Heyyy, what's happenin'? You've reached the voicemail of one very fine-lookin' man. Wanna chat? Fanboy all over my mad skillz? Declare your undying love for me? You know what to do. [BEEEEP]
[See? They already have something in common. Wade decides to take the succinct route this time, however, seeing as how he's kind of still caught off-guard by Carlos's call.]
Good. Okay. I guess I'll... see you in a few minutes, then.
[With that, the call is ended, and a very awkward and nervous looking assassin will be seen sitting on the couch in the common area a few minutes later, as promised.]
[Carlos does not look nervous or awkward, he looks like a scientist. He is wearing a formal lab coat today and is carrying a small box of tangled wires, because he intends to go from here and go to do science out in the interesting and impossible landscape they live in.]
I have heard different people call you different things, what would you like me to call you?
[Since he wants to say 'Hi Wade' or 'Hello Deadpool' but he cannot.]
[That... was not the sort of thing he was expecting out of Carlos's mouth, honestly. Not the first thing out of his mouth, anyway.]
Um. Depends on your preference, I guess? I've been goin' by Wade most of the time, really-- although sometimes people call me Deadpool instead. Your beau calls me both, if I remember correctly.
All right. Hello, Wade, hello for the second or third or fourth time that we have come face to face.
[He sits on the couch next to Wade. There is a small frostiness between them, a palpable memory of their last proper encounter and why, but it is a frostiness that Carlos is doing his best to dispel with a small smile.]
It might be better for our future cohabiting happiness and the ease of the atmosphere within this house that we share, if we start over again as if we had never met before.
[Curiouser and curiouser. Wade squints skeptically at him, trying to discern what kind of angle this guy is working, if he's even working any angle at all. He doesn't trust it. Things just don't naturally go his way like this, especially not after pulling a horrible stunt like that.]
...You're serious. You're willing to just... sweep this under the rug?
No. You did not kill my boyfriend, you did not kill him and you left him maimed with his throat cut open and his most precious possession cut away. You did not kill him even knowing he had to die, and you left him for me to kill. Those are things that no rug or carpet could conceal, those are things which cannot be forgotten or forgiven.
[Does Wade sense a but in the air? There is a but in the air.]
But... But these are things of the past, they are things which we will remember and allow to colour our decisions of the future, but they are not our future. We have the ability to make a shared future, we will make one whether we want to or not by the close proximity of our living quarters. I would prefer that future, which we are forced to cohabit within, to be a pleasant one.
[Wade winces. There is a brief moment of wounded shock in his eyes before he turns his head away; squares his shoulders.] ...'kay. I deserved that.
[He's pretty sure that's not what "starting over" really means, but he knows he doesn't have the right to object.]
If that's the way you wanna go about it, then fine. I'm okay with that. You sure you are, though? You really think this... thing between us can be put in the past?
It already is in the past. It exists there as a joint memory, as a shared experience of emotions, actions, and reactions that we cannot change. It is in the past, it is not of the present and I hope it is not of the future. Whether I can or cannot be okay with that is irrelevant as a factor.
[Wade pauses; pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.]
You realize that's not true, right? That how you feel about it is irrelevant. I mean-- I get it. I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I let my emotions get the best of me and lashed out at someone who wasn't responsible for all of this.
And I know you hate me for it. And that's okay, really. I'm fine with that. Used to it, in fact. I, uh... guess that doesn't come as a surprise to you. You don't have to pretend to get along with me. We can just... stay away from each other. I don't even have to be in the same room as you, if that's what you want.
What you and I want may be irrelevant. It may be relevant now, and we may have the control to enact an avoidance technique, but it may be that we do not have that control for long. We cannot see the future, and in this unpredictable place, it is possible that any number of things may happen which force us into close quarters or with a necessity to rely on one another for survival. I would rather take the chance to, ah, bury the hatchet before such an experience is forced upon us.
Live and let live, or turning the other cheek, or forgiveness being the path to happiness are all usually religious phrases or the bedrock of an emotional pathway. But scientifically speaking, people who do let go of feelings of revenge and hatred are more likely, taking an average percentage into account, to be happier and more adjusted.
