Marvel owns X-men and Deadpool, no profit is to be made from this work.
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1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center - 10:57pm Local time
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"Random beige trench coat commonly found at any thrift shop? Ten dollars. Dry cleaning bill to get out the stink of some other dude's ball sweat? Eh, twenty bucks after a coupon. So worth it! Ghetto blaster bought off Ebay? Roughly two C notes before S&H. Peter Gabriel mix tape containing only In Your Eyes? Pirated, so free! Paying homage to John Cusack while asking the X-geeks for help? Priceless..."
"There are some things money can't buy, for everything else there's .50 cal rounds and plastique!"
Wandering the lawn of the Xavier School for Gifted Children, aka the X-mansion, the most awesome mercenary for hire found himself with a quandary.
"Now, if I was a Negasonic Teenage Warhead, which room would be mine?"
"How about the only one with the lights on?"
"Why, I know! How about the only one that has it's lights on? As if she's the only one currently awake..." "...cough, present, cough..." " at this whole, huge school? Madness! I know, right?!"
Gasping, Deadpool rushed up to the pool of light spilling from a second story window that, for being a Friday night, was oddly quiet.
"Lets take care of that, shall we?"
"Way ahead of me, Inner Monologue, way ahead of me."
Slamming play, the most charismatic man to ever draw iron since Clint Eastwood hefted his trusty Ghetto Blaster overhead to lay down some sick beats.
"...the light, the heat! In your eyes, I am complete! In your eyes! I see the doorway, in your eyes! To a thousand churches, in your eyes!"
"Cusack didn't sing along, just saying."
Ignoring what some might call his common sense, Wade waited through at least three of the various versions of the song that he'd ripped off of Youtube. How nostalgic, making a mix tape so I can pick up a girl! Tee hee!
"Exactly how many versions are there?"
"Lets just say there's a B side to this tape incase I have the wrong window."
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Elsewhere, and completely unbeknownst to the most Infamous Merc with a Mouth© who, once upon a time, had bore a striking resemblance to the sexiest thing to come out of Canada since William Shanter...
No, not Ryan Gosling, you silly goose. But kudos for being close!
"Uh, FYI, Ellie? There's some creep out on the lawn wearing a flasher's trench coat."
Rolling her eyes at her roommate, about the only thing she had in common with Jubilee was parents who gave their kids names that needed improving on. Born Ellie Phimister, the now self-avowed Negasonic Teenage Warhead had a peek out the window just to make sure it was the dude she thought it was.
"I'll give you twenty bucks to Paf him in any of the ways your always talking about wanting to do to the guys who killed your parents. Oh, and don't worry. He heals."
Flopping down on her bed, Negasonic Teenage Warhead dared Jubilation Lee to chicken out of the easiest twenty bucks cash she'd ever make in her life.
"When you say he heals...?"
"Gross as it was, I saw him 127 hours off his own hand and I doubt his sex life suffered for it."
One shrug later and she knew her roommate was sold.
Paf!
Never in her life did twenty bucks sound as good as it did to the kind of shrieks, screams, and swearing that Hollywood usually reserved for it's big, bad R rated movies.
"Fucking ow. You know if he doesn't heal I'm so ratting you out as the Chica who put me to manslaughter for a twenty, right?"
"He'll heal. Trust me, I also saw him use Colossus's nut sack for a punching bag."
"Wow, Phimister, like I wasn't grossed out before. I seriously just threw up in my mouth a little. 'Scuse me while I go gargle and spit, now."
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