10220/Spiritual, not Stabby

Spiritual, not Stabby
Date of Scene:	27 November 2019
Location:	Kitchen - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	In the Xavier's kitchen, Deadpool talks about how to name weapons and sticks and dicks and whatever with Sharon. Err, Shannon.
Cast of Characters:	Deadpool, Nightingale

---

Deadpool has posed:
"If I were a turkey baste-r, where would I be... probably inside a turkey," Deadpool chatters to himself. "Or inside something else. Often the interiors are the best part. I bet they'd appreciate an expert baste-r helping on Thanksgiving. Or they will work off the meal chasing me."

He isn't in any location that would actually have either a turkey baster OR a turkey: the mercenary is seated at the table, and has unearthed a rather impressive amount of leftovers from the back of the fridge to array them out in front of him. Each lid is being pried off, the contents examined for firmness, color, and growth of mold, with a set of spoons he must have brought with him.

There are some fun spoons there. Some metal, some plastic, some rusted. There's a spork in there. Another one with Elsa from Frozen on the handle. It's just a lot of spoons, and each one gets a leftover.

There's no attempt to disguise himself, either. Deadpool is just /there/. Red and black leathers, and some mottled red wet spots of bullet wounds and blood on the side of his head, and right shoulder.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon raises her eyebrows, shuffling to a dead stop in the doorway and peering over at the odd sight. When it came to Wade, she knew better than to expect or even hope for anything resembling 'normal'. It was better just to take things as they were, roll with the punches, and enjoy the zaniness of the moment.

She herself is in her favorite PJ's, consisting of a baggy gray tank top, red tartan sweatpants, and her big, fluffy Old English Sheepdog slippers. Only recently, there has been a new addition to her look--a thin lock of hair on the left side of her face has been dyed glacier blue, just a few shades darker than her eyes, braided, and bedecked with three silver beads.

A soft chuckle escapes her as she leans in the doorway, arms crossed, and wings tucked in loosely behind her. "Hello there, Wade." She pushes away from the doorway and ventures a little farther into the kitchen, peering curiously at the goings-on. "Science experiment there?"

Deadpool has posed:
"I lack a hypothesis for it to be a science experiment," Wade says in dismay, twirling the Elsa spoon, and holding it up like a trophy. He suddenly drops it, and loses his mind.

"Sheeeeeeepiedogs!" Wade announces, thrilled. He leaps away from the table, lunging out in front of her with his uncomfortably acrobatic speed. "I looooove them," gushes Wade, dropping to one knee in front of her as if he were going to propose, except that his head is angled down to take in her slippers. "Daw. What are their names?"

Obviously they have names. Who doesn't name their slippers?!%

Nightingale has posed:
     "Holy hell, how do you move that fast?" Shannon asks, her tone caught in that odd limbo between laughter and dead seriousness. Of all the things for Wade to take note of, it would be her slippers. Barely suppressing a smile, she wiggles her left foot ever so slightly, just to make that floppy little pink tongue flap about as if giving the Merc With A Mouth (TM) a doggo greeting.

     "You know," she muses. "I never really considered that. I /could/ name one of them Charity like my dog back home, but that would leave the other with no name at all. And that just wouldn't be right!"

     This was a normal type of conversation, right? Right!

Deadpool has posed:
"I do not teleport, I am not Kurt, so mine is just sheer excitement and willpower based. My powers are unrelated to movement, beyond that when I lack legs, I move very slowly," Wade chatters at Shannon.

"Charity? I think the other one should be either the opposite, or very much in theme. How about Selfishness?"

"I," Wade begins, "am the shit at naming." He reaches back and pulls both katana from his back, in a swift, sharp motion, and spins them both in a flip-swish of silent metal cutting the air.

"I have Bea," he says, showing one of them, "Who is very dedicated to her work, and always does extremely well in every situatuation: YOU know the type. Perfectionist and we're annoyed."

"And second," The other katana, "Arthur, who is grumpy-wumpy."

Nightingale has posed:
     Not many teens would get it about the names Deadpool chose for his katanas. Though Shannon does have the good sense to step back out of range of the wildly twirling blades, she actually laughs, clapping in appreciation. "I love it! Nobody, but /nobody/ even remembers the Golden Girls these days! Well, okay, maybe it's reruns now, but still, that's classic stuff!"

