I lied. I am afraid of copyrights. Anything you recognize does not belong to me.
As per current iterations, Deadpool has two main voices in his head. The one in bold is the more (usually) rational one, the italics one is his more excitable, chaotic side. Some inspiration from the comics, some from the video game.
Rated M for strong language, and violence (did you expect any less of Deadpool?)
The place still smelled new. Like sawdust and paint thinner, with just a hint of chemical fumes.
[Give it time.]
[Yeah. When we're done with it, this place will have permanently absorbed the greasy stink of tacos and chimi's to last decades. We should get some take-out to break it in.]
"In due time, boys, in due time," answered Deadpool smoothly. Carrying a cardboard box in his arms, he stood on the threshold of his brand new Private Eye office, ink still wet on a freshly signed lease.
Peachy-pink light, courtesy of a setting sun, filtered through slats in the plastic Venetian window shades, casting stripes over his new, pristine mahogany desk. The tall-backed leather chair sat in shadow, displaced slightly to the right as if someone had vacated the seat and didn't wheel it back in.
"All we need is a grey filter and some atmospheric slow jazz, and we're set."
[Some sexy, smoky-voiced honeys in evening dresses and mink coats wouldn't be so bad either.]
[I've always said you looked exactly like Humphrey Bogart.]
"Oh, stop," gushed Deadpool. He set his box on the desk, contents rattling upon contact. This was going to be great. Why didn't he think of this before? His conscience had been feeling just a little bit heavier as of late. Maybe offering some other helpful services besides popping caps into people's brains for a little bit would make that pesky thing go away. It was a worse nagger than Cable. Cable!
And there was also the delicious fact that rich people never liked to air their dirty laundry out in public. Bad for reputations. That was where Deadpool came in. Discreet would be his middle name. Wade Discreet Wilson. Catchy. He mentally noted to put that on the business card. And a motorcycle. Motorcycles were badass. Richies would be throwing themselves at his feet for solving their Scooby Doo mysteries and be so grateful for keeping his mouth shut that they'd pay double.
[So does that mean we aren't a gun for hire anymore?]
"Hey, hey, we're still in the merc game," assured Deadpool, pulling out a framed photograph of a scowling Wolverine. "If certain clients need me to do something a little extra, and show us some additional sweet ka-ching on the side, how can we say no?" He set up the flap stand and placed the picture on the desk, next to an old-fashioned rotary telephone (supplied per his request). And he stopped there for the evening. Setting up was hard work.
The office was some pretty sweet digs, he had to admit. It was only a squat, brown, one-level building stuck inbetween two high-rise apartments downtown, but a fine piece of real estate nonetheless. Inside the entry door was the main walk-in office he was standing in now—he mentally noted to add some semi-comfortable vinyl chairs, a water dispenser, and a tasteful fern in the corner later—and a backroom that sectioned off into smaller storage rooms. One would be his new bedroom. Why pay for an apartment and an office at the same time when you could technically live and work in one?
He took a gander at his workspace. Sweet, there was even an old-fashioned banker's lamp with the green shade on the desk. Deadpool grabbed the hanging ball-chain and switched it off and on.
"We are oh-fficially legit," he announced, tugging the chord again. Click.
Click, click...
...clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.
[Can't wait 'till we start raking in the dough! How are we going to keep up with so many clients?]
"That's what Bob's for. I'll appoint him our secretary when things get a little too much for us to handle. I even found the perfect beehive wig for him."
He took a second to fix Wolverine who had fallen flat on his grouchy face.
Lowering his cushy tushy into the plush leather chair, Deadpool took a moment to survey the entire room in a Don-like demeanor, very pleased. How could things possibly get any better.
Oh. My. God. This chair spins!
A/N: I told myself I'd never have two or more stories going at the same time ever again. But my current other one is a long time in the making, I'm stuck on the other, and I just needed to get this one out pronto. I've never written for a character quite like Deadpool, though I am a fan and read a number of his comics. Without visuals, it's quite a challenge. Hopefully I can get this right. In-character is key for me. But I don't consider myself the epitome of perfection at it, I will inevitably slip up, and that's where you the reader (yes, you right there. I see you watchin' me) come in. Whip me into shape, don't accept anything less than the best from me! I'm counting on you. Godspeed, reader *salute*