7566/NOBODY EXPECTS A MIDAIR SNATCH AND GRAB

NOBODY EXPECTS A MIDAIR SNATCH AND GRAB
Date of Scene:	21 May 2019
Location:	Deadhut, Castlefall
Synopsis:	Spidey gets kidnapped by Deadpool. It's sexy. Except for the vomit.
Cast of Characters:	Deadpool, Spider-Man

---

Deadpool has posed:
Nobody expects a midair snatch and grab (unless they read log titles: then they honestly might have seen this shit coming).

Because poor Spider-Man was exhausted, distracted probably, or something else, and even his spider-tingle-ees didn't save him. Because Reasons.

Exhibit A, Reason: Deadpool.

"Cowabunga!" Deadpool announces as he uses his teleporter. It didn't go where he expected. He expected to appear in front of Spider-Man, not like, on top of him. Deadpool screams a little and grabs at the other hero, poking at his teleporter with his other hand.

The thing is, he ended up at home sweet Deadhut. Collapsed in a pile of disarray and empty Funyon bags. A long-forgotten Roomba under the pile of various items beeps in hope of being discovered and rescued. "Well. That didn't go as planned," reports Deadpool from on top of his new captive/friend/idon'tevenknow.

"/Huh./"

Spider-Man has posed:
Distractedly exhausted or some combination of those two words prevails in the battle of spider-tingles. It's like Deadpool ASMR, only Spidey winds up entangled with the Mercenary and wisked away to god only knows where in a heap up old snack bags and unfortunately captive rombas trying their dangest to be free of so much clutter.

Pete grunts from beneath Deadpool and pushes upwards to free himself from a faceful of dirty carpet, garbage, and something sticky that he's not entirely sure he wants to know the origins. "This better be a bad dream." He shakes his shoulders to dislodge Pool off him and rolls forward into a crouch facing the Merenary with his hands down between his feet ready to spring into an attack.

Usually this wouldn't warrent defense, but he just got hit with a prius so he's not entirely sure what to expect. "A really weird dream, where in the hell are we?"

Deadpool has posed:
Deadpool had to look around a little bit. "Home," Deadpool identifies, as if not actually all that surprised anymore. Surprise never really lasts long with the mercenary. He's pretty easy to throw out of the way: Spidey's strong, and Deadpool wasn't velcroed on. He rolls off and then to his feet, and wanders towards the kitchen.

"Want a hot pocket or something?" asks the mercenary, pulling open the freezer section of the refridgerator, which then conceals his upper body, leaving just the sounds of him rooting around in the icebox.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey glances at the beeping romba light beneath a mound of trash and reaches down to clear a path of escape for the estwhile captive creature, "There ya go lil buddy." Even dusting him off as he shifts a little to look at his surroundings, "You've got your work cut out for you, definitely don't envy that job." Said while standing from his crouch with some of the apprehension sliding away as he does.

In a voice loud enough to carry after Wade in the kitchen and moving so as to get closer with his head cocked to one side, "Okay, home. Why? You know I just got hit with an electric car right?" He's not sure where home is or where his home is in relations to home, but he points in a direction like that way is definitely the one in which home for him can be found.

"What kind?" Of hotpocket.

Deadpool has posed:
"Well now you're in Starling, in the personal abode of the Deadliest of Pools," Wade says. He pulls the box of hotpockets out, flips it over. "Ass lava, sometimes known as 'Meatballs & Mozzarella with Garlic Buttery Seasoned Crust'," Wade reads, and shakes the box a few times (shhhka shhka). "Although it occurs to me you'd have trouble because of the mask, but I do own a straw and a blender," Wade says, always the troubleshooter. He opens the box and looks in it, clearly continuing with the plan.

"Although a blindfold for me would also solve that. Or you can eat it in the bathroom. I've got lots of solutions. I'm not in the mood to stab my eyes right now, though."

