Warren & Wade | Saturday Night (backdated)

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Angelo drops Warren off at Wade's suite after Harry's is overrun by baseball fanatics and the atmosphere for serious drinking is lost. Wade provides scotch and an adequate mixture of scotch-induced wisdom. Then he tosses Bea Arthur into the mix because hey - she makes everything better, right?


Wade closed the door behind Warren after Angelo dropped the lawyer off and gestured toward the table in front of the couch. "Scotch," he said, like that was the most important development of the evening - the fact that scotch had miraculously turned up in front of his couch.

"Scotch." Warren knew it would be terribly uncouth of him to drink straight from the bottle, and decide he was going to be terrible and drink it with ice anyway. So he wandered towards Wade's kitchen, looking for glasses and ice.

"Thanks," he said absently.

Quirking a very small smile, Wade shrugged. "Don't thank me yet." Once Warren got into the kitchen, though, the mercenary suspected he'd either get a more heartfelt 'thank you' or an incredulous look before Warren turned around and headed back downstairs. "I take my duty as supplier of liquor very seriously." He figured if they were going to drink to get drunk, they should definitely do it the right way.

Warren stopped suddenly as he walked into the kitchen, staring at the bench. That was - he'd sobered enough to realise he wasn't seeing things. But...

"Dear Lord, Wade. That is a lot of scotch."

Wade grinned. "You didn't specify a threshold. So I figured I'd err on the side of 'too much' rather than 'too little.'"

"I do not think. It is possible to drink that much in one sitting. I don't think I'd want to even try." Well, maybe if Vanessa never woke up. Then he'd consider trying it.

"I have a healing factor, Flyboy," Wade reminded him. "And you have a weird metabolism... thing. There's no telling how much we might be able to drink in one sitting if we really put our minds to it. C'mon, grab the glasses and whatever else you want and let's get to it."

"I don't want to get that drunk. I don't think." Things weren't that bad. Not yet. He grabbed two glasses and went rummaging through the freezer to find some ice.

Poking his head around the door and into the kitchen, Wade surveyed the row of bottles lined up along the counter and then shrugged. "We'll reevaluate after we finish the first bottle, how's that?" Because it really would take a good deal more than one bottle to get him tipsy and he was pretty sure it'd take a fair amount to get Warren drunk.

"Sure," Warren replied with a shrug. He wandered past Wade to return to the couch, stretching his wings out before he dropped down on the couch. He placed the glasses on the coffee table, before dropping ice into one of the glasses.

"Ice?"

"Nah," Wade said, shaking his head as he walked back over to the couch and picked the bottle of scotch up off the table. He cracked the seal and opened it, then wiggled the mouth in Warren's direction. "Guests first." He poured a healthy dose of liquor into the other man's glass, then sat down and took care of his own.

He felt like he should ask if Warren was doing alright or something, but he obviously... wasn't doing as well as he could've been, theoretically. Wade wasn't really big on emoting, most of the time, but Warren was a friend so he took a sip of scotch, rolled it around on his tongue for a moment, swallowed, and offered, "If you wanna talk or... something..." He waved his hand between them to indicate he was willing to listen, the gesture only a little awkward.

Feelings were things other people had. Wade just shot things. It kept life simple.

Warren had a large mouthful of the scotch before he answered, shaking his head and leaning forward. He wasn't sure what he could say at this point - what was there to say? His girlfriend was battered and broken almost beyond recognition, and it wasn't even her face that lay in the bed.

"Nah," he said eventually. "Not much to say, is there? Just have to wait." He took another large mouthful of the amber liquid. "Just wish I'd been able to hit more of them."

Which in and of itself was unusual. Warren wasn't the sort of guy who usually solved things with violence. He talked through problems. But in this case, he didn't have anything to say to the people who had kidnapped and tortured his girlfriend. He just wanted them dead. Or at least in a lot of pain.

"Okay," Wade said, nodding as he sat forward, forearms braced on his knees. "Then let's get down to business." With that, he eyed his glass and then swallowed the rest of the scotch in it without any hesitation. Yeah, it was meant to be savored and all that jazz, but they were getting drunk - why beat round the bush?

