5963/Come hold my hair

Come hold my hair
Date of Scene:	10 December 2018
Location:	Triskelion, Athletic area
Synopsis:	Deadpool tries SO HARD to make friends with Steve, but only gets one piggyback ride.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Deadpool

---

Captain America has posed:
A successful return from the chill of Norway and the heartening company of the Odinsons means that Steve is back into his normal routine. When there's quiet, the man is still busy, and this means staying fleet on his feet. Nothing like putting in his earbuds, turning on some music, and tuning out of the rest of the world around him for a little bit as he works to keep his heart rate up.

In sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt, sneakers and the serenade of good old Frank Sinatra, the blond Captain is on lap number twenty-five around the Olympic-length track in the Athletics Area of the Triskelion. He keeps up a ground-eating pace and his eyes are a thousand miles away as he mulls over what he recently learned of the Infinity Stone now out of reach of the dangerous -- in theory. He's not so distracted as to avoid taking note of others meandering through the area, but an interruption will certainly jolt him out of his groove, as it were.

Deadpool has posed:
    There was no bush to squat behind. There was a trash bin. The trash bin was not wide enough to hide a full Deadpool by the side of the track, though, so he had to acquire another one. It took time. But a trash bin is not going to defeat him and his plan.

NOT TODAY, SIR.

Your plan is garbage. Literally, it is made of trash.

    "Nobody asked you," Wade says aloud, from behind his Most Excellent cover. He forgot to change his image inducer's image from earlier, which is that of the most ordinary and uninteresting cadet-looking guy he could think of. Average colored hair, with average colored eyes, wearing average sort of glasses, and the exact same gym gear as the first guy in athletic gear that he saw. The bright magenta sweatbands are real, though. But I digress.

    When the great Captain comes towards along that way of jogging, Mr. Average comes darting out just a few yards after he's passed, and attempts to keep pace. Very casual like. It's very casual. No whistling, though, because there's actually some effort to get up to speed here without looking like he's sprinting. But that doesn't mean he can keep his mouth shut.

    "And they'reeee off; Captain of America leads by a nose, but what ho, a contender peels out from the back, and might be making a go of it!"

Captain America has posed:
Steve keeps up that pace like it was second nature to him -- suck it, childhood asthma. His peripheral vision registers the arrival of the newcomer and he glances over at him. Oh, an ordinary cadet-looking guy, nothing to be concerned about. Maybe one of the other agents put him up to keeping pace with him on a bet -- it's not an impossibility. But wait, this guy is saying something.

Removing the earbud nearest to Ordinary-Looking Cadet Guy grants everyone the brief sultry strains of Lil Jon scream-singing "TURN DOWN FOR WHAT" and Steve palms the wireless earbud as he slows down his stride out of courtesy. "Might be making a go of what?" he asks even as he reaches across his chest to pause the music on the smartphone clipped to his bicep. It's still a brisk jog for a standard human being at this point.

Deadpool has posed:
    "They see you rollin, they hatin'," Deadpool shout/sings overly loud over the sultry strains, both hands pulled up to cup around his mouth and truly project at maximum volume. Since Steve actually slows to normal-person speed, he'll have the 'average' cadet pull ahead a little bit. Deadpool is very athletic and strong, which means an average speed can indeed be outstripped.

    "Yay, I didn't have to hamstring you!" Deadpool says teasingly -- yeah, let's go with teasingly-- and flashes a thumbs up. He moved ahead, and sort of half-runs, half backwards-prances to sort of face Steve. It's weirdly acrobatic and doesn't match what the visual of the cadet should be capable of physically. "I had um, two things," the cadet begins, each hand now lifted to show one index finger on each hand. "Shit, I got ahead though. You're inspiring. Heroism and everything. -- that's not one of the two things, or both of the two things, though. They are separate. And this is really hard to maintain. If I vomit, it's only a testament to your athleticism."

Captain America has posed:
Steve leans away from the exuberant singing as he takes the wide corner of the track at his more decent pacing, his arms still swinging. He gives this Ordinary-Looking Cadet a look almost owlish, though the expression shifts quickly to something almost sly, as if he were repressing a smile at the antics on display. He patiently listens to the discombobulated explanation for the Cadet's actions, still churning along, and those brows flick high briefly at the last comment.

"I'd hate to have to make the staff clean up vomit," he replies blithely. "You seem like you're doing just fine, however." The Captain increases the speed of his jog a noticeably amount and watches the Cadet expectantly. It's as if he suspects there's something more to the Ordinary-Looking Cadet than first appearances display. "And thanks for the compliment. I do my best." Now they're on the straight-away again. Steve's just beginning to sport sweat-spots at his arms at this point. Lap twenty-six, done.