Spider-Man has posed:
"Meatballs and mozzarella." Spidey repeats with a thoughtful frown beneath his mask, hoping from one foot to the other avoiding various discarded object which he isn't entirely certain about. Puddles, pools, sticky spots... Canadian sodas. Things nobody should ever have to think on for too long. One foot plants on the wall and he walks around the corner horizontally, sitting there on his heels just inside the kitchen with his head pointed forward towards Deadpool.

"I can just lift the mask, but you're skipping the most important question... Why are we in Starling? I don't have a visa and this might very well be the furthest from home I've ever been." Motioning around with his fingers pointed down, relative to himself anyways, in a circular pattern.

"Where you following me the whole time?"

Deadpool has posed:
"No, not very long. I was in a sniper spot a while, which doesn't qualify AT ALL as following. Following requires moving after the target. You guys sat and didn't do much for a long time. And I got hungry. Anyway, I wanted to surprise you. Something went wrong. And I was still hungry, so now there's hot pockets," Wade explains, as if that were all a sequence of logic. He also tries to tilt his head to look at Peter at the same angle, which means he stands very oddly.

He gives up on it after a minute and strips out two hot-pockets, putting them on a plate and inserting into the microwave. Boop boop... boop.

Wade then stands in front of it, hands on his hips. The kitchen floor, at least, is primarily clear of rubbish.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey lays one hand on the floor and pushes off the wall into a forward bend onto his feet because he's a humblebrag show off. From there it's a couple steps to stand infront of the microwave, arms crossed over his thin chest atop the black spiders symbol there, "I guess that makes sense." It absolutey does not, but trying to peice it together is only making the pre-existing headache a little worse. So he opts out of logic with Deadpool in favor of just agreeing.

Everyone wins.

"Who were you sniping?" Turning to face Wade, eyes widening on his mask when that detail comes pointedly to mind.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade heaves a sigh, turning his head to stare into the goodness of the microwave, as if being asked a very personal question. "As it turned out, /no one/. My target did not show up. So it was just a long period of sit-on-ass," Wade laments. And then pauses, looking directly to Spider-man.

"Very bad man. So bad. Deserving. You know what? Doesn't matter, nobody got shot." Wade pats his hands on his belt a little bit, tapping the fingers awkwardly on the ammunition arrayed there.

"Fortunately for me, Captain America paid me /damn well/ for my job before that, so this one can take a while. There's plenty of tacos and hot pockets on that money."

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey lifts his chin and looks down his masked nose at Deadpool as if doing so might gleen some otherwise hidden kernal of truth or insight. Likely neither of which would settle the Wallcrawlers mind anyways, so it's just as well that he finds only Deadpool staring at a microwave. His arms remaine crossed, but his gaze shifts to the green numbers on the microwaves display. "I guess."

One of his hands peels away to scratch awkwardly at the underside of his jaw, just beneath his ear. "Captain America paid you to assassinate someone?" That's surprising, he even sounds it. "Seems a little outside his wheelhouse, doesn't it? Always heard he was a goodie goodie... goes to show you never really know anybody."

Deadpool has posed:
"No, he paid me not to," Wade answers. "I think if he were going to do it, he'd really have to do it himself. He doesn't shove the buck along. Good man. I like him. His hugs are okay," Wade chatters. The microwave beeps, and Wade opens the door, pokes the food to test it to see if it's done.

"Yay, ow," Wade says, drawing the plate out, and then scoots one of the hot pockets onto a second plate. It definitely doesn't match the first one; it's a plastic Pocohontas plate, with cheerful colors of the wind along the chipped edge.

"I have beer and some other things, too. You don't feel like a beer kind of guy to me. I'm guessing..." Wade considers. "Something painfully caffinated, like a Monster?"

Spider-Man has posed:
"So he paid you not to kill a guy, but you were up there ready to snipe him anyways?" Spidey shouldn't be surprised by that, he knows he shouldn't, because that is a very Deadpool thing to hear. Beeep, his gaze falls away from Wade to the microwave and he follows the other costumed hero in his journey to transfer hotpocket to Hot-lady plate, accepting it in both hands.

