Marie-Ange & Wade | Sunday Morning (backdated)

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Marie-Ange decides to help Wade with his ridiculous snowburn. Rather, she decides to pay someone else to help him and goes along for the ride.


Wade's face itched. His whole face -- except for the skin where his goggles had been -- itched. It was the worst. If he had a choice, he would totally pick getting his insides microwaved and having to eat yogurt for a week over snowburn. "Can yogurt fix this?" He asked, following Marie-Ange down the hallway toward what he'd been assured was an excellent spa. "I could just eat a lot of yogurt, even though I hate it."

Marie-Ange considered for a second, telling Wade that there was a yogurt and seaweed wrap that might exfoliate and help prevent wrinkles but honestly, he didn't wrinkle in the first place and she wasn't sure the spa even offered that. "No, but how do we feel about cucumber and ground almonds?" On his face.

"That sounds like a really tasty start to lunch," Wade said, smiling a little despite the fact that the movement of skin made everything start itching even worse. "But I dunno how I feel about it on my face."

"Ideally the ground almonds should help remove the dead flaky skin, and the cucumber will help moisturize the new skin underneath." And then hopefully Wade would stop looking like his skin was going to fall off his face. The healing factor's accelerated re-growth was not entirely attractive, even if his pouting was cute.

"I trust you," Wade said solemnly. "But I dunno about this almond thing. Like, is it almond butter? Could I get away with just doing peanut butter and making a sandwich? I could probably just take a Brillo Pad to my face to handle this stuff."

"Wade!" Marie-Ange said - almost squawked. "You are not going to take a Brillo Pad to your face, you would not have a face left!" She made a face, scrunched up nose and tongue poking out of her mouth. "The spa provides a catered lunch and drinks, and they have been told that you are a professional athlete, so they understand that you have higher caloric needs than the usual guest. I am sure if you wanted an almond butter sandwich, they would make you one."

Curling his fingers into claws, Wade pretended to scratch at his face, then shrugged. "Hey, a Brillo Pad can't be worse than what I've got going on right this very second. Which is itchy as hell and I kind of wish my face would fall off, Jesus Christ." They walked into the spa, though, and Wade cast a resigned look over the whole place. Soothing colors, soothing plants, soothing water, soothing everything. He tuned into the soothing music for a moment, then blinked slowly and said, "I don't think they know what they're playing here."

It took Marie-Ange a few moments to think about the music and then translate what little of it she caught in her head, and most of that was only because of the vast collection of profanity that the entire Snow Valley office knew. "I am not certain they know either. That, or we have found a spa that offers those services. But they are reputable. I do not think I want to embarrass them though. Or be embarrassed if they know and it is a subtle hint."

"I mean, if this magical face thing works, I'm game to give some of the lyrics a try?" Wade said, waggling his eyebrows before he thought better of it. Then he groaned and made claw-fingers at his forehead. "Augh!"

"We do have that lovely king-sized bed. Perhaps after your face is no longer peeling off in sheets." Marie-Ange said as she reached up to gently swat at Wade's fingers. "If they put cucumbers on your eyes, ask if you can eat some too. It either makes the technicians laugh or reveals them as terrible."

"Deal," Wade said, nodding to the woman at the door the room he assumed they were going into. "We have an appointment, right?"

"Oh yes." Marie-Ange pushed lightly at Wade's back, making an amused and fond eyeroll at his back. "Helga, this is Wade. Wade, this is Helga, she is your aesthetician for the day." She also made fondly exasperated gestures at his face as he sat down. "Sunburn from the skiing without sun screen, you would think he would know better." She'd told the concierge that Wade was a professional camping and hiking guide. "Please fix it. Also his toes, please fix his toes."

"Wait," Wade said as Helga walked toward. He had an ominous sort of sinking feeling in his stomach -- suddenly his face didn't worry him all that much. "What's wrong with my toes?"