It was okay. They could savor the scotch some other time. It's feelings wouldn't be hurt. Or at least, they probably wouldn't be.

Warren was on his third glass of the alcohol before he spoke again. He knew, somehow in the back of mind, that drinking this much was not a good idea. And would honestly, probably, just make things worse. Since he was feeling pretty maudlin right about now.

"I think I was wrong," he said, somewhat abruptly. "Violence really does help, doesn't it?"

"That's my general experience," Wade said, nodding slowly. "I'm an action kinda guy, though. I don't sit around talking things out. Some people can do that, you know? Can talk and talk and talk and it makes them feel better. That just gives me a headache. Point me in a direction, tell me there's a guy who did something bad, and I'll go kill him. Or beat him up, whatever. Life's easier that way. Especially when it's something personal." He nodded again, pouring himself another glass of scotch. "At the very least, you could go running or... well, flying. I usually swim myself into a stupor if I'm in a bad mood. Any kind of exercise. Kickboxing is good for making you feel like you're punching the shit out of somebody's face."

"Flying helps, sometimes," he said absently. "But the people, who had Vanessa..." He trailed off. "I know some of them were killed. I didn't do it, I just knocked out a couple of guards. But... it didn't bother me. I was glad to hurt them, and I'm glad they're dead." Warren drained his glass, before staring at the slivers of ice left.

Wade didn't say anything for a long moment, just sipped at his scotch and considered the situation. Warren had always struck him as a kind of... morally upright, black-and-white sort of guy. He could see the gray in the world and understand it existed for other people, but he never considered stepping into those areas himself. Only now it looked like he'd stepped into a shady area and he didn't even regret it. "So's it bother you more that you didn't kill them yourself," the mercenary finally asked, "Or that you're not sorry they're dead now, regardless of who killed them?"

"I'm not sorry they're dead," Warren replied, leaning forward to refill his glass. "And part of me is bothered by that. But then I remember how she was when we found her, and..." He hunched over, nursing his glass.

"Even if they didn't do it, even of they were just working there, it doesn't matter. They were complicit, just by being bystanders. That's all I can feel when I think about it."

"Then don't over-analyse it," Wade said, his voice taking on a serious tone. "If something's shifted around in your head, that's fine, but you can't think about it until you've driven yourself nuts. It's a thing that happened, it's the way you feel. File it away, label it nicely, do whatever it is you do, but don't let it hold you back." He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm guessing she's gonna need you when she wakes up and you can't afford to be all... maudlin over the 'what ifs' and the 'I don't regrets.'"

"True." He thought about it a few moments more, before squinting over at Wade. "When the fuck did you get so smart?"

Wade shrugged. "Dunno. I'd blame it on the scotch, but I'm not even tipsy yet, so." He cast a wide grin over in Warren's direction. "Besides, people who do terrible things to women or let terrible things be done don't deserve any sympathy anyway." He almost wished he'd been along for the ride, just so he could've taken care of a few of those people, but he hadn't been and really... that was for the best, when you got right down to it. The last thing Vanessa needed was for him to come through and muck things up - she'd told him what she wanted and what she didn't. They were pretty clean, cut, and dry on that front.

So he'd kick back with Warren, make sure his friend didn't get too much more messed up in the head, and deal with things the way he always did. "Hey - but that aside, have you ever seen Maude? Would you try to punch me in the face if I put on an old television show? Bea Arthur is awesome in it."

"Strange man." What Warren was referring to wasn't entirely clear - other than just Wade in general.

"But nah, go ahead." Doing something other than talking seemed like a pretty good idea to him.

"Sweet," Wade said, grabbing the remote control and sitting back so he could turn on the DVD player and the TV. "She was totally liberal, back in the day - and experimental and stuff. All pro abortion and choice and stuff. And then she did this whole episode once that was..."

Warren made sure his glass was topped up before he leaned back, letting Wade's words wash over him. Bea Arthur, Maude, politics, at the moment he was just happy to continue drinking and letting Wade talk. Didn't seem like a bad end to the night.