"Who is so important that Captain America would rather pay you not to kill or kill himself?" Murmuring, again poking the bear and completely unsure whether he wants to know the answer to a question like that. "Oh, just a soda, I mean I'll take a monster if you have one, but a soda is fine too. Beer gives me gas." Over sharing.

"...troenteritis..." Smooth save.

Deadpool has posed:
"Oh-my-fucking-god, no. Different guy entirely. I knew I shouldn't just jump into the middle of a story," Wade says, like he's talking to himself. He probably is. "Last time I was paid was Captain America. Since he paid me WELL, I don't have to rush this job. Okay? Cool. Same page. Clean cup, move down," Wade chatterboxes with a sense of frustration.

"What guy? Oh. Sentinel guy. Why?" Wade fishes out some plastic cups from the cabinet, looks inside them, and moves to the sink. To, you know, rinse whatever that was out of them. He checks them again, and then fills them from a rather epic sized mountain dew bottle. He plunks down the cup by Spider-Man, as if he were some kind of good host, and not a kidnapper.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey rolls up his mask to just at the bridge of his nose in the front and uncartons the hotpocket after sitting at a table... after cleaning anything what might stick to his already dirty costume from the seat at the table... "Gotcha, same page." He nods once and blows on the lava-bar for a solid thirty count before testing the volcanic contents with a demure bite.

Thankfully mountain dew arrives and he cools his mouth with a big gulp. Watching Deadpool the whole time. "I don't now, figured it was something to talk about. You don't strike me as a Game of Thrones or Star Wars fan, except maybe as a popculture reference which you'd indifferently throw out to appease whoever may or may not be listening." There's always someone listening, though, right? "And I'm curious about how you know Captain America. Kind of a big name drop, even Kanye doesn't talk smack about Cap."

Deadpool has posed:
Wade trots after Spider-Man, but doesn't come all the way to the table. He puts out an arm and shoves everything off the end of the kitchen counter onto the floor. That might be how THAT happens. He then hops up backwards to sit on the counter edge, putting his plate against his thighs, and swings his feet a little until hooking one ankle behind the other.

"Well, I was at the SHIELD base. I don't recall why. Maybe weapons testing. Or sometimes they hire me. Doesn't matter. So I saw him. And we just struck up a great friendship then and there. He was jogging, and I helped. Now, it's like... heroes need a /confidant/, someone they can talk to about their hero-shit. I think I work because nobody much believes anything I say. Sort of sucks for me when you think about it. But also I can get the logic of that. Would you like me to talk about Game of Thrones? I can. I get very angry about that Geoffery mother fucker, though. However you spell that. Star Wars? I got a lightsaber. It's pretty badass."

"Warning, finish chewing and swallowing," Wade says. He patiently waits.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spider eyes narrow at the mention of lightsabers, but it's entirely possible it is in response to Wade being Cap's confident, "So who do you talk to?" There's been no second bite yet, only intermittant cooling breath upon the scoulding molten lava contained within that seasoned crust. "I usually just talk to myself about that stuff. Not that I'm really a hero like Cap, he's off doing the big leagues right?" He shrugs and finally braves another bite.

Indeed he does chew AND swallow before continuing. "I want to see the lightsaber." Off handedly, not entirely sure that's a true statement given how haphazzardly items were shoved from the counter to make way for Deadpool's ass. "Unless it's one of those movie replica." This is the oddest kidnapping Spidey has ever been part of. Hands down.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade pulls his mask off without any real additional warning. That one warning was enough. He pulls it off and slings it towards the wall. It does find a hook there, and hang limply, like a black and red limp sack.

Wade is hard to look at, even for those that imagine they'd be sympathetic or caring or not act weird about it. The destruction of his features, the rippling ridges of exposed cancerous furrows and mounds of tumors is terrible. Hairless, eerie, like a horror movie villain. The appearance lacks artistry, it's just unrelentingly painful.

