Let's Round This Out
Here’s a question to ponder: Why were movie theatre staff always being made to wear the little bowties? The rest of the world had moved on from the 50’s, there was no reason to keep this little nugget around. Going to the movies should be about newness! Originality! Better CGI than ever before!!!
Of course, Gwen would never say such things to her boss. It was a miracle she got this job at all. Gwen would keep her head down and schlep popcorn for thirteen dollars an hour if that was what it took to keep it. Yes, fuck it, she was going to become a cog in the capitalist machine. Even if it was killing her. And killing the nature of art. Not that Gwen had any right to be talking about art. She had thrown away her chance to study for it.
“So, what’d you think about Civil War?” The guy she was serving asked, “It was fun, right? I have so many questions about-”
“I haven’t seen the movie.” Gwen interrupted, smiling at him nervously, “So don’t spoil it, okay?”
The guy did a double take, “Really? Why not? You literally work here. All the time. Surely you’ve gotten the time to sit in on an empty seat?”
And he’d been by nearly ten times to see the movie. Gwen was almost jealous of him if he hadn’t been wearing the same shirt each of those ten times. Yeuch.
“I’m too busy. Working. But I’ve seen the end-credits scene.” Gwen offered, “That’s when I clean the theater. And I probably shouldn’t say that. Here’s a medium-sized popcorn, just like you asked. Could you please leave now?”
The man looked taken aback, “I… er… yeah. Okay.” He backed away, popcorn in hand and looking regretfully apologetic. At least the guy understood that he had messed up.
Or maybe he hadn’t messed up. He was just asking a regular question about a popular movie. Gwen shouldn’t have blown up about it.
But the thing was… she hadn’t seen a Marvel movie in a long time. She had been too tired for it. She had been too tired for anything that she enjoyed lately. Everything felt like too much, and she had no idea why.
She milled through her remaining shift, her body running on autopilot as she took off her hat and put it into her bag, walking out of the staff exit.
Funny thing about the staff exit, there was a loose floorboard right behind the door. No one had made any moves to fix it, but that had never been an issue because no one had been hurt on it.
No one until now, when Gwen Poole put her foot down on the shaky floorboard.
When the pressure was applied, the floorboard flipped over, not into a bare cement floor, but instead a pink, vacuous void.
She didn’t even think to run as a white and pink blobby creature pulled itself out from the gap, blinking with wide pink eyes.
“Hello…” It purred, “Who are you?”
This was such a bizarre thing in front of her, she couldn’t breathe. What else was she supposed to do except answer?
“G-Gwen.” She whispered, “Poole.”
“Ah.” The creature made a motion of nodding, “How do you feel about being a mercenary with an attitude?”
“…Huh?”
Apparently, her feelings didn’t matter, because the amorphous blob grabbed her and pulled her into the gap of the floorboard.
“…and the creature pulled me in, through the goo, and plopped me down onto the ground. Outside of the shop of my famous costume designer.” Gwen finished, grinning softly, “I looked around, and made a choice. I was going to put on a mask. And that’s how I became the Unbelievable Gwenpool. Any questions?”
The old, redhead woman laughed, “The story changes every time you tell me. I’m not that senile yet, you know?” She asked, her voice frailer than Gwen remembered it being, just a few weeks ago. Or technically years. Time was weird, as they had established.
“I wasn’t saying that.” Gwen rolled her eyes, giggling a little, “I just… there’s a different story every time I try to remember.”
“Is that another part of wearing the mask?” She asked, “You never did tell me how that worked.”
“Gotta keep the magic alive for my fans, don’t I?” Gwen teased.
“Didn’t realize that you had any other fans except me.” She teased right back.
“Eh, you’ll always be number one, but not to brag but in the Real World, I happen to have a lot of fans.” She replied, “In fact, there’s a fanfiction being written about me right now, I can just feel it.”
“Well then, I wouldn’t want to keep you from them, Poole.” She laughed and waved off, bidding Gwen leave to dash back out to nearest adventure. She was always forgiving like that.
But Gwen didn’t run away. She didn’t get whisked away by the plot. She remained rooted to where she was, dwelling in the moment. She didn’t always get to appreciate the moments of quiet bliss, because the industry that she had been pulled into valued constant action and combat.
“Say, Fanny, how about some tea?” She asked, “I think I’ll hang around some more, if you don’t mind.”
“Neither of us drink tea.” The woman snorted.
“Right, okay. Worth a shot. Have you seen the latest Hellfire Gala update?”
“Now that’s something exciting.”
And that was to be the end. Of course, things are never this easy with Gwendolyn Poole.
Because behind the scenes there was a team of writers, working tirelessly with colorful sticky notes and a corkboard and even colorful thread. In marker, someone had posted the goal of their meeting at the very top.
The Unbelievable Origin Story of Gwenpool.
Underneath it, there were dozens of possibilities written out and pinned up. Mutant. Inhuman. Alien. Science Experiment. Portal. Another portal. Another portal. Another portal but this time in green. A sentient portal.
More than half of these were already crossed out.
“Come on, people, we gotta find something that’ll stick!” An editor cried, clapping his hands as if that would speed the process up any.
“We’re working, sir, she’s rejecting all of them!” A hapless person who had been working on this for far too long cried.
“What do you mean, she’s rejecting all of them? Poole isn’t real. Just slap an origin on it and don’t retcon it this time. It’s that easy.”
“You’ve never worked on Gwenpool-related projects, have you?” Someone asked him sympathetically, “That’s not really how it works. It has to be an origin she approves of, otherwise… it simply changes once we print it out. It’s like she’s alive or something.”
“Alive…?” The editor spluttered, “That’s ridiculous-”
“It’s happening again!” Another writer cried, and the whole team groaned as they pitch they had printed out was brandished in front of them, thoroughly changed from what it had been when they put it in.
On the corkboard, the suggestion of a sentient portal had to be crossed out. There was silence for a moment before another writer put another note on the board.
Ghost?
“Eh, what the fuck. Worth a shot.” The editor shrugged, “But keep it for a later arc. We gotta stretch out the mystery of her origin a bit more.”