Deadpool has posed:
    The increase in speed means Deadpool can't continue that backwards-prance thing and he flips around with a gulp, falling behind due to having to switch pace style. "Sweet baby Jesus, why," he complains probably to himself, fixing it, and then pushing himself to catch back up. There's effort, it shows, though he could dash if he had to. Still, no stumble, at least. "It's okay, just time it for when we get back around to the trash bins. I'll do MY best," Deadpool assures gamely. "It would be a pity, SHIELD lunch is really not the worst at all. Even if they won't take my coupons anymore," says the overly chatty cadet. If there was a plan, it's probably changing on the fly.

    "I said two things. Okay. One of them. Let me...." Deadpool pats down his front, and then fishes a cellphone out of the front of his belt... somehow. The image inducer doesn't know what to do with this, so it just materializes with a fuzzy tech look. "Oh shit, I have my thingy on," Deadpool says, realizing, and abruptly taps onto his left wrist. The image induced by the gizmo disappears, leaving the extremely obviously armed red and black mercenary in full view, holding his teal and gold phone with the sparkly Lisa-Frank stickers on it. The physical behavior now matches the visual with ease. He is really panting, though, just like average cadet was.

    "Right, okay, so the first thing," Deadpool continues as if there were nothing different, unlocking his phone with a swipe.

Captain America has posed:
A few strides and there's his jogging buddy again! Steve reaches to the pocket on his t-shirt to slip the earbud into it, having realized that he's not ditching this Ordinary-Looking Cadet so easily and partially respecting the effort put forth. There's probably a drill sergeant somewhere who'll appreciate knowing the cadet at least had to work to continue conversation with him.

Another mild glance over at the young man. "Never thought they'd deny coupons," he quips drily. Then comes the fiddling with the cell phone. That's enough to make the super-soldier pay more attention, his face now turned at an angle to indicate obvious interest. Down falls the induced Cadet guise and there's that immediately-recognizable suit, red and black and white where those blank eyes squint at the cell phone.

"Wade," breathes Steve on an exhale and shakes his head even as he looks down the track, towards the approaching corner again. "Not patient enough to wait for next week's signing at the local comic store?" Even as he asks, he increases his speed -- and does it more -- and more -- and man, that's a very fast jog now, almost a sprint.

Deadpool has posed:
    "You are doing this on purrrrpooooose," Wade says with a dismayed wail of frustration. "You're not carrying an armory," he pants, as if that might actually have made any difference. Steve could probably be carrying a copy of Wade and still be far ahead.

    "Okay. Maximum effort. Fuck this leather though right now. It is not breathable," Wade huffs. It's become a sprint, and then some. "Oopsy. Language. Bad Wade, Bad. And I forgot my brand new and entirely inappropriate spanking paddle, too. We'll come up with something, though. Oh, no, my dear chimichangas, I get to see you again." There's the trash bins. Wade diverts across to them, leaving Steve for a moment, to bend over one, though he hasn't hurled quite yet. Which is good: his mask is still down. Ick.

Deadpool has posed:
    And then, from the echo inside one of the trash bins:

    "Come hold my hair?"

Captain America has posed:
Steve, probably in some form of Rogers-pique, executes that self-same graceful turn around to keep up a fairly similar brisk pace facing now towards Deadpool in his fantastic blood-hiding suit.

"Yeah, forgot to strap on another hundred pounds," he calls back as he then grins quickly, the fillip of humor there and gone again. It's probably absurdly unfair for the Captain to maintain that speed and balance taking the curve around the far end of the track. The mention of the paddle's enough to make him purse his lips. Spanking...paddle. He comes to a slow halt at the sight of the merc now bent //into// one of the garbage cans and sighs. Having a conscience can be such a burden.

Rubbing a forearm across his forehead and temple as he walks over, Steve shakes his head on approach. "You don't have hair long enough to hold, Wade. I've seen the pictures in your file. How did you even make it past security? They're supposed to recognize gadgets like yours." He's breathing at an appropriate level for having run twenty-seven laps and his folded arms rise and fall with the motion of his chest as he stands there, idly shifting weight back and forth to keep leg muscles warm.