"I know I look like a hot-pocket /after/ it's been through the ass-lava stage. Sorry about that. You were warned, and I did let you get some bites. You are welcome."

Humming a little, Wade eats his hot pocket and slurps his soda. And swings his feet a little bit.

"You are /sure/ you want to see my lightsaber?" Deadpool asks, with some very clear innuendo. "It isn't prettier than the rest of me."

Spider-Man has posed:
"Sweet fucking god." Peter is not a curser. The words sound gross coming out of his mouth like Michael Cera not stuttering awkwardly or Seth Rogan without his god damned annoying laugh. It's wrong, uncharacteristic, and the only way to fully express the horror Peter feels when he sees the ghastly apparition masquerading as a human being beneath tht red and black mask.

So many things spring to mind. So many horrible adjectives that beg to be spoken if he were less polite: You look like Batman's parents, now. "What the... how do... do you ever wake up and see yourself, then immediately wonder if death is better? Jesus Christ, do you crave human flesh? Are you a god damned zombie?"

Peter Parker pushes his plate away with the tips of his fingers. "You've ruined hotpockets.. You've ruined Tom Savini horror movie makeup... I don't even believe in god anymore."

Deadpool has posed:
"Wow, do you live in my head?" Wade wonders, with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, death might be better. I think I gross the grim reaper out, though, so we just keep on fighting the good fight." Wade grins. It's awful, of course: his teeth are white and decent, but the skin is very much awful.

"It's cancer of the cancer. I have it. All of the cancers. Not that you asked. You asked if I crave human flesh. No more than the usual. Zombie? Pretty good halloween costume for me, is all. No effort required."

"And eat the goddamn hot pocket I made for you," Wade says, in his best horror movie kidnapper voice.

But he breaks, with a quick sharp little laugh. "I'm kidding, I don't give a shit." He chews his own hot pocket, almost done with it now. "I mean, I will later. This IS a hot pocket, after all."

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey keeps staring, "I want to look away, but I can't." He says quietly, horrified voice that's distantly like sitting in the cold atlantic while Kate Winslett hogs a god damned full oak door for her precious, dress wearing, survival. "I want to say something uplifting like, you have such a wonderful personality and it shines through despite your appearance as a new aged shock horror movie monster, but it's a lie... you could literally be handing out sack lunches to starving ethiopians and deep down I'd know you look like a zombies right testicle."

Somewhere in the afterlife Uncle Ben is shaking his head very sadly at what his nephew has become.

"Okay... Okay I think... god no, it doesn't get any better. I keep looking and hoping that it settles down inside me, but you are an abomination and I'm like... twenty percent certain there should be a mob outside your door with pitchforks... or fire. Or at least chemotherpy loaded super soakers that can burn the evil out of you."

His fingers dip into the mountain dew so he can fling the soda drips in Deadpool's direction, "The power of Christ compels you... The power of Christ compels you."

Deadpool has posed:
"Wow you're a downer. I'm gonna put you back in the street where I found you. That'll teach me to bring a pet home with me," Wade says in lament, sliding down off the counter.

"Unless you want to make out. We can also do that. But only if you promise not to throw up in my mouth. That's not a kink I'm into," Wade comments. His mood swings are abrupt, and often backlash emotion. He's taking all of the terrible commentary in really good stride, though. Wade is a lot of things, but often extremely realistic, and depressingly self-aware.

"As it turns out, you can't burn it off. Greater men have tried. Perhaps a true love's kiss, but we're still pending on that one. If you want to audition, we'll tkae it under advisement. I appreciate disemboweling honesty."

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey, mask still half rolled up to just above the tip of his nose, continues to stare slack jaw for several quiet minutes. If he makes little sounds that were meant to be words, that's just part of the coping process, but eventually he's able to tear his eyes away in favor of looking intently at the hotpocket on the plate he previously pushed away.

"That's horrible." Understatement, "I mean that you had that happen to you... do you get a handicap sticker? Can you at least park near the front of a store?" Probably not, right? There's no justice in this world.

