9640/Bazinga

Bazinga
Date of Scene:	18 October 2019
Location:	Steve's Room, Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Wade and Steve have WAFFLES and are pals.
Cast of Characters:	Deadpool, Captain America

---

Deadpool has posed:
"Steve."

Knock knock knock.

"Steve."

Knock Knock knock.

It's really a good Big Bang theory reference that lots of people won't get, but it is in progress outside the door, by one particular Wade Wilson, on loop.

Captain America has posed:
The bedroom door opens to reveal Steve in a plain t-shirt and grey sweatpants, bare footed, with a toothbrush in his mouth. By the semi-damp state of his hair, he must have just emerged from the shower not long ago.

"Hi, Wabe, how are you dis ebeningk?" the Captain asks around the toothbrush with a friendly patience before beginning to brush at his molars again. "Might as welb come in." He steps back and leaves the door open for the Merc to enter if he so chooses, turning to walk towards the bathroom. Gotta spit.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade looks like Willie Nelson. For whatever reason. Not that that really makes any difference at all, because there's no confusion at all about who was at the door.

"I have waffles," Willie declares in Wade's voice, showing a plastic bag with a square-like takeout box in it.

Willie comes inside and shuts the door behind him. "I am best! Not worst!" Wade calls after Steve as he goes to spit. "I don't think waffles will taste good with toothpaste, rinse well!"

Captain America has posed:
"'m'gonna winth well, yef," Steve calls back over his shoulder before he disappears temporarily out of sight and into the bathroom. Water runs, the stacatto tapping of the toothbrush knocked free of excess water follows, and then comes...gargling.

Gotta rinse well.

"Didn't expect waffles or you." The admission emerges before the Captain does. He pauses to flick off the bathroom light before continuing over to the small table tucked off to one side by the minifridge. "Pleasant surprise all around. Want a beer with your waffle?"

As he stoops to open the fridge door, there's a minute flinch and a wince. Ouch. Somebody technically has one more day of the sling, but nobody's around to judge him for not wearing it.

Deadpool has posed:
"Hurt your arm?" Wade chirps immediately and tactlessly, dumping the food down to come over and attempt to take over whatever Steve was doing for him. Very helpfully. Even if it means getting all up in Steve's space, sort of-- but nothing aggressive. Just overly helpy.

"I'll get them. Sit down. Take a load off. Heal up. waffles and Beer for us both," declares Wade.

"It's five o'clock somewhere."

Captain America has posed:
And then there's a Wade, like an extremely friendly and assisting labrador retriever-country star. Steve blinks and laughs as he straights in place, rolling the affected shoulder to see if he can't settle the tendons back into place.

"Sure, Wade, thanks. You're not wrong: it is five o'clock somewhere." His chair makes a small sound of complaint as he sits down into it with a relaxed contentment. The takeout box is removed from the bag and opened. "Looks good, Wade. Mind grabbing forks? They're in the stand-alone cabinet beside the fridge."

There's a noticeable lack of tension around Steve's eyes and even in the lines of his shoulders this visit.

Deadpool has posed:
"Sure. Forks," Wade agrees, after putting out the drinks, and then moving along towards the cabinet to squat and fish around.

"I noticed you dodged my question. If it is a pulled muscle, I give excellent massages. Just ask Natasha. I really do," promises the mercenary-Willie. He climbs back around (by way of across the sofa, then to the chair), and sits in it, offering Steve the fork. He then sets about opening the waffles, after pulling an overly large knife from his thigh, to cut the bag instead of dealing with the knot. It doesn't look too odd in the country singer's hand, really; big country knife, it could work.

Captain America has posed:
The super-soldier notes the knife with a distracted note of approval. Indeed, country knife works in those wrinkled old hands which are probably covered in gloves.

"It's just a flesh wound," he quips in probably one of the more terrible British accents he can muster, half-smiling to himself. "Took it in the scrum over at the recycling plant. Cyborg got the jump on me with the old 'pretend to be a deactivated robot' trick." Again, Steve rolls his shoulder and now grimaces. "Collarbone didn't handle the landing too well. But then again, neither did the concrete."