Deadpool has posed:
    "I," Wade begins, still bent into the trash can, but has not yet lifted his mask. His voice betrays that this is probably not a gag, though, he does sound close to throwing up. He lifts one hand in a 'just a second' motion, but then after a long pause, continues to talk. "/I/ have a mul-ti-pass," Wade explains. "That was a reference to a movie you probably have not seen, but is amazing. It's about a taxi driver that helps a legendary weapon, a girl, save the planet with the power of looooove," Wade says. Perhaps the distraction helps, because he hasn't thrown up yet, just panted and hugged the trash.

    "If you're not going to /help,/ go around again. I'll be here," says the mercenary with a childlike waggle of fingers, hand now going to his mask.

Captain America has posed:
Some nearby cadets -- actual cadets -- walking past outside the track pause and give the Captain curious looks; one of them seems concerned. Steve notices them and simply shakes his head, gesturing for them to move on with a shooing gesture. "I'll add the movie to the list," he then replies, giving the bin-hugging merc a wry eyeing, " - and maybe get one of these Mul-ti-passes, considering how it gets me past some of the top security in the world." Of course he pronounces the name of the card just as Wade did, syllable by syllable. A sigh then. "Right. I'll check on you in one lap."

Steve turns his back half on Deadpool as he reaches to pluck out the earbud again. The playlist is over and he takes the first loping step as he hits the replay button. On comes the leading guitar strums of 'Edge of Seventeen' by Stevie Nicks.

Deadpool has posed:
    The instant Steve turns away, though, the unpredictable Deadpool moves. Sure, he does still feel like vomiting a little, but his healing factor did pick up the slack there, and he'll be fine. Maybe. Things are sort of unpredictable in Deadpool-world. But he moves fast and silent, and pounces. A running leaping tackle, intending to land and piggyback ride.

    This will work, right?

Captain America has posed:
It's about step two of Steve's attempt to continue his workout when he feels the weight of the Merc with the Mouth hit his back full-force. A stumble forwards on his part and while he doesn't faceplant, he's definitely got a thunderous face on now.

"Wade, what the hell?!" spits the Captain as he feels Deadpool wrap limbs around neck and torso for what appears to be a piggyback ride. "Soldier, desist, immediately!!!" He's digging fingers at those arms now, as if to pull Wade from his person like bubblegum from the bottom of a shoe on a hot L.A. day.

Those cadets? The young man, glancing over his shoulder, immediately puts two and two together and assumes trouble. His dash back along the short wall separating the track from the athletics room floor is accompanied by his cohort, a shorter female cadet, and both are apparently intending to offer whatever they can.

"Not the kind of weight I meant," Steve adds, his voice a little gurgled even as he works the first limb away from his neck.

Deadpool has posed:
    "I am accurate weight though, of a poor downed soldier, complete with the mild scent of possible vomit and dried blood," Wade says seductively, overly close to Steve's ear. He of course brings his legs around and forwards, intending to lock at the heel, but does adjust his forearm when Steve beats at it, not intending to actually strangle Steve at all. He would have used a garrote for THAT!

    Maybe the breathyness of Wade's tone is from the near-nausea experience. Or something else. He tries to pet Steve's hair a little with the arm he allowed to be loosened. And then seems to notice the cadets. "Hi!" Wade announces to them, waving that hand happily. "We're training!" he continues, voice bright. "Well, he is. It's perfect. You train, and I talk. It's what we both want. It's like we're really /communicating/."

Captain America has posed:
Steve's dealing with the koala-bear-hold of Wade right now and, as such, isn't able to do much more than fail to avoid the affectionate stroke of his sweated hair and try to disengage those booted heels crisscrossed before his stomach. He does have time for growling, however. "Last chance, Wade, before I pry you off like a limpet."

The cadets stop short of the Captain and his surprise training-weight. The young man appears a bit boggled to hear such an explanation, but the young woman isn't as impressed. "What the hell kind of communicating is this?" She gets an imperative side-glance from her cohort and simply rolls her eyes. "He's heard worse," she replies, probably predicting the unspoken chiding about her language.

Deadpool has posed:
    "What is a Limpet?" Deadpool asks, entirely derailed. "I can't reach my phone to google it. It's on the pouch on my right thigh there. Up further than that. UP I said. It's not in my boot," Deadpool directs, while Steve is trying to dislodge his heels, as if Steve was just misunderstanding Deadpool's direction about his phone. There's also a knife there on that leg, which may be necessary at some point for limpet-removing. Though reasoning with Wade (otherwise known as 'LOOK A SHINY THING') usually overall is the better approach than violence. Violence just encourages him.

