They were thirty minutes into the briefing when Deadpool put his gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. No one flinched, or even seemed to care. He'd been playing with the pistols the entire time, ignoring every word Cable told them. He'd put puppets on the ends of the barrels and mocked the people in the room as they carried on the serious business of the meeting.
"Should we wait for Deadpool to return to us?" Rogue asked.
"No," Cable sighed. "As always, he will serve as our distraction while we carry out the mission."
"He is one helluva good distraction," Logan agreed.
"Who invited him, anyway?" Storm asked. There was a general denial by everyone.
"He's just like a bad dinner guest," Rogue decided "He invites himself, gets drunk and makes a pass at your spouse, and then vomits on your bed."
"And it is probably better for all of us if he doesn't know our true objectives," Cable continued, "His inner monologue never seems to stay internal. All we need is for him to reveal the right information at the wrong time because he thinks he's talking to a sentient taco instead of an enemy trooper."
They all signaled their agreement and continued the meeting.
When Deadpool came around again, Logan stood above him. "Did you hear anything of the plan?"
"¿Cómo se dice 'plan,' en Inglés?" he giggled.
"Cut the shit."
"I don't need no stinkin' plan," he said, affecting a crappy accent.
"Sure you don't, bub, but the rest of us do. "
Deadpool lifted his head from the ground, looking around, "What crawled up your ass and died?" Logan gave him yet another long suffering look, but the only answer he got was from the two voices in his head.
Ikr? I'm so hungry, I could eat a wolverine. Do you think they have anything good in the snack machine?
Logan just needs to get laid. Food isn't a bad idea though… I think we have a buck fifty in change.
Fuck the change, just smash the glass and grab what we want.
Deadpool stood as visions of chimichangas danced in his head, he noticed that his gun was still in his hand. As he placed his pistol back in its holster, he tapped the trigger, and shot himself in the upper thigh.
"Aw, fuck me," Deadpool squeaked, his voice two octaves higher than normal.
"Do you enjoy the pain? Is that it?" Logan knew from experience that their healing factor did not negate the pain.
"Only when you penetrate me!" he teased, and coughed as the wound healed. "Don't'cha know? Chicks dig scars."
