allows him the option of looking at Gearbox's legs, which he takes. "But now that you mention it, it's a -very- nice rooftop. I chose it specifically for this conversation, although the dogs had something to do with it. Speaking of rooftops, did you guys ever see that Blade movie?" Of course, Blade has never been made into a movie, as he's likely still an unknown element in the vampire-fighting world. "They had that Tooaaastally sweet penthouse apartment where there's a pool that leads right up to the edge of a one hundred story drop? I think I saw a building like that in Metropolis. We should all go sometime. Heck, I already have my suit."

Marissa Sometimes shoots Gearbox a look that she hopes will read as 'help' to the other woman, but go over Deadpool's head. "The dogs were entirely his fault," she points out. Maybe. She's not even sure what was going on with the dogs...although hitting on somebody's girlfriend is HIGH on her list of theories as to how Deadpool was getting himself hunted by them.

Gear shakes her head, "I haven't seen that movie. No. That does sound like a nice pool though. Infinity edge right to the edge. I saw one in Vegas like that, with a glass front, so it looked like you could swim right off the edge." She walks forward slowly, "Nice gun." As she gets closer she regrets not approaching with her own weapons out, and two blocks away the A/C unit of a parked van (With sides proclaiming that it belongs to Crazy Ivan's Sub Shop.) slides back and another toy helicopter flutters up into the sky. This one doesn't seem to fly as well, but then again, it is carrying a heavier payload. "So...dogs chased you up here? And you were going to shoot them in self defense? Am I close? Maybe you could put the gun away. You got all that macho, you don't need the gun to be impressive."

"Dogs chased HIM up here. Then they chased me because they were stupid dogs." Which isn't exactly what happened, but Marissa is really trying to deny any responsibility for the dogs. Or being up here. Why couldn't she have expressed a *really* useful mutant power. Say teleporation. Or invisibility. Or the ability to phase through the floor.

"Woah woah woah woah woah..." Deadpool waves his hand from side to side, turning to Marissa as he holsters the .45 caliber pistol. "That's not EXACTLY how it happened. I was minding my own business and when I stole these two //awesome// forty-fives they got all up in arms about it and started chasing me. I Melissa, here, from them, and then we started hanging out, talking about tea parties. It's been a pretty constructive conversation, seeing as how she's going to be my new sidekick." Deadpool beams proudly, trying to get an arm around Marissa's shoulders.

"I would -never- shoot a dog, by the way. I read this one thing in a magazine that said if you're willing to be cruel to animals then you're more likely to develop psychotic tendencies later in life. I think that's something Bill Cosby used to speak about in those informercials. Melissa? Do you know who Bill Cosby is? He's like the Tyler Perry of 1987. He wore sweaters that looked like Fruity Pebbles. Za-zibble-zobblez'bab--." He stops, looking suddenly back to Gearbox. "Lady, are you a cop or something?"

"A cop? No. Something? Yes. I am something. I'm Gearbox." She continues to walk closer to the pair, "Ah. You are the one that got the streets buzzing with activity then?" Once she's close enough she offers her hand to Deadpool, which would get his arm from around Marissa if he took it. "I didn't catch your names? Did I miss it while I was listening to radio chatter?" She drops her drown down steadily, so that the whir of its electric motors and the rotors become an audible drone in the background. "Does she get a cool outfit like yours out of the deal? Would be handy on the rooftops."

Sidekick. No way. NO way in hell. Even if 'assassin' would be a reasonable career choice for somebody with her particular perk. In fact, she says it, "No way in hell." Trying to get further away from Deadpool and closer to Gearbox...if she can. He's got guns, but she already knows she doesn't have to be afraid of guns...or does she? She's still working things out, still confused as heck.

The merc-with-a-mouth reaches out and takes the hand, effectively saving Marissa from her 'Coyote Ugly' situation. "Call me Deadpool. That's what I hire under, at least. I try to stay off of the radio chatter because I don't really have anyone to talk to, although there are a few times I've gotten a hold of police band radios. They can't take a joke, trust me. It's not worth it. As for Patricia..." He sticks a thumb back to her, considering. "...I don't know. I just went through this massively horrible process of getting set up here in town and she'd have to make all sorts of adjustments to her build if I started giving her gear. I guess that means it's a pretty good thing that I didn't give her that pistol, eh dawg?" He sticks a thumb up at someone in the sky.