    "Are limpets sexy? I'm not really sexy. I'm more like the projectile that was about to be in that trash can; it's not good." A pause. "Seriously though you can jog; like, don't let me stop you."

Captain America has posed:
"A limpet's a marine molluck with a shallow round shell that sticks to rocks using its body. They're hard to get off." This from the young male cadet, who's still apparently not sure how he can assist in this scenario, quick as he was to make himself present.

"Limpets are also not sexy," adds the young woman even as she looks over Deadpool's body to see if she can assist by maybe grabbing at a limb.

Steve's now got Wade's wrist in one hand, held out and away from his chest and now one boot untucked from around his stomach, also held out captured in his other hand. It's some bizarre tableau on display with Deadpool's limbs extended at a diagonal and proof of the Captain's deep well of patience. "I don't want to hurt you, Wade, so what'll it take you to let go?" He takes a few steps away and adds, for the benefit of the cadets, "It's fine, agents, go on. We're just talking." No need to involve anyone else in this.

Deadpool has posed:
    Deadpool looks at the cadets from his bizarre situation, and shows an 'a-ok' signal of finger to thumb. He's fine with what's going on. Except that he'd rather not be partially pulled in this uncomfortable manner. He consoles himself that a heel is still on Cap's belt, and the other hand is still hanging on, though he's probably twisted Steve's shirt around uncomfortably by now while trying to maintain a grip.

    "You're super considerate. That's one of the things so admirable about you. Wolverine just goes to the hurting right away. But actually, that's one of the things I'm trying to talk about. I have, you know, like a wish list. What are they called?" Deadpool pauses. He's still being held strangely and just ... continues to chatter. "You know. A list of things to do before you die? They have a name, those lists. Augh. This is going to bother me."

Captain America has posed:
The cadets slowly back away after exchanging concerned glances again -- but...the Captain said so, and he's not known for lying, so he must be perfectly fine despite the spider-monkey attempt. Off they go, still giving both men their lingering attention even as they depart the immediate area.

How Steve manages to somehow hook a finger into the hem of his rutched-up shirt and pull down on it to try and circumvent the revelation of those fairly-flawless cutlines is a thing of mystery, but there he is, with the rest of the digits still wrapped about the merc's boot. "It's called a 'bucket list', Wade," he grunts as he stumbles back a step and simply pauses, standing there and staring off into the middle distance with a quiet grit to his jaw as he breathes through his nose. "What about the bucket list?" Maybe if he holds still, he can suddenly fling Wade from his body. It might mean sacrificing the shirt, but oh well.

Deadpool has posed:
    It's a brilliant idea, because Wade relaxes too, in sync with Steve's apparent shift of physical signals. Wade stops clinging as hard, though he does try to coax Steve to draw his arm back down and in, and stop trying to dislocate his leg at the hip joint.

    "Privacy at last," Wade says softly, serene. Awkardly? Nah. Super familiar, really.

    "Bucket list. FUCK. Yes. Exactly. My list of buckets," Wade says, diverted onto that new chain of thought. "It features getting to touch the /shield/. You know the one. I mean, I'd like to hold it, but I'll settle for getting bashed with it if you're sensitive."

Captain America has posed:
The Captain gives the merc a hard side-glance and leans his head away from the smooth murmur. Awkward. Wade can have his boot back, but apparently not his wrist. Steve yanks down hard on the shirt with his freed hand to correct its lay even as he replies, "First of all, language. Second of all, this is not how normal folks ask to see the paraphernalia. You're approaching it where you'd get the shield in the face rather than in your hands."

Another grunt as he pulls at that captured wrist with enough strength to test Deadpool's shoulder socket and then a long-suffering sigh as he relents at the tugging. "Wade. It'd be a great favor to me if you'd let go of me now."

Deadpool has posed:
    "Urgh, fifty pounds /and/ shades of grey on my arm there, tiger," Wade grunts as his arm is pulled in that manner. Wade is often good with pain, at least in situations he instigated.

    "Paraphernalia. Wow. Language," Wade echoes, as if he were excited and affronted by the use of the word. Maybe it carries special modern meaning. Or something. Or just gave Wade IDEAS.

    There's a chance that Wade could really swing either way with the request. The unpredictable quality is part of his 'charm'/'extreme-frustration-factor'.

    Wade releases mostly, but slips forwards, to try to pat the palm that was on Steve's neck to his cheek once, gently, just /so/. "Daw, I can't say no to that voice," Wade says, charmed. And lets Steve go fully.