     Tilting her head, she peers a bit more closely at each blade as it is presented, offering a nod and a smile of appreciation to each. "Frankly, I don't think I'd like to see /either/ of them annoyed. So... how do you even begin to choose a name for a weapon?" Wait, was she going somewhere with this? Maaaaaybe. Maybe not.

Deadpool has posed:
"It is the most classic and best stuff. Never to be rebooted, or I will murder the rebooters," Deadpool says happily. So happily.

Deadpool straightens as she begins to ask real questions about weapons. "Well. Depends on the weapon. If it has a sharp edge, I do not suggest sleeping with it unless you are me," Deadpool clarifies. "And by that I mean with it next to you under the covers, I do not mean fucking your bladed weapon. We are being /classy/, and talking about a romantic kinship and bonding. Making love to your weapon is spiritual, not stabby."

Deadpool looks at his blades, and sheathes Arthur, keeping Bea out, to cuddle her a little his his arms and against his cheek. It's horribly dangerous looking.

"Anyway. You get in tune with her. Or him. And then the name comes and you know it's right." With that, Bea is put away, and he claps his hands together. "What are we naming? Is it a grenade? Naming one-use weapons is a lot shittier, I'd just do the ones you want to keep for a few days."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon cracks a bit of a smile and she shifts away. "Be right back." She takes off at a bit of a jog for the women's dorms, and isn't gone too terribly long. On her way back, there is a light tapping accompanying each step, a bit more measured than before, like the heartbeat of some strange creature from outer space.

     But no, it's not an alien being. It's just the winged teen once again--only this time, she has a 5' long yew wood bo staff in her right hand. It's largely unadorned, smooth but not glossy, and near one end it bears its only mark--a winged eighth note that's been burned into the wood.

     "Okay, so maybe this isn't as fancy as your katanas. But it's mine. And with any luck, I should be able to ask either Chris or possibly Remy to help me train to use it properly."

Deadpool has posed:
"For the record, I will try to keep it to one F-bomb, because I can sense your rating is more a PG-13, and that you may or may not be an R rating tonight, so I'll do what I can to self-bleep."

Shannon starts to run off, and Wade warbles, "Waaaait, I would have come with you...." but alas, due to scene constraints of paragraphs, Wade was unable to follow. But he's there when she reappears with her stick.

"Neat! Come come," Wade says, hooking one hand out to try to snare the tip of the bo -- to drag her by the bo outside through the kitchen door towards the back yard!

"TO THE YARD. Because I will get yelled at if we swing things like that inside. I've been told to keep my dick in my pants."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Are you nuts? It's freezing out there, and I'm just in my PJ's!" Shannon's quick, but not quite quick enough to keep Wade from snagging the other end of her bo staff. And, as much as she's been working on her strength, it's difficult to prevent being dragged out to the backyard. "Whoah, wait, what the fuckery?! What does my staff have to do with your... NEVER MIND..." She tries--and fails--to suppress a laugh, turning flame red clear to the tips of her ears.

Deadpool has posed:
"Then you better keep moving around!" Deadpool says cheerfully. "Come here. Give me your wooden dick for a minute," he encourages, stepping towards her in the freezing yard. It's not wet at least, but it is cold. "Actually," Wade changes his mind. He does that. "Keep it. Hold it vertical. And then turn side to side, pat my palms."

Wade steps back, and then holds one hand up and to the left, a clear target, for her to angle her staff to pat. Should she be agreeable, he'll do a series of those with his hands, giving her clear targets, in a slow pattern.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Good god, Wade, you and... yeeah, moving right along!" Shannon's shivering, gooseflesh appearing in short order all up and down her arms, but she does manage a credible back stance, taking a two-handed vertical grip on her staff. The motion felt a little strange, but she takes aim at his palms, with a rather satisfying /thwack-thwack/ as the end of her staff finds its mark. The third target is met successfully, but she gets a little overconfident and just barely misses the fourth. "FUCK."