"Okay, I'm done." Hands up, waving them steadily while shaking his head. "... so you're Canadian.. That's cool."

Deadpool has posed:
Deadpool heaves a HUGE sigh of dismay, wolfs his hot pocket, and then WITH GREAT ANNOYANCE IN EVERY STEP, walks over to where his mask is, and pulls it back on. "Face is back on. Satisfied?" Deadpool approaches Spider-Man, rather directly, to stop in front of him, hands on hips.

"Some things can never be unseen," Wade whispers loudly, in creepy, horror movie fashion, like you'd expect from a ghost just behind you in a mirror reflection. "I mean, if you think my face is bad, you should see my dick."

Mental images also can't be unseen. Enjoy that.

"Yep, Canadian. The extreme politeness up here helps with the cancer thing. People still vomit, though. I have a lot of brown shoes, just in case."

Spider-Man has posed:
Pete watches the whole trip so that that face face is kept in front of him where it can't slip out of view, become sentinent, and kill them after a prolonged chase through an isolated house in Canada. When the mask slips back in place, Spidey heaves a sigh of his own and bodily looks to relax. Out of sight, out of- "Oh sweet jesus." He had to mention Lil Poolio.

One red and blue hand lays against his stomach, the other pointed out towars Wade waving back and forth. "No puedo manejar más. Tu victoria está completa. Me siento mal en mi alma." His web designed masked forehead lays against the table, actively gagging. "I need mouth wash."

Deadpool has posed:
Deadpool comes around behind Spider-Man. Because of course he does. He gently strokes poor Spider-Man's back with a gloved hand, soothingly. It's actually a quality stroke, considering. Deadpool HAS had a metric tone of practice.

At stroking things.

Are you picturing a dick AGAIN?

Sorry not sorry.

"Do you want me to hold your hair, kiddo?" asks the mercenary gently. "Mejor que tu alma no vomite en mis zapatos."

Spider-Man has posed:
Pete gagoughs, that's a gag cough, and dry heaves a little. Whether through continuation of a joke or the mental imagery has gotten the better of his spider-like abdominal fortitude. One hand comes up from the table to wave a little over his shoulder in a sort of I'm fine gesture that obviously false since he heaves again.

"It smells like someone already vomited down here..." Pete lifts the shoulder upon which Pool is stroking and reaches up to return his mask over his face. "Now the inside of my mask smells like gag spit and hotpocket.. and I'm imagining what your face smells like, which is stuck in my mental nostrils."

Deadpool has posed:
"That's just hot dog water," answers the mercenary, as if that made more sense than vomit. It does have a sort of cloying, acidic scent to it, and a complete lack of freshness. Probably like the inside of a hero mask full of nervous sweat and other things.

"Do you need a shower? We can also do that," Deadpool says, still in the same position, except he now leans to squeeze and rub shoulders. The crazy weirdo isn't doing anything that would set off a spider sense of danger: it's creepy, but not /dangerous/. Except to sanity. And that's not really something that's easy to sense.

Okay, yes it is: Deadpool sends up all the flags of crazy. "I have a pink loofa."

Spider-Man has posed:
The gagoughing passes and Spidey just lays there with his cheek on his folded arms, "You're a really weird guy." The voice is muffled, "A really weird, incredibly ugly guy. I am both surprised and horrified that I haven't tried to engage you in physical combat." The eyes of his mask adjust emotively and then widen back to normal.

"I immediately know I'm going to regret asking you this, but why do you have a pink loofa?" Barely even having finished asking, "Yeah, immediately."

Pete pushes up from the table, leaning on his palms laid flat against it. "Were you always like this? How does this even happen to a person?"

Deadpool has posed:
When Peter looks up, he'll also find a bucket was set near his head. It is bright, and painfully orange. It has the name and logo of a bodybuilding gym on it. It clearly says 'extreme workout barf bucket, sign it!' in sharpie, and has signatures of a variety of people on it. Not only is it a puke bucket, but it is a well /used/ puke bucket.