Captain America has posed:
Holding very still, lest he startle the detatching merc (or encourage further grappling and face-patting), Steve waits until he can no longer feel the piggyback in any manner. Then a quick step away and turn about to face Deadpool, fixing his shirt completely as he goes. No more randomly flashing those abs at anyone walking by.

"Thank you," he's sure to say, though by his stern tone he's still fairly irritated with the overall interruption of his workout. Still, nobody was hurt and no milk was spilt -- or stomach contents, so nothing to linger on. "Now, look, about your bucket list." He rubs at his bicep briefly and shrugs. "I really don't take the shield out unless there's action or if I'm on active duty. If you were to catch me in the middle of dealing with some issue, hell -- I might even throw it at you and see if you can use it briefly." Might.

Deadpool has posed:
    If Deadpool was winded or had problems from the whole running situation, he's forgotten, and has long since recovered. Healing factor on steroids of Deadpoolyness. He bounces to stand smartly as Steve addresses him and thanks him. And salutes in return to being thanked.

    "/Use/-use it? Not just as like, a surface for it to bounce off of?" Deadpool asks, critically, as if he's making sure that he's not being teased.

Captain America has posed:
Steve smirks a little. "I think it'd do more denting of you than bouncing from you. No, not just that. To use it as a shield." He lifts a hand briefly before folding his arms again, his stance tall and stoic. "It's situational, so I can't promise you it'll ever happen, but I know you...or at least, I've read your file. You know your way around a fight. I'm not going to ignore the chance at beating an enemy if it means sharing the shield for a minute or two." After all, if Captain America's brought in to deal with an issue, it's likely an //issue//.

A more senior SHIELD agent appears into view, like as not summoned by the two cadets reporting of the grappling on the running track, and pauses once she's certain she's in Steve's field of view. He shakes his head again and then tilts it in a little jerk of silent dismissal. Shoo, curious flies, shoo.

Deadpool has posed:
    "Wait, you said you don't take it out. I do think you should take it out." Deadpool lets the innuendo sit there uncomfortably for a long moment, but relents since it's STEVE. It's like torturing a puppy! "I mean, how do you practice? Do you have a giant plastic Frisbee that's the same weight and shape? Because if you do, I really, really want to see that. Is it like, sort of transparent and yellow like a Nerf? I am monstrously good at Frisbee." Deadpool rocks on his heels.

    "I mean, not as good as I am at shooting a ---a ---- a totally deserving and entirely evil person in complete self defense and not entirely for money or other profit." There's a grin in the mask so large it can be seen through it. Few can grin like the mouthy merc.

    I'm /especially/ good with profit involved. Teehee.

    Wait. "A /minute/? Hot shhhh--sh---fuck. Sorry. I almost said shit. Oh. I'm not good at censoring," Deadpool says. He tried! Lost cause. He looks over at the onlookers. And then pokes at his image inducer.

    "I fixed it." A duplicate of Steve. That's fine. Not entirely worse than before.

Captain America has posed:
Patiently, Steve stands there and waits. He looks back at those surprisingly-versatile white eyesockets with a severely polite expression, as if he's got something to say back but simply won't stoop to do as such. However, the sudden shift into a near-perfect doppelganger of himself is enough to garner a response.

Those wheat-gold brows nearly disappear into his hairline. Then, they stoop to gather. Now frowning up a storm, he quickly glances over...well, himself, and then asks, "You do know it's illegal to be impersonating me like that, right?"

Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, something's tickling. Something's germinating. It's one of those instances where it will occur to him later and when it does, well...things'll get interesting.

Deadpool has posed:
    "I did not know," Wade says, perky. The voice does not match at all, though there's also no effort put into it. If Wade is able to actually pretend to be Steve, he's not trying at all, obviously. "But if you don't want me to do something, you may want to rethink your strategy." And then there's a bit of effort, as Wade gives Steve a stern disapproving look in return. Such stern blue eyes!

    "Sometimes it's more important to do what is RIGHT than what is absolutely legal," Steve-doppelganger says.

Captain America has posed:
There's a faint little flicker of amusement through the Captain's eyes, like lightning on the far horizon, but then he's back to his stern self once more.

"Then I suppose you accept the consequences of your actions as well?" he asks, lifting a finger from where he rests his hands on one of his biceps. The angle of the point? Towards one of the myriad cameras fielding a live feed directly into SHIELD intel. "Because I dunno if they're going to appreciate it. I'd appreciate it if you don't do it." Hey, maybe the path of manners will work yet again.