Deadpool has posed:
"I often do that trick. Not so much 'robot' though. More like corpse. Sometimes it is not on purpose, but sometimes it is. I'm not very good at being a corpse on /purpose/," Wade rattles off. He then observes the collarbone movement with a pause, hand tilted, the knife fiddling near his left cheek and eye. For anyone into safety, the knife tip that close to a face is probably asshole-clench worthy, but it's Wade. Wade's not only got the finesse with weapons, he's a heal-master.

"Well, maybe Waffles will help," suggests Wade, though less convinced. "Did you murder-death-kill the cyborg? I find that's what helps me the most. Sweet vengeance."

Captain America has posed:
Wade's fiddling with the knife's gleaming tip does earn him a wondering look from the Captain across the table; the fork lingers over the revealed waffles before Steve simply doesn't comment and cuts himself a healthy mouthful.

"Not many pieces left of him to bother anybody at this point," he replies before stuffing the rather ridiculously-sized mouthful away. Temporarily chipmunk-cheeked, he then realizes there's only one fork.

"You want your own fork, Wade? Or do you want to use that knoife?" It's a callback to Steve very heavily sedated months back when Wade visited him via the ceiling tiles of his recovery room.

Deadpool has posed:
"I," Wade proclaims, "Have my own," he says. He slips the knife away, and then begins to hunt through his belongings at his belt. "Urgh, Image inducer gets in the way," He complains: it's like hunting blind with it on. He taps a wrist, shutting it off.

Wade is NOT in his full leather attire: he's glaringly cancerous, in an unzipped blue hoodie, t-shirt, soft little cotton hat (all the rage by bald people), athletic pants (with a single knife at a thigh) and flip-flops. And no belt. "Oh. I forgot I wasn't wearing my thingies."

Wade considers, and then climbs back over the sofa AGAIN to get a fork. He returns (by way of sofa), and happily selects some waffle.

Captain America has posed:
"S'all good, there's more'n one in there." Again, Steve speaks around a cheekful of waffles. By the volume of each forkful, he'd be devastating in a waffle eating contest. These must be something he wasn't expecting to enjoy as much as he is now.

Wade returns via his topsy-turvy route and Steve leans back into his chair, his fork set down on the table. His arms comfortably cross now.

His eyes roam over the Merc without lingering overmuch. "Any news on the Sentinels now that the worst of it seems to have blown over?" There's a light of hope in the Captain's true-blues as he awaits the Merc's answer.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade is expressive in his considerations. He rolls his eyes skyward (ceilingward?) and chews on syrup-soaked waffle as he considers that.

"Yeeeees. I am working on censoring my answer for you," Wade admits really honestly, and taps his sticky fork against his lower lip twice.

"Many of the Friends of Humanity are no longer friends of anybody," Wade decides to go with. "Also they are scrambling because there are places with cyborg weird shit in them. I mean, I heard about them, I think I said it last time I stopped by. Mini sentinel parts - like human sized. Creepy shit. I don't like those labs."

Captain America has posed:
Steve patiently continues to wait while the man across the table muses. The announcement of 'censoring' answers makes the soldier duck his chin briefly in good-humored tolerance; it's partially to hide half of a smile that seems inappropriate for a serious topic of conversation, but the oddball attempt on Wade's part is somehow more appreciated than he first suspected.

His wheat-gold brows lift at the wording. It'll do. Wade is the thorough sort, after all. His brows then meet. "Don't like 'em either," comes the admission, far more quietly and infinitely more sober. "Fellow agent of mine reported dealing with one." Steve sighs and shifts in the chair as he resets the flats of his bare feet on the carpeted floor.

"If you need help dealing with any of those labs, let me know."