[He makes pretty speeches, that much is certain. Wade can see why Cecil is so fond of him. But he's still not convinced.]
But are you capable of that? You've been doin' pretty well in throwin' out statistics and scientific theories and things like that. Distancing yourself from your own feelings-- that's admirable. I wish I could do that.
But is it something that you can do forever? Just bury your feelings, just like that? Make sure they don't resurface every time you see my face? Pretty sure emotions aren't rational like that.
[He looks almost indignant. How could Deadpool even question his ability to live his life via logic and science, that is the core part of who he is. It is the core part of every scientist, of every science minded individual.
Indignation, aside from seeping into his expression like a shadow oozing out of a mysterious and ominous alleyway, finally gives him some brevity.]
That doesn't really answer my question, does it? D'you expect me to believe you can just turn off your emotions, just like that? That you can go back to bein' calm and rational by just telling yourself that it's no big deal, it's just your amygdala tellin' you to hate me? Even Spock was a victim of his own feelings sometimes.
You told me that what I've done can't be forgotten or forgiven. Those were your words, from your own mouth. And yet here I am, standin' here, unpunished. Doesn't that make you wanna punch me in the goddamn face, at least?
[His voice is rising. He doesn't really understand why this is making him so hot under the collar. Maybe he just wants to get a reaction out of Carlos, a confirmation that yes-- he is the villain he's always feared he was. Maybe he does want to be punished.]
I never said that I could turn off my feelings, that would be a scientific impossibility. I am a human being, and as such I am subject to the many hormonal, physical, and emotional strengths and weaknesses of my species. Unlike many robotic creations, whose function can be controlled via switches and buttons, humans do not have the capacity to do that. What I do have the capacity for, as a scientist with a mind that can deal in fact and logic, is the ability to process my emotions and choose not to act on them for the benefit of my perceived future goals.
[His voice is rising too, it is gaining volume in the same way that an avalanche gains momentum, crashing down around him with both anger and eagerness to be understood.]
Well, I'm not a scientist. I don't have the power of logic on my side. I don't have the ability to think "if this, then that" and plan accordingly. I just do things. Half the time, I don't even know why I'm even doing them. [He's laughing now, laughing out of anger, out of frustration; laughing because it's always, always been a more favorable reaction to crying.]
I'm sure I don't need to tell you this-- it's probably already pretty obvious to you. But I just don't understand it. Why, why in God's name would you try to live peacefully with someone you can't stand?
[It's a remarkably brief reply considering how much he usually talks. He is interested in the reply, interested in the same way that a mosquito is interested in a mysterious shining blue light hanging over a doorway.]
[The reply is so succinct, so honestly curious that it catches him completely off-guard. Wade stares for a long second, his mouth working; nothing coming out but inarticulate noises.]
I... because you hate them. Because the very sight of them makes you angry. Maybe even makes you sick. Because you can't help but be reminded of what it is about them that made you hate them, every time you look at them.
I mean, why would you torture yourself like that? Why would you willingly set yourself up for that kind of pain? I... I just don't understand it.
Does it cause you those problems to see me? Does it make your stomach contract and bile flood your throat with the threat of vomit? Is that why you do not wish to continue with this attempt at reconciliation?
[He doesn't feel like that. He does not like Wade, but it is a slow burn of dislike, it is an itch between his shoulder blades. It is the simmering resentment of an old lady who does not want to be old and who impotently rages against uncaring time.]
Yes. No. I... don't know. I just... When I see you I get this sick twisty feeling in my stomach... feels like bad sushi, almost. I don't know what it is. I don't hate you, but... but I haven't felt this way since--
[He stops abruptly, suddenly overcome with the memories of a time before. Since Blind Al. Since Blind Al and the Box. Since the last time I punished an old blind woman for doing what just came naturally to her. The situations aren't really the same, but aren't they at least a little similar? He'd gotten angry, too angry at something he couldn't control, and punished someone who hadn't deserved it. This feeling-- this horrible, gut-twisting feeling-- has a name, and he knows it all too well: Guilt. Regret. Shame.
