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xp_logsDoug and Wade go looking for Telford Porter.
Wade grinned as he approached the dilapidated shack his contact had told him housed the asshole who could tell him where Telford Porter was. It wasn't a pleasant expression, though, more feral and full of anticipation that could really be considered good for anyone's health. He walked easily, though, body relaxed and loose-limbed as he said, "Want me to sing a ditty to get his attention so he'll run your way, or should I just break down the door?"
"Both? Both is good," Doug murmured. He'd heard Wade's singing voice, it would certainly startle the person they had tracked. Mostly, Doug just wanted an excuse to punch someone in the face.
Still grinning, Wade took a huge breath and began singing with a ridiculously drawn-out, bass first syllable. "Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh... blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!" Then he went falsetto and answered himself, "To me, way-aye, blow the man down." He switched to the deeper voice, "Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!" And back to the falsetto for the end of the verse, "Give me some time to blow the man down!" At the last word, he slammed his booted foot into the door at the handle, shattering the frame as the deadbolt ripped free. Sticking his head inside the door, he said, "There's no easy way to say this - I'm pregnant, Trevor."
Wanda may have had the power for it, but nobody could create chaos in quite the same way Wade could. The shack erupted into motion and the loud chatter of semi-automatic gunfire as their target reacted to the unexpected invasion of his bolthole. Doug snickered quietly to himself at the 'I'm pregnant' line, and positioned himself opposite the side Wade had gone in.
Wade waited until the tell-tale clickclickclick of a spent clip, then stepped into the room and started dancing as he sang, "One maca, two maca, three macarena..." He didn't make it to four, instead dropping a throwing knife into his palm so he could send it flying into the joint on the knee he could just see poking out from around a corner. The man shouted in pain and Wade prepared to gloat, only to be surprised when a second man popped out of the bathroom adjacent to the shack's main living/dining/kitchen/bedroom area. "Oh, hello," he said, diving to the side as more semi-automatic gunfire echoed through the room.
"Dale a tu cuerpo alegria macarena..." Now that song was going to be stuck in Doug's head for at least a day. Perils of being BFFs with Wade W. Wilson. He slipped through a window, staging himself at a door. As their target moved through the shack, driven on by Wade's distraction, Doug was ready as he came through a doorway, straight into a stiff-arm clothesline. Doug drove him into the floor hard, slapping away the gun in his hand. "Hi."
Wade unholstered a handgun and waited for a pause in the semi-automatic action currently punching holes in the sofa he'd taken refuge behind, then slid out toward the side and fired once very precise shot into the shooter's throat. "Ooooh," he said, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet, the other guy gurgling on the floor as his hands grasped at his neck. "Sorry, dude." He kicked the SIG Sauer RM400 away from the man, then tipped his head to the side and bent to pick it up.
He did a little dance number, more a salsa this time, and hummed, "Let me see you move like you come from Colombia," as he holstered his handgun and investigated the rifle. "Enhanced series tactical - how did you get this?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Hey Cypher - we've got a thing that's interesting besides the dude running around with my knife in him. I want that back, by the way."
"Been around the world, don't speak the language..." Wade's influence on Doug's mental soundtrack was obvious. The lyric didn't fit him, but the song was catchy. "But yo booty don't need explainin'..." A quick grapple, and then a fist to the temple, and the first man was unconscious. "All I really need to know is..." he called to Wade.
"When!"
"You!"
"Talk dirty to me," both men chorused. Doug waited for Wade to launch into a vocal rendition of the instrumental riff, which he could never resist, then for a last spatter of gunfire, before darting into the main room and landing heavily on the last combatant with his boots between the other man's shoulder blades.
"I'd do the 2 Chainz part, but this isn't a sold out arena and I don't really want this dude to suck my penis," Wade said almost philosophically as he moved over to the man Doug had pinned, moving into a cha cha dance step before bending down to pull his knife from the guy's knee. Sitting on his heels near their mark's head, he he grinned slowly and said, "I could talk dirty to you, but things'll go better for you if you just answer some questions without making us go to any more trouble." He very slowly wiped his blade clean of blood on the cuff of his jeans, close enough to the man's widened eyes to make sure he understood the implication.
"Where is Telford Porter?" This wasn't a good cop-bad cop kind of situation, this was just a pair of men who had chewed through a small building of combatants like they were hardly even there. And both of them seemed a bit crazy to boot. Doug shook the man, not very gently.
"Who?" The man asked, voice shaking.
Wade gave him an unimpressed look before very gently laying the tip of his knife against the delicate skin beneath the man's eye. "I could just pop your eye out of its socket with my thumb, but it's so much fun when there's more blood involved." He began to press the blade forward very slowly.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't sign on for this! Porter - Porter's in fucking Wyoming, he's not even here." The man's panic only increased as Wade's knife broke the skin. "He broke his goddamn leg and we've been waiting for a month for the job out of Antigua to even start - but it hasn't yet, I swear."
Pulling the throwing knife away, Wade tutted disapprovingly at the man as he slid it into its sheath. "That's just shoddy work, my friend. Doug, hold him still for another second." He reached down and dug through the man's pocket until he found a wallet with some ID. "Dude, is this your actual ID? I thought you guys were supposed to be professional." Taking the driver's license, Wade slid it into his own pocket and stood. "If I were you, I wouldn't go looking for work any time soon."
Doug sighed. "We didn't even get to threaten him with the Hellfire missiles."
Wade wrapped an arm around Doug's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Don't worry, we can hold the Hellfire missiles in reserve and use them next time."
