Cammie & Wade | Tuesday Morning (backdated)

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Cammie and Wade meet up and sparring happens.


Wade had the treadmill on its highest settings for speed and incline and he was pleasantly running low on energy. He preferred to run outside, but well. Copious amounts of snow and the fact that he wasn't familiar with the terrain kept him inside for the time being. So he was there, just chugging along, when the chick with green hair came in.

Cammie checked the binding on her hands. The right hand wasn't as important unless she managed to break the skin while pounding on the bag, in which case things ended up with a not so fine coat of horrible poison but her left hand was crucial. Even with the control training with Logan she still stood SOME chance of accidentally poisoning someone.

Of course, he had to do what everyone did at some point: leave. She walked over to the gym and walked in and looked up and over at the guy on the treadmill, the dumbest exercise machine ever, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Wade Wilson. Who the fuck are you?" Wade returned, not even bothering to lower his settings. He wasn't winded yet.

"Me? I won this gym, and for the low fee of 199.99 a day I won't swear at you whenever you come in here to work out like a puss," Cammie returned.

"Fuck that shit," Wade said, grinning. Hopping off the treadmill, he waited for a second before actually turning it off. That weird, almost vertigo he always got when he stepped off the thing and his forward momentum went wonky stuck with him for a moment, then he reoriented. "I don't care how dirty your mouth is, kid."

"But would he say that if he knew what went in it?" Cammie said, heading over to her punching bag. She had special ones, "Survey says, not fucking likely."

"Oh, innuendo on top of innuendo," Wade said, making jazz hands at her. "Impressive for one of your tender years."

"Ooooo, jazz hands," Cammie returned, "Still isn't a safe place to be while I'm punching shit, old man."

"Old man?" Wade asked, brows rising as he walked over to the bag she was going to be using. "Thirty-two's not old, princess. It's like the prime of life. So. What bug crawled up your nose and died?" Reaching over, he held the bag steady.

"If twenty makes me tender," Cammie said, not so much as touching the bag as he held it, "Thirty makes you old. As for the bug, the kind that eats brains and replaces people with aliens. Also, not hitting the bag while you're that close. You haven't pissed me off enough to accidentally poison you and for me to find that hilarious."

"You can't poison me," Wade said, still holding the bag. "At least not unless you try really, really hard for a really, really long time." He nodded toward her hands. "Is that what those're for?" What was with all these people and not touching? He supposed that wasn't really fair - nobody could help their mutations.

"Yes, that's what those are for, and you're just swimming in famous last words, aren't you?" she said, before pulling back and hitting the bag hard, "Famous last words are great irony fodder."

Wade braced the bag and waited to see if he'd just said his famous last words or not. "How would those," he nodded toward her hands, "Poison me?"

"My left arm, my blood and various other things are toxic," Cammie said dryly. The smell should have been a giveaway, but some people were just dense.

"Fun times," Wade commented, quirking a brow. "Various other things, though? Do tell." She'd never actually given him her name, which was fine. He was sure there couldn't be more than one, maybe two chicks in the place with green hair and bad attitudes.

"My personality," she snapped, hitting the bag again, "Or so they tell me."

"If your personality's as toxic as all that, you should be able to land a better punch," Wade said, tone just this side of taunting.

"Technically, I only need to tap you. You know, a Technical Tap," Cammie returned dryly hitting the bag quite a bit harder, a fine, bad smelling cloud of green showing up for a moment before vanishing into the air.

"So, why don't you?" Wade asked, noting the mist of toxic green with an upraised eyebrow.

"Most people I've met object to dying suddenly," she said, still hitting the bag.

"It's always been my dream to die suddenly," Wade replied, tone earnest. "It's just this damn healing factor keeps foiling all my attempts."

"Well, if nothing else at least you can make a tape for America's Funniest Home Fatalities," Cammie returned, "But I'm not punching you. On purpose. It tends not to go over well here."

"But punching me accidentally's totally allowed?"

"I've been known to have the occasional accident. But I don't get why you really want to be doubled over barfing," Cammie said. "It's only okay for hand to hand training and my sensei bailed on me." Like everyone always did.

Wow, the number of girls who had abandonment issues in this place - Wade was kind of surprised. "Curious, more than anything." He tipped his head to the side. "So, why don't you show me what you learned before your sensei bailed."

Cammie looked him over. He wasn't built like Logan for one. And she couldn't exactly imagine them having the same sort of rapport that she had with the fuzzy old man. But what the hell, she hadn't exactly gone hand to hand with someone in a way that wasn't just fucking around in awhile, "Fine. There's mats and stuff, and I hope you're ready to eat them." She had been good when she had gotten here, the Wolverine had just made her better.