"Would you like to fight? I'm happy to fight," Deadpool says, with WAY too much enthusiasm. "Fucking seriously; are you going to be someone for stabbies, like Wolverine? Pretty please? Steve doesn't LIKE it, so I could use another that enjoys fashionable disembowelment."

But there's loofas to talk on. Distracted like a dog seeing a squirrel, Wade suddenly leaves to charge off to look for the loofa. "Always? No, I have an origin story!" Wade yells from what is presumably the bathroom.

Spider-Man has posed:
"What the hell is..." Spidey looks at the bucket, but it's not until he looks IN the bucket that he realizes exactly what the bucket is. "I think the smell of your kitchen is making me crazy because this makes complete sense..." Even reading some of the names with his head always shaking.

It's still shaking when Wade asks if he wants to fight, "Wh- no! No, I don't want to fight, I'm surprised that I haven't though. You have all the ingrediants for a villain, but also a plucky attitude that is disarming.. It reminds me of... well.. me. Without a bucket full of super hero vomit and a laundry list of names to drop like spare change."

Then the merc is gone and Peter is standing in the merc's living room with his hands on his hip. "You could try to run." He tells himself, completely certain Wade would both find him and make it weirder if he did. Which is disconcerting and kind of fwriteening in a horror movie kind of way. "I get how Misery happened now." Now nodding rather than shaking his head, "This is how I get held captive and forced to write the ending to my best selling novel series. Damn you Stephen King... damn you."

Deadpool has posed:
There's a variety of noises from the bathroom. A little rubber duckie comes flying out, flung out of the way, along with two towels. One of which is a beach towel with the Little Mermaid on it. It's a little faded, but in good shape: her bright smile flutters to the floor into a pile of towel-blob, though, while the noises continue.

A bit later, Wade returns, entirely the same, except he's gained a teal colored shower cap. He doesn't have a loofa. Maybe he couldn't find it. Or maybe ten thousand other things.

"What are the ingrediants of a villain?" Wade asks, stopping near the bathroom. "By your definition, which obviously might be skewed since you're often in the papers as a bad guy. Rescuing people that didn't want to be rescued, and shit. HOW DARE."

Spider-Man has posed:
Towels and duckies and noises aplenty assail from the bathroom yonder.
Spidey stares helples and wided with fear,
Until Deadpool returns to wonder nolonger.

There stands the Wallcrawler with his hands on his hips in the exact same place as when Wade left, staring wide eyed at the hallway like something terrible might charge out from that open doorway. Which isn't altogether untrue when Wade returns with questions. "Technically I was only joking, but you did, kind of, kidnap me.. At the very least invited me over without an invitation." Head turning to regard the kitchen, one eye wide and one squinting. Emotive masks are great.

"You're not that bad, though. Unless you were about to put on a blue dress and knock my feet out of aliegnment with a sledgehammer. I don't think the spider gimmick works from a wheelchair."

Deadpool has posed:
"This is like a book that I'm like 'one more chapter' but instead it's the whole book, or maybe it's most of it, or a little bit of it, because I skip right to the end to get to the juicy part. ---- I don't think I read Misery," Deadpool adds, clearly having at least seen the movie. Or read it. Hard to even tell.

"I have broken bones with a sledgehammer before. It's messy. Which can be a benefit, depending on the situation," Deadpool asserts, one finger lifted. He plucks off his shower cap and drops it in a 'flff' of sound next to him.

"Let's get you home. Come here." Wade then spreads his arms for a hug. He beckons with his head. Upnod, beckon. Head movements. "Come come. Fear not."

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey eyes remain one wide one narrowed at Deadpool's assurences that he's no intention to engage in recreational ankle snapping... at least not at the moment. The bottom portion of his mask moves like he's rubbing his lips together trying to decide whether approaching Wade is the best course of action at this particular moment, in this particular setting.