Wade grinned as he approached the dilapidated shack his contact had told him housed the asshole who could tell him where Telford Porter was. It wasn't a pleasant expression, though, more feral and full of anticipation that could really be considered good for anyone's health. He walked easily, though, body relaxed and loose-limbed as he said, "Want me to sing a ditty to get his attention so he'll run your way, or should I just break down the door?"
"Both? Both is good," Doug murmured. He'd heard Wade's singing voice, it would certainly startle the person they had tracked. Mostly, Doug just wanted an excuse to punch someone in the face.
Still grinning, Wade took a huge breath and began singing with a ridiculously drawn-out, bass first syllable. "Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh... blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!" Then he went falsetto and answered himself, "To me, way-aye, blow the man down." He switched to the deeper voice, "Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!" And back to the falsetto for the end of the verse, "Give me some time to blow the man down!" At the last word, he slammed his booted foot into the door at the handle, shattering the frame as the deadbolt ripped free. Sticking his head inside the door, he said, "There's no easy way to say this - I'm pregnant, Trevor."
Wanda may have had the power for it, but nobody could create chaos in quite the same way Wade could. The shack erupted into motion and the loud chatter of semi-automatic gunfire as their target reacted to the unexpected invasion of his bolthole. Doug snickered quietly to himself at the 'I'm pregnant' line, and positioned himself opposite the side Wade had gone in.
Wade waited until the tell-tale clickclickclick of a spent clip, then stepped into the room and started dancing as he sang, "One maca, two maca, three macarena..." He didn't make it to four, instead dropping a throwing knife into his palm so he could send it flying into the joint on the knee he could just see poking out from around a corner. The man shouted in pain and Wade prepared to gloat, only to be surprised when a second man popped out of the bathroom adjacent to the shack's main living/dining/kitchen/bedroom area. "Oh, hello," he said, diving to the side as more semi-automatic gunfire echoed through the room.
"Dale a tu cuerpo alegria macarena..." Now that song was going to be stuck in Doug's head for at least a day. Perils of being BFFs with Wade W. Wilson. He slipped through a window, staging himself at a door. As their target moved through the shack, driven on by Wade's distraction, Doug was ready as he came through a doorway, straight into a stiff-arm clothesline. Doug drove him into the floor hard, slapping away the gun in his hand. "Hi."
Wade unholstered a handgun and waited for a pause in the semi-automatic action currently punching holes in the sofa he'd taken refuge behind, then slid out toward the side and fired once very precise shot into the shooter's throat. "Ooooh," he said, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet, the other guy gurgling on the floor as his hands grasped at his neck. "Sorry, dude." He kicked the SIG Sauer RM400 away from the man, then tipped his head to the side and bent to pick it up.
He did a little dance number, more a salsa this time, and hummed, "Let me see you move like you come from Colombia," as he holstered his handgun and investigated the rifle. "Enhanced series tactical - how did you get this?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Hey Cypher - we've got a thing that's interesting besides the dude running around with my knife in him. I want that back, by the way."
"Been around the world, don't speak the language..." Wade's influence on Doug's mental soundtrack was obvious. The lyric didn't fit him, but the song was catchy. "But yo booty don't need explainin'..." A quick grapple, and then a fist to the temple, and the first man was unconscious. "All I really need to know is..." he called to Wade.
"When!"
"You!"
"Talk dirty to me," both men chorused. Doug waited for Wade to launch into a vocal rendition of the instrumental riff, which he could never resist, then for a last spatter of gunfire, before darting into the main room and landing heavily on the last combatant with his boots between the other man's shoulder blades.
"I'd do the 2 Chainz part, but this isn't a sold out arena and I don't really want this dude to suck my penis," Wade said almost philosophically as he moved over to the man Doug had pinned, moving into a cha cha dance step before bending down to pull his knife from the guy's knee. Sitting on his heels near their mark's head, he he grinned slowly and said, "I could talk dirty to you, but things'll go better for you if you just answer some questions without making us go to any more trouble." He very slowly wiped his blade clean of blood on the cuff of his jeans, close enough to the man's widened eyes to make sure he understood the implication.
"Where is Telford Porter?" This wasn't a good cop-bad cop kind of situation, this was just a pair of men who had chewed through a small building of combatants like they were hardly even there. And both of them seemed a bit crazy to boot. Doug shook the man, not very gently.
"Who?" The man asked, voice shaking.
Wade gave him an unimpressed look before very gently laying the tip of his knife against the delicate skin beneath the man's eye. "I could just pop your eye out of its socket with my thumb, but it's so much fun when there's more blood involved." He began to press the blade forward very slowly.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't sign on for this! Porter - Porter's in fucking Wyoming, he's not even here." The man's panic only increased as Wade's knife broke the skin. "He broke his goddamn leg and we've been waiting for a month for the job out of Antigua to even start - but it hasn't yet, I swear."
Pulling the throwing knife away, Wade tutted disapprovingly at the man as he slid it into its sheath. "That's just shoddy work, my friend. Doug, hold him still for another second." He reached down and dug through the man's pocket until he found a wallet with some ID. "Dude, is this your actual ID? I thought you guys were supposed to be professional." Taking the driver's license, Wade slid it into his own pocket and stood. "If I were you, I wouldn't go looking for work any time soon."
Doug sighed. "We didn't even get to threaten him with the Hellfire missiles."
Wade wrapped an arm around Doug's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Don't worry, we can hold the Hellfire missiles in reserve and use them next time."
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