His eyes burn with it, and he pushes himself off of the couch, glancing away from Carlos so the other man doesn't have to see it.]
I just don't know what to do. [His voice is small-- lost, like a child struggling not to cry.] I can't just not care. Not anymore. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do.
[He is not a mind reader, he cannot see the memories and images which bring with them the twist of guilt that Wade is now associating with him. He only has half the story, perhaps not even half, and it is not a story that he understands. It's a story written in an ancient language of another world, telling tales of deeds and people he cannot imagine.
His brow furrows. There is concern and confusion, mostly confusion, written plain across his face when Wade stands up.]
Perhaps then you are right, perhaps we should endeavour to spend as little time in company with one another as possible. I don't want to be responsible for any feeling that accompanies eating sushi that is no longer fit for human consumption.
No! No, that'll just make me feel even worse. [He sighs.] You just... you shouldn't have to change your behavior on my account. This's my fault. I got us both into this mess, and I'll just... have to deal with it on my own, I guess.
[Wade turns to Carlos with a smile that is obviously meant to be self-assured. It isn't, but at least an attempt was made.]
So, uh... if the offer still stands, we can try the friendly roomie thing out. See how it goes. That okay with you?
I think if we are trying to get along, to become more than acquaintances who awkwardly pass in the hallways of our home that is legally too small to house twelve people, then we should get to know each other.
[That's usually how it's done, how chatting for personal reasons goes.]
[Kind of an awkward position considering Wade tends to keep himself very much to himself unless properly coaxed, but he considers that fair game after the kind of introduction Carlos has had to him. He stabbed his boyfriend in the throat-- Carlos is perfectly within his rights to ask him about himself.]
Okay. Yeah, sure. We can... do that. So, uh... what do you wanna know about me? Unless you want me to start with askin' about you first, I mean.
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Good. Okay. I guess I'll... see you in a few minutes, then.
[With that, the call is ended, and a very awkward and nervous looking assassin will be seen sitting on the couch in the common area a few minutes later, as promised.]
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I have heard different people call you different things, what would you like me to call you?
[Since he wants to say 'Hi Wade' or 'Hello Deadpool' but he cannot.]
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Um. Depends on your preference, I guess? I've been goin' by Wade most of the time, really-- although sometimes people call me Deadpool instead. Your beau calls me both, if I remember correctly.
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[He sits on the couch next to Wade. There is a small frostiness between them, a palpable memory of their last proper encounter and why, but it is a frostiness that Carlos is doing his best to dispel with a small smile.]
It might be better for our future cohabiting happiness and the ease of the atmosphere within this house that we share, if we start over again as if we had never met before.
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...You're serious. You're willing to just... sweep this under the rug?
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[Does Wade sense a but in the air? There is a but in the air.]
But... But these are things of the past, they are things which we will remember and allow to colour our decisions of the future, but they are not our future. We have the ability to make a shared future, we will make one whether we want to or not by the close proximity of our living quarters. I would prefer that future, which we are forced to cohabit within, to be a pleasant one.
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[He's pretty sure that's not what "starting over" really means, but he knows he doesn't have the right to object.]
If that's the way you wanna go about it, then fine. I'm okay with that. You sure you are, though? You really think this... thing between us can be put in the past?
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[Wade pauses; pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.]
You realize that's not true, right? That how you feel about it is irrelevant. I mean-- I get it. I fucked up. I fucked up bad. I let my emotions get the best of me and lashed out at someone who wasn't responsible for all of this.
And I know you hate me for it. And that's okay, really. I'm fine with that. Used to it, in fact. I, uh... guess that doesn't come as a surprise to you. You don't have to pretend to get along with me. We can just... stay away from each other. I don't even have to be in the same room as you, if that's what you want.
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Live and let live, or turning the other cheek, or forgiveness being the path to happiness are all usually religious phrases or the bedrock of an emotional pathway. But scientifically speaking, people who do let go of feelings of revenge and hatred are more likely, taking an average percentage into account, to be happier and more adjusted.