"So what about you, Legs? I've got to help Melissa-Patricia here to her job at Cinnabon and she offered to give us a customer discount, but after that's done why don't you and I go hang out and ditch the kiddo? I'm currently in between jobs, bored, and yoooou look like an eligible lady! Gearbox isn't a hot-chick name like Cheyenne. You like KFC?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Deadpool. Nice name. Intimidating. What do you get hired out for? I'm guessing a catering service? Personal chef?" She gives his hand a shake, but doesn't pull her hand away. Instead she holds hands with Deadpool in a flirtatious fashion, while at the same time shifting slightly to one side to give Marissa a bit of cover. Too bad she didn't know about Marissa's powers. "Sounds like a plan. I am incredibly eligible, and my real name might just be Cheyenne. You never know. As for chicken, I'd have to say I'm more of a Popeyes' girl." She doesn't take her eyes off of Deadpool, but she says to Marissa, "This isn't a very good shortcut to Cinnabon. Do you need a lift?"

Gearbox's armed drone arrives overhead and starts maneuvering into a position that would keep Marissa out of the line of fire if anything bad breaks out.

A lift, yes. A lift to anywhere without Deadpools in it. "Uh...yeah." Now she feels bad that Gearbox is running interference with this guy...and wants to tell her not to bother with the cover. Well, maybe. She still isn't sure how much she can get hurt and is she wearing a...ooh. Drone. Toys. She really wants to ask about the *toys*. Distractions!

"Well, I guess you could say I'm a personal sushi chef for hire, if really what you mean is that I use these SWEET katanas to chop up bad guys!" He seems excited now that Gearbox is flirting with him. "Have you ever seen Kill Bill? You know the first one where Uma Thurman kills like 90 bad guys and there's like ankles and feet and heads all over the place? Well I've done that, but in a more not-creepy, yoga-and-pilates abs kinda manner." He squeezes Gearbox's hand, eyes wide and beaming to her, having completely forgotten about Marissa for the moment. "There's a Popeye's on 58th and Brown, it's a little ghetto but we could go in there and pretend it's MacDougals with the Golden Arcs. How does 8 o'clock sound? I've got some demo to mix."

"Oh wow. That is amazing Deadpool. You've done that? I love that movie and I love that scene, though my favorite is the duel that comes at the end, out in the snow." She keeps holding on to Deadpool's hand. "That sounds great. You've got my mouth watering just thinking about it. And I'm not even sure if it is the chicken or the thought of you doing it." Keeping her focus on Marissa she says, "So, my scooter is parked under that fire escape if you needed to get going. I'd hate for you to be late to work."

She doesn't really want to leave the other woman with Deadpool, but she also has a feeling she can handle herself. Heading down the fire escape...after a quick check to make sure the area is now a Pitbull Free Zone. Out of here, out of here, out of here. The guns and the violence don't scare her nearly as much as the creepy hitting on.

Deadpool is as if in a trance. A girl. A REAL girl is flirting with him and setting up a date. Marissa could very well be running around in a bikini with a bucket of chicken and Deadpool wouldn't notice. Well, correction, he wouldn't notice the bucket of chicken. The important thing to remember is that Gearbox has Deadpool occupied.

"Well, surprise that you would say that, or do I mean ironic? I think I meant ironic, but I once took on Hydra while eating out of a bucket of chicken. I should have hired a camera crew because you'd be salivating out of your ears if you saw that then!"

Her scooter isn't actually there, it is in the back of her Crazy Ivan van. The van leaves its parking spot and starts rolling towards the scene. The big panel van would be a safer choice for carrying Marissa safely. "You have a really sexy voice Deadpool. You know that? Sort of like masculine honey." She grins at her own cornball, but hey, this guy didn't seem to mind. "I think I would have fainted seeing something that awesome. Fighting Hydra while eating chicken? Was it good chicken?" Her camera copter keeps its eye squarely on Marissa, making sure she gets down safely.

Down...okay. No scooter. Why would...oh yeah. Because creepy guy could hear it. Marissa stops, glancing around for anything that might be a means of transportation. She really wishes she'd found that bus she was looking for. This is SO the last time she's coming to this part of town. Well, without...preparation, anyway.