Deadpool has posed:
    "Now, hold up a second," Deadpool says, quickly, probably stalling. He pats down his leg to get the phone out again. "First things's first," Deadpool announces. And flips around to get a selfie of them. Including smile and peace sign.

    Once that is done, he clarifies, "In no way am I pretending to be you. If anyone asks I will say exactly who I am. I did before, too. My multipass is for ME, not you. You have to get your OWN." There's a playful measure to it.

    The people onlooking are probably MORE concerned now. "I was going for privacy. People respect one Steve, imagine two? But fineeee. Who would you prefer? Does Iron Man often visit here?" Wade asks brightly, entirely off into left field as always. But not resistant of changing his appearance.

Captain America has posed:
That'll be one hell of a selfie: which Steve is which? The one promoting the charming, public face of peace and goodwill or the one giving the other Steve a look of frozen disgruntled surprise? Conundrum for Snapchat and the rest of the online community.

"If there's anyone I wouldn't recommend impersonating, it's Stark. Destroying your gadget will be the least of your worries if his robots get wind of it." The Captain shifts his weight again against muscles going cool after the jogging. "I'd rather you impersonated yourself, Wade, suit and all. We prefer transparency here," he adds with an especially ironic note to the statement. A beat. "If I ever change my mind, I'll be sure to pass on word."

Deadpool has posed:
    "Yeah, well, I don't really /like/ myself," Deadpool says flippantly, but with a sudden gut-wrenching reality check of honesty. It's a joke but it really is not funny. He doesn't notice or even recognize it, yet, though. "What about dead people? Pretty sure they don't mind. I don't usually ask them first because they argue about not wanting to be dead if you do, but that seems like it'd be a great compromise."

    A tap of the inducer goes back to Deadpool, and then changes to a rather handsome young Elvis. "Hey," Elvis says, as his crazy mind tracks to the next thing, "Where's the locker room? I'm sweat-tastic in this after that 'jog'."

Captain America has posed:
Steve's got his mouth open to reply to that next query in regards to those deceased -- there's got to be some legislature he remembers from //somewhere// about identify theft -- but then there's someone standing before him that he missed during his time in the ice. A hard blink and then a squint.

"That's..." One can almost see the gears whirring behind those sharp blue eyes. "Elvis Presley? The singer?" The Captain then finally cracks his first true smile since this fiasco started, though it's small and somewhat crooked, almost hesitant. "That's not bad." The smile then melts into something more distantly polite again. "The showers are that way," and he thumbs towards them. The nearest set of doors to the track's entrance on this half of the area is the men's locker room. "Use 'em if you want to." He's not going to stop the man from consequences, after all.

Deadpool has posed:
    "I can't do his voice though. My pitch isn't right for him," Wade laments, as if this truly were a tragedy. But at the very least, he is not directly copying another agent or making it unclear who he is. That isn't really the objective, in the end, with the use of the object. The use of it is aimed to blend in, or to play.

    "Great! Lead on," Wade invites hopefully. And then pauses. Taps his inducer to 'off'. And then looks expectant. He did what Steve wanted. So now Steve reciprocates.

Captain America has posed:
"Ah...y'see," Steve mutters, unfolding his arms to scratch at drying sweat on the back of his neck. "I've got another few laps to go yet -- " The alarm on his phone goes off. He pauses to rotate it on the arm-band and then burr a sigh in the back of his throat in quiet frustration. Time's up for today's chance to exercise and he silences the alarm. Oh well. There's always late-night jogging around the neighborhood around the mansion.

"Never mind. Right. Shower." As Steve makes to leave the jogging track, he snags a small white towel hung over the wall separating it from the walkway. He mops at his face and the back of his neck while he walks over to the men's locker room door. "Mind the step when you walk into the stalls. It's awkward when the cadets bloody their noses on the walls."

Deadpool has posed:
    "It's almost like you're trying to get away from me," Wade says, stung. But not really. He's used to it. "I know I'm extremely exhausting. I mean that in ALL of the ways." Hands rest smartly at hip level, and he adds a sexual gesture for good measure. The gesture becomes a gun. Pew pew.

    It may have sounded for a moment like Wade was going to actually leave. There was a chance of it. But he's unpredictable: and he decides to trot along with Steve, hands now clasped together behind him. "I won't hold your hand. Don't worry. Even if it would keep me safe from the step. I'll manage. ....Or bleed." Cheerfully, Deadpool moves ahead, to partially lead the way to the locker room.

Deadpool has posed:
(( And for your theme-song pleasure, the following is suggested:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fegs-XVKgnM

))