Rather than move, one hand slides off his hip to pull his phone from off his small utility belt, the other hand holds up a finger to Wade. "What's the Uber coverage in the area?" Thumbing through the app, "Six hundred and thirty seven dollars." Reading the estimated price of the fare with a growing frown visible beneath his mask. "Oh wait, there's the teleporty thing in Starling." Thumb thumb, "Six hundred and twenty one dolars."

Not much better.

Spidey puts away the phone and pats his pockets until he starts pulling out bills. Qiuetly thumbing them, "Thirty one dollars and...." Hoping on one foot to listen for any jingle, "Zero cents.."

His fist clinches around the lack of money at his disposal, head lulled back with a drawn out urrrrrrgh sound, "I could walk?" He's looking at the ceiling so he must be asking the ceiling, or God? Maybe just the zodiac. "Maybe a week back to New York if I swing through any cities I come to.."

He remains there going through all the options that aren't walking over and hugging Deadpool for an instant teleportation back home. "FINE..." He blurts out, stressing the word rather than shouting it, and flailing his hands forward like a pudulent 12 year old who finally agrees to go to the first day of school.

Deadpool has posed:
Throughout, Deadpool remained, with arms up and thrust forwards, like an extremely hopeful Teddy Bear. He does shift his weight some, from one foot to the other, while Spider-man has his internal (and external) debate about costs. Deadpool nods along with one thing, thne another. Yeah, that does cost that much. Aw, too bad. It's quiet miming: not because Deadpool can't speak (FAR FROM IT) but because the comedy is there with just his soft sighs and 'Mmm-hmmm' notations.

Finally, the verdict is given!

"Yay," Deadpool says cheerfully, and steps forwards, to bearhug his new buddy. He orients towards his wrist, flidding with the teleporter.

Nothing happens.

"Don't embarrass me in front of Spidey," Deadpool says aloud.

"It's time to boop-boop," Deadpool says, boop-booping at the object.

"So..." Deadpool begins, still hugging. "I did use it four times. It's sort of recharging. How do you feel about Netflix and chill for about an hour, then I'll take you back?"

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey stands stiff as a board in Wade's bearhug while the merc fiddles about with his tempermental teleporter, all the while frowning beneath his mask. At this distance it's obvious he's frowning and when it is abundently obvious that there's no boop-booping, his head drops backwards again like a puppet with the strings cut. "I'm never finishing that paper.." Because this happened several nights ago and he didn't finish it until tonight. Continuity is important.

"Fine, but you have to observe a full cushion length distance between us at all times." Slippery little spider, slipperies out of the bearhug to straighten his costume and mask, "I hear Just Friends just got added? You a big Ryan Reynolds fan?"

DUN nun nun Nun DUH NUN NUN

Deadpool has posed:
"Wow, old school; isn't that like mid 2000's? Ugh, I'd rather watch a Pokemon movie," answers Deadpool in disgust, after trying to remember if there are any Tom Holland movies worth even mentioning, and failing. Damn.

"I will accept the cushion restriction if I can drape my arm over the back of the couch. I like to spread out," Deadpool says, in a tender voice, drawing his head in closer to his new buddy's. At least there's like, masks between them, even if there's a purr in Wade's voice. Or maybe that's just the rattle of cancer in his vocal chords at that proximity.

Wade releases Spider-Man to head to the couch, at least, pushing a few things off of it, and moving the banker's box that has 'NATASHA'S STUFF' written on it off to the side. He flops on the couch in the center, and then rubs the empty cushion next to him. There shall be much Netflix.

Chill is negotiable.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey follows Deadpool into the living room of what amounts to a nightmare house and watches the bankers box toss out of the way with a perked brow beneath his mask. No words are spoken regarding it, because all of those words are questions, and all of those questions have answers he's absolutely sure he doesn't what to know the answers to.

Standing infront of the couch, Pete's shoulder slump forward, head lulling back. A brief pause there like that and he jerks around into the cushion with his arms going all rag-doll flailing. "Oh wait, let's watch Endga-"

Fade to black.