"Well, it was mediocre chicken. You know, that stuff from the grocery store deli that tastes kind of like hair?" He motions to her with his hand, talking rather animatedly. "I was a little broke at the time and I needed to steal food from Bob's plate, but they tried to firebomb my apartment. Eating chicken is really hard when you're in dice-mode." A vague moment of clarity passes over him, and he tries to let her hand go. "Masculine honey? I thought that was motor oil? So how's 8 work for you? I've got a million of these stories."

The Crazy Ivan Sub Shop van pulls up near Marissa, the back door rolling open. "Looking for a magical scooter to freedom? This is Gearbox. Are you okay?" The voice comes from the van's speaker system, but up on the roof Gearbox doesn't say anything. She's busy talking to Deadpool. Inside the van has her scooter, an stool, and some toolboxes. Also, no one is driving the van. She tries to keep hold of Deadpool's hand without exerting too much pressure. "Eight sounds great to me. And I suppose motor oil could be translated to masculine honey. I really thought that ws pretty poetic, and yet accurate. Smooth and masculine, like Sean Connery without the accent."

Oh...Marissa could almost *drool* over the remote-controlled van. As it is, though, she just slips into it, eyeing the toolboxes and then sitting on the stool. For now. She's sure that Gearbox will ditch the scarily armed loser soon enough. She hopes. Should she have stayed up there? What if he gets violent?

"Well that's because I have a degree in poetry from LLL University." Deadpool replies, not skipping a beat. He folds his arms across his chest and rocks on his feet, going into full-bore bragging mode again. "I'm currently involved in a few lawsuits though, because bitches-be-samplin', yanno? You might have heard some of my better work. Every Rose Has Its Thorn? Mama Said Knock U Out? Crap like that. That's how I roll, though, I'm one of those poets that hates his own poetry because I'm so artistic I don't even //care// about my own poetry. I've thrown away notes that would make Abe Vigoda cry."

The merc lowers his head, gazing once again to Gearbox's bared legs. He scratches his head in confusion. "How do you shoulder roll in that dress?"

As soon as Marissa is inside, the back door rolls down and the toolboxes hinge themselves open, revealing a bank of computer monitors. One of them shows a map of the local area, and a hand written scrawl appears on it, pointing to the symbol at the middle. "You are here." The other monitors show the camera shots from the two drones up over the scene. "I am going to get you out of here. If you have anyplace you want me to take you, just let me know. Feel free to talk, I can hear inside the van."

Gearbox laughs, "How do you shoulder roll in that outfit? I mean, the mechanics are the same. I just don't want to do any slides. But I'm still working on getting the suit cooler so I can go for full coverage even in summertime." She finally lets go of his hand, "You did those? I don't am really into dance music, but even I those songs. Mama said knock you out, that's a classic."

"Umm. Waldorf Astoria." She'd have said StarkTech rather than reveal where she's staying, but they're still cleaning up. "This is so cool...a remote controlled van. I want one." Relaxing a bit now she's in the Deadpool Free Zone. "Thanks. I had no clue HOW I was going to get rid of that creep."

"I KNOW it's a classic and it's driving me crazy because I have to leverage how COOL LL Cool J is versus the fact that I'm waiting on meee-eee-ee-lions of dollars from him for taking that song from. I was in a really lonely place when I wrote that song." Deadpool steps in closer, folding his arms behind his back to rest near his pistols. "I don't think you should go for full coverage, though, I mean there's something awesome about the skirt." He quiets, lifting his head a little. "So you really think I'm poetic and masculine?"

"Waldorf Astoria. Nice digs." The van starts rolling, and monitors flick on to give Marissa a good view of around the van and where it is going. "He seems unusual, that's for sure."

"Well, you really should get your song writing credits. It could set you up nicely." Since they are at close ranges she doesn't move her hands towards her own weapons when he moves his hands closer to the guns, "I mean, you should sit down with him and have a discussion about it. Threaten him with a VH1 special. You know, one of those "Behind the Music, Deadpool." kind of things? And yeah. You are poetic and masculine. It's a rare combination. I don't sense a euro mullet under your mask."