Deadpool has posed:
"Not right now, we're busy and you are under-age," singsongs Deadpool, but he's smiley, under the mask. "So number four is a miss, whatever. Next one, five!" Wade is encouraging and having a good time now, he's started to rotate to one side, and continues to give her targets with his palms. He's fearless about it, and adjusts smoothly: she won't hurt him.

"Okay, do those three in order, then swing the bottom up." He turns his palm out and down, indicating that she flip the staff around and come upwards at him with it. "Boop, boop, boop, bip." Sound effects help.

"I need a lightsabre. That's something I'm missing in life."

Nightingale has posed:
     The cheek of him! Wait, strike that. Bad thought. Still, that was one thing Shannon was not going to let slide all that easily. A smile of pure mischief plays upon her lips, and there is that evil little gleam in her eyes that perhaps only immediate kin have witnessed during the annual celebration of April Fool's Day.

     Each touch of staff to glove was accompanied by the appropriate sound effect, as per the trend set by Wade. "Boop.. boop... boop..." She flips the staff upwards, a little awkwardly but at least manages to strike his palm. "Bip!" That was it, right?

     But the next move comes as something of a surprise as she shifts her grip on the staff and lunges in low, aiming to hook the end behind his ankle in a bid to knock him off his feet.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade agrees with the boopage. "Excellent boops. More 'ooooo' though. Boooooop. Exactly," encourages her current super weird 'coach'. He continues to show his palms, though he's gotten a bit distracted.

Still, a swing of her staff downwards got his attention. The novice isn't going to be able to catch him there, but he's pleased. "Yay, good to change it up! Be tricksy!" Wade encourages with a dance back, tipping a toe under the end of the stick and lashing his foot in a sudden high kick to throw the tip upwards with hurling, weird motion.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm not a teacher. You really should use one of those others for like, form. I can teach you funny tricks though. My balls are freezing."

All of that, in a flurry, and then Wade is trying to yank on the bo again, to try to drag her back inside. "But if everyone is a shii---err, poop-head, you can make a thingy and practice doing the palm-targets. Like a boxing dummy or an acquaintance you are annoyed with---" Wade can't focus.

Nightingale has posed:
     "Hey, you're probably better at teaching this stuff than you think, so don't go knocking it." Unfortunately, it is Shannon who is caught off-guard, the tip of her staff flipped neatly up and out of the way. But rather than annoyance, the maneuver is met with a grin; it wasn't as if she was really expecting to succeed in knocking Wade off his feet on the first try, anyways. "Look, I'm just really happy you took the time to even show me this much. Thank you."

     Though the method of getting back inside was a little less than dignified--hey, being dragged around by one's bo is a little awkward, let's face it!--it works well enough as intended, with Wade and Shannon soon back indoors where it's much warmer.

     "Now, what acquaintance would I be annoyed with? Hmm? I don't see anyone fitting that description here."

Deadpool has posed:
"I am really awesome, that is entirely true, and super kind of you, Sharon," Deadpool admits, happy. He did forget her name, but he got close. "I suspect you aren't Sharon, but can I call you Sharon? Or maybe that's your bo's name!" Wade snaps his fingers. "Not that I get to pick. That's a thing from your soul." He smiles at her, but shuts the door behind them. He prances back to the kitchen table and begins to pick up his spoon collection, throwing them into a plastic bag.

"I think you'll find some acquaintances. Maybe ones that are friends of humanity. They're always around. Lousy friends." Wade shakes his head. "I need some bunny slippers." He needs them /now/. "I have some at home. Byebye, Sharon!"

And just like that, Wade has run off through the mansion, jangling his baggie of spoons. He does have enough spoons for it.

Nightingale has posed:
     "It's /Shannon/!" she calls out, laughing and shaking her head. Oi. Wade was a piece of work for sure--and he sure wasn't kidding about the Friends of Humanity. That made her seethe a little. She'd already seen the direct effects of their bigotry a few times already, twice visited upon the same soul in the space of weeks.

     But the time to fume about that would come later. Right now, she could only smile. It hadn't been such a bad way to end the night, and who knows--perhaps she had found a name for her staff after all!

Deadpool has posed:
"YAY for Sharon the STICK!" Wade calls back over his shoulder. So helpfully helping. Best teacher /ever/.

/Ever/.