Deadpool has posed:
"I mean, I wasn't going to go into the labs. I have other jobs I was going to do," Wade says, a little surprised. "...Are you implying it would be heroic of me to go into the labs and free any brains in jars that might be inside, because their lives will be better if they were dead instead of being ..brains in jars?" Wade asks, while chewing waffle. Wade isn't eating a lit, just treating it more like a snack, so there is more than enough for Steve. Or perhaps Wade saw the hunger level and is being considerate?

"But you shouldn't go hurt or whatever. Loan me your shield and a costume, and I shall go in your stead," declares Wade firmly.

Captain America has posed:
"I'll be fine by tomorrow afternoon," the man promises Wade even as he reaches his fork to portion off another large bite. It must the healing necessary to get Steve back to snuff causing this hunger; it's a calorie burner of the worst kind.

"But think about this. If you're gonna be heroic, why not be yourself? Why be me?" With his forkful of waffle held over the container as not to drip, Steve gives the Merc a patient, searching look. It's open and while not extremely piercing, there's an attentive note to make another person feel the sole receiver of the Captain's focus. "Let me know if you want to tackle those. Otherwise, I'll see what the team can do."

Deadpool has posed:
"Welllllll, that's a fair point," Wade says, frowning. If he had eyebrows, they would be furrowed, as his brain works overtime to contemplate the points he is being given. Wade chews on his lower lip a little bit, but doesn't seem to get too hung up over any of it. He's in a reasonably even keeled mood.

"I wasn't going to go on my own. You seemed like you wanted to but were too injured. It made sense before I said it, I think," Wade decides, going through the logic with remarkably lucid thought train.

"Also, I wasn't really assuming I'd be you, because I would not want anyone to think you're a murderer and there would be murder---- but I do think it'd be fun to try your shield out," Wade says, coyly.

Captain America has posed:
By the knowing little smile on Steve's lips, he's heard that particular shield-related overture before. He just continues chewing and tilts his head back and forth to degrees in a gesture of contemplation.

After his mouth is clear, he replies, "How about this. We do what we need to do to properly clean up the rest of the Sentinel bunk -- maybe it's the labs, maybe it's dismantling any remaining robots." One broad shoulder shrugs. "Once that's all done, you 'nd me, we'll go to the weapons testing rooms over at the Trisk 'nd you can try out the shield?"

A finger lifts off of the body of the fork to point at Wade in gentle insistence. "Properly clean up. You said there'd be murder."

Deadpool has posed:
"Well I can't promise murder," Wade says, flattered. He then shoves a hand directly towards Steve, eager for a handshake on teh whole situtation. Then he realizes that is Steve's injured hand, and swaps the fork to his other hand, and offers THAT hand for a handshake instead.

"Yay fun," Wade says, in a cheerful, happy little voice. Yay indeed.

Captain America has posed:
Out comes the Captain's hand on the non-injured side and it reaches...only to get pulled back an appreciable amount with a pointed lift of his eyebrows.

"I don't want you to promise murder, Wade. I want you to promise me //no// murder. Only self-defense." Even this clarification doesn't seem to fully express Steve's wishes on matters, but he knows better than to get too persnickity. "Hmm?"

Deadpool has posed:
"Only hit things they have extras of. Shoot them in the legs, don't hit major arteries unless there is a hospital across the street, blah blah," Wade says, waggling his fingers. "Only cut off bits if you need them to talk or it's in defense of innocents, not including me. I mean, self defense with me is sorta like... maybe we should say defense of YOU, because I can be shot?" Wade asks. He's actually helping, instead of convincing the other direction.

"I don't like being shot mostly, though. So yes, self-defense of me being discomfortable." That's a word.

Captain America has posed:
"I don't like being shot," Steve agrees. With that, he clasps Wade's offered hand and shakes it. "You've got a deal. All this Sentinel bunk aside 'nd I'll show you how the shield works." He takes a moment to look down at the waffle remaining.

It's portioned out into halves and the super-soldier forks up most of the rest of his selection. "Y'know, something to note about the shield. In Theory, it'd make a Big Bang if you threw it hard enough."

Those true-blue eyes lift, completely filled with retained mirth, and Steve then deadpans:

"Bazinga."