Behind the Music: Deadpool? I think I have a few magazine write-ups like that, but I can't be sure. My story's changed hands so many times and now it's in the hands of an amateur, so I have no idea how this is going to go. However, he doesn't have the creative capability of giving me a Euro-mullet, so lucky you." He replies, looking away from her to the sky.

"What? No, dude, back off! Get your own!" He scoffs, looking back to Gearbox. "Don't mind any of that. Say, you've got something in your teeth, why don't you let me..." He leans in, trying to practice his time-honored DEADPOOL PIMP MOVE on Gearbox, trying to kiss her with his mask on.

"Be careful. He claims to be an assassin. Of course, I think if he WAS an assassin, he wouldn't tell anyone, even girls he's trying to impress." Marissa lets out a breath. "But I wasn't worried he'd hurt me...just that I couldn't convince him to *leave*."

"An assassin? Well, he did talk about chopping people up with those swords...and as disjointed as he seems to be he still holds himself like someone who knows what he's doing. More than I do unfortunately." A chibi Gearbox pops up on a computer monitor screen, doing silly chibi things. "But I think the only danger I'm in is whoa!"

Gear breaks off the conversation with Marissa as she gets a facefool of mask. She steps back, putting a hand up, "Ave the...whatever that was for after the chicken Deadpool. I don't get mask-kisses on the pre-date normally."

"He just tried to kiss me! With a mask on! This guy is crazy, or he's from Jersey!" she reports back to Marissa, though of course Marissa got a good shot of it from the cameras.

Please +vote for some others before you repeat your vote for her.

Deadpool is either too stupid or too bold to feel ashamed for what he's done. Instead, he points a finger to Gearbox and tries to pass it off as a victory. "Well, that's what you get with the full Deadpool experience. I don't normally get to kiss a girl before a first date, well, I don't normally get ANY dates, but that's beyond the point. I'm gonna treat you RIGHT, Gearbox."

He turns, heading for the edge of the building. "Alright, Legs, I'll meet you at Popeye's at 8. Don't try to outdress me because I'm just going to wear my work-clothes. I've gotta get back to mixin' that dynamite, cuz dyno don't mix itself."

Like a man who's just been told the head cheerleader's about to go to the prom with him, he slips a strut into his step and starts to humm to 'Oh Sherrie' by Journey. Without another word, he diisappears into a blip of red light, teleporting away.

"I got a glimpse of what's under it. Be glad he had it on!" Marissa is going to laugh about this, later. Actually, she's on the verge of doing so now...especially after Deadpool vanishes off the cameras. "Maybe it's compensation for being ugly?"

Gear blinks behind her domino mask at the strange man. "Yeah. Okay. See you at eight then." She takes control of her surveillance drone, lifting it up so she can trace the crazy guy, but well, he is there one moment then just gone. "Crap! No way I'm following that." She disengages her gun drone and sends it back to the van, and once it is on the way the back of the van begins to roll up and the safety clamps on her scoot disengage. In one fluid motion the scooter slides out the back along with a ramp, and the last locks let go. The scooter immediately wheels about and heads back to pick up Gearbox while the ramp slides back into hiding. "Sorry about that. I should have warned about the back door opening. Not used to passengers. And...he's not Johnny Depp under there? Oh well, I was hoping. If you are going to have a homicidal maniac flirt with you they might as well be eye candy. Was that Journey?"

"I don't remember. I don't know whether he's actually a homicidal maniac, either, or whether he's all talk." She grabbed onto something when the door opened. And she hasn't let go yet. After all, if she's catching up, it might well open again! "You have great toys."

The gun drone lands and is brought inside to be stored in the drone rack before Gear is even on her scooter. "Well, I'm hoping it is just talk. I haven't managed to pull anything up on him, yet, but Google only does so much." The camera follows her as she bounds down between a pair of buildings and gets onto her scooter. Once she's mounted and in pursuit she says, "I'm glad you like. The remote control van is based on some great stuff they were doing at Pitt. Took some of that and some stuff from the WayneTech automatic parking systems. Always working to make them better though."

"And my name isn't Patricia, but I wasn't about to correct him. It's Marissa." An unusual enough first name that Gearbox MIGHT guess. But not so weird as to make it inevitable.