Cocky. Wade could appreciate that. He didn't rise to her taunting, though - casting the bait for that shit was more his job description than falling for it. He stepped away from the bag and headed for the central mat, never presenting his back since he didn't know what rules she was playing by. Which reminded him of his bout with Laura. "One rule - you try to kick or knee me in the balls, or use any other creative ways to go for 'em, and the sparring's over."

"You're assuming I'd want to be anywhere near your junk. Which I really don't. Besides, taking a guy down like that in one shot isn't any fun. There are bars full of idiots just waiting for me to use that technique on them over the weekend," she said, following a few steps behind. Enough to give her room if he decided to turn on her.

Grinning, Wade settled with his feet slightly apart, ready to move. "Better safe than sorry," he commented, then faked a jab to her left at regular people's speed to see if he could entice her to attack. He wanted to see what she could, had a fair idea based on the way she'd been punching that bag that it might be fairly advanced, but didn't want to let her know what he was capable of just yet. It was always better to be underestimated - far less chance you'd wind up dead that way.

She dodged easily, "You're kidding, right?"

"Think you can do better?" Wade quirked an eyebrow and tossed another punch her way, same speed as before.

"You think you can?" Cammie returned. She didn't feel like playing around, but she didn't go out either as she feinted, and then came in with a nasty aimed blow from the left, watching how much she'd put out on contact.

The block came easily, muscle-memory honed over decades redirecting the force of the blow. Wade paused a moment to see if the haze of green poison would take his healing factor a moment to accommodate and followed through with a tame leg-swipe. He experienced an instant of vertigo induced by the toxins but then his body acclimated. "If that's all you've got, I think I'm wasting my time."

"Gee, from the way you moved," Cammie said dryly, "I thought fore SURE that would work." The sarcasm hung on the air, "See, I thought it was my time being wasted."

The hesitancy Wade had been holding in his stance while taking his feeler-swipes dissipated in the same instant that Wade went on a rapid-fire offensive that left essentially no room for Cammie to do anything but block. He didn't let up, he didn't back down - he sped up the pace in increments to see how well she handled it, part of him always aware of her movement, the shifts of muscle, facial expression, stance, what technique she was using, how close his hits were getting. Wade had no intention of actually hurting her, but her cockiness needed to be brought down a notch or two - overestimating her skills was dangerous and could lead her into situations she wasn't capable of handling.

Not everyone would gag and die just from her toxins, after all, and she needed to be taught some small amount of caution.

She was shocked, but she blocked everything. Not always with ease, and there were more than a few close calls. After a second of being shocked, the expression turned to a grin. A lopsided, cocky grin.

"Oh, you CAN move," she said, when she started swinging again, she wasn't holding back either on skill, just on poison.

The blocks flowed easily from the strikes, all part and parcel with Wade's general movement now that he was kicking things up a few notches. "You know, I love Emeril Lagasse." He went in low, seeing if he could knock her feet out from under her and then how well she recovered. She didn't seem to have enhanced speed or agility, just the physical conditioning. Sloppy in some spots, but overall fairly well pulled together. "He's always talking about pork fat. How much training have you had?"

"Plenty," Cammie said, she was toppled, but she recovered quickly. "He sort of up and left like a douche though," she noted, going for the face with a fist full of puke inducing toxin.

Wade stepped aside, letting the punch with all its lovely toxicity fly past him. "What kind of training?"

"How to hit things hard without accidentally killing them," Cammie said, rebounding and going in again, trying to put herself on the offensive, "And a bunch of samurai crap."

"Samurai crap," Wade said, his tone dry as he blocked her incoming punches with ease. "You need to get your facts straight, kid. And show some respect. That's a thousand year old culture and tradition you're demeaning there." He went in fast and hard, put her in a hold and dropped her to her knees so getting kicked was a nonissue. "So - what did you learn today?"

"That you aren't the pushover you pretended to be," Cammie said, not struggling, she could push enough toxin to down an elephant through her skin, but why waste it? And ruin this area for anyone else who'd come by today, "And it's crap if you up and leave in the middle of teaching it."

She shouldn't be surprised. Everyone left.

"Correction - your teacher was crap. The traditions you were learning are not." Wade held her for a second, then released her and stepped back, head tipped to the side. "So, who was your teacher?"

"Logan," Cammie said, standing up, "Not that it matters as he's not here any more. But that's life."

Wade quirked a very small smile. "And what did you learn about underestimating unfamiliar opponents?"

"Don't do it," she said with a smirk, "But what the fuck, right?"

Snorting softly, Wade shook his head. Oh, to be young and invincible. "Right - just make sure you don't do it when it counts, sweetpea." Lifting his chin a little, he said, "Show me some of the stuff your teacher taught you before he bailed."

"If I did fuck around like that I'd likely wouldn't be here right now," Cammie noted. Of course, dumb luck did factor into the equation too, she figured, "But sure. For real this time, huh?"

"Yeah, for real," Wade said. "I'll block, just come at me with whatever you've got."