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But are you capable of that? You've been doin' pretty well in throwin' out statistics and scientific theories and things like that. Distancing yourself from your own feelings-- that's admirable. I wish I could do that.
But is it something that you can do forever? Just bury your feelings, just like that? Make sure they don't resurface every time you see my face? Pretty sure emotions aren't rational like that.
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[He looks almost indignant. How could Deadpool even question his ability to live his life via logic and science, that is the core part of who he is. It is the core part of every scientist, of every science minded individual.
Indignation, aside from seeping into his expression like a shadow oozing out of a mysterious and ominous alleyway, finally gives him some brevity.]
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You told me that what I've done can't be forgotten or forgiven. Those were your words, from your own mouth. And yet here I am, standin' here, unpunished. Doesn't that make you wanna punch me in the goddamn face, at least?
[His voice is rising. He doesn't really understand why this is making him so hot under the collar. Maybe he just wants to get a reaction out of Carlos, a confirmation that yes-- he is the villain he's always feared he was. Maybe he does want to be punished.]
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[His voice is rising too, it is gaining volume in the same way that an avalanche gains momentum, crashing down around him with both anger and eagerness to be understood.]
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I'm sure I don't need to tell you this-- it's probably already pretty obvious to you. But I just don't understand it. Why, why in God's name would you try to live peacefully with someone you can't stand?
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[It's a remarkably brief reply considering how much he usually talks. He is interested in the reply, interested in the same way that a mosquito is interested in a mysterious shining blue light hanging over a doorway.]
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I... because you hate them. Because the very sight of them makes you angry. Maybe even makes you sick. Because you can't help but be reminded of what it is about them that made you hate them, every time you look at them.
I mean, why would you torture yourself like that? Why would you willingly set yourself up for that kind of pain? I... I just don't understand it.
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[He doesn't feel like that. He does not like Wade, but it is a slow burn of dislike, it is an itch between his shoulder blades. It is the simmering resentment of an old lady who does not want to be old and who impotently rages against uncaring time.]
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[He stops abruptly, suddenly overcome with the memories of a time before. Since Blind Al. Since Blind Al and the Box. Since the last time I punished an old blind woman for doing what just came naturally to her. The situations aren't really the same, but aren't they at least a little similar? He'd gotten angry, too angry at something he couldn't control, and punished someone who hadn't deserved it. This feeling-- this horrible, gut-twisting feeling-- has a name, and he knows it all too well: Guilt. Regret. Shame.
His eyes burn with it, and he pushes himself off of the couch, glancing away from Carlos so the other man doesn't have to see it.]
I just don't know what to do. [His voice is small-- lost, like a child struggling not to cry.] I can't just not care. Not anymore. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do.
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His brow furrows. There is concern and confusion, mostly confusion, written plain across his face when Wade stands up.]
Perhaps then you are right, perhaps we should endeavour to spend as little time in company with one another as possible. I don't want to be responsible for any feeling that accompanies eating sushi that is no longer fit for human consumption.
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[Wade turns to Carlos with a smile that is obviously meant to be self-assured. It isn't, but at least an attempt was made.]
So, uh... if the offer still stands, we can try the friendly roomie thing out. See how it goes. That okay with you?
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[His tone says he thinks that's sort of a stupid question, but he's just polite enough to only verbalise it in an entirely non verbal way.]
If it were not okay with me, if it were not the intended outcome of this discussion, then I would not have suggested it at all.
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[His hand once again reaches back to squeeze his neck awkwardly.]
So uh... [He clears his throat.] ...was that everything or was there something else you wanted to discuss?
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[That's usually how it's done, how chatting for personal reasons goes.]
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[Kind of an awkward position considering Wade tends to keep himself very much to himself unless properly coaxed, but he considers that fair game after the kind of introduction Carlos has had to him. He stabbed his boyfriend in the throat-- Carlos is perfectly within his rights to ask him about himself.]
Okay. Yeah, sure. We can... do that. So, uh... what do you wanna know about me? Unless you want me to start with askin' about you first, I mean.
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