Smuppets, Shades, and Kids With Swords
Well, that didn't go well.
The kid's noped out of being in the same room with you, which you kind of understand; it's not the first time it's happened, after all. You're actually kind of surprised that it took this long, that he stayed through the bleeding and only ran when he saw that it stopped.
Honestly, it's actually good that he's out of here. You're here to kill his brother; he probably doesn't need to see that. Plus he'd probably get in the way, one way or another...but on the other hand, you do have a sneaking suspicion that he's the guy you're really here for; you'll have to keep track of him if you want to get paid. The mysterious Miss Lalonde might have a substantial hatred for the elder Strider, but her concern for the younger is the real reason why you're here.
Which is fucked, really. You're not a babysitter.
...well, actually, that's a lie. You're pretty damn willing to be anything, if somebody's paying you enough. Which means that yes, your current job is to extricate a piece of cord from one of your pockets and use it to secure the knife you just pulled out of your arm to the harness that keeps your main swords in place, and then to start hunting down the kid that you're pretty sure is Dave Strider.
(What? It's your knife now. If it stabs you, it's yours. That's just how things are.)
The kid isn't in the main room; the first room you check is probably your mark's, going by the number of those creepy little sex toys scattered over the floor. The idea of checking out the impressive computer setup that takes up most of one wall is tempting, to say the least, but finding the kid comes first. Close to first. Snagging one of the finger-sized muppet things off the desk comes first. Finding out that you can't keep it in your pocket because it starts vibrating when squeezed comes second. Realizing you can clip it to one of the straps on your harness comes third.
This little guy's name is...can you name him Lil' Smut Man? Probably. Wait, shit, there's a kid in this fic with you, you probably shouldn't name your new friend that. Junior. Deadpool Junior. Doohickey Deadpool Junior. Okay you should maybe stop before his name gets any longer.
You clip Doohickey to one of your harness straps, check that he's not vibrating, and retreat from the room before you can get curious enough to start really poking around. That can wait until you've sorted out the issue at hand.
What was the issue at hand, exactly?
Oh yeah, the kid. Probably-Dave. Well, there's a couple possible doors to check.
Door one is the bathroom! He's not in there. Of course he isn't; what kind of kid hides in a bathroom? Actually, that could be something that kids normally do. You don't really know a lot about kids. You wouldn't do it, but then again you were kind of a fucked up kid.
Then again...you kind of suspect that this kid's also fucked up. Just a suspicion. Something about the fact that you're being paid to kill his guardian by someone who's obviously worried about him, something about the sex toys and the weapons in the fridge and just. Yeah. You can kill people that you don't have any specific opinion on, but you're already disliking this Strider character.
Anyway.
The second door is just a flight of stairs, despite the fact that this is the top floor. What, does this go up to the roof? He's probably not through there. Isn't the roof usually off-limits for tenants?
Door number three it is.
Okay, this one's his room. It's not so much the posters on the walls or the elaborate turntable setup in the one corner that tips you off, as it is the fact that he's crouched in the middle of the space in a more than passable combat stance, complete with drawn sword.
Ooh. Sword. You're guessing that it's the mate to the one still displayed on the wall; the hilts match, even if you can only see the blade on the one that the kid seems ready to fillet you with. It doesn't look all that fancy, but it does look plenty sharp enough to slice a couple chunks off you. He seems to be ready to use it to slice those chunks off, too.
You're still not going to draw your own swords, though. Instead you stop in the door, lean against the frame, and tell him, "Relax, Dave. I'm not here for you. Well, I kind of am, but not in the death and mutilation way."
"Do you think you're being reassuring right now? Like is that the vibe you're going for?"
"I don't do reassuring very well. Something about people not trusting the guy with a mask on."
"Good point. Take it the fuck off."
Well, shit. "You're not going to like that."
This kid has the elusive expression of gee, you fucking think? down to an absolute science. You feel honored to be on the receiving end of this. "Yeah, and I'm just loving the rest of this shit. Mask off."
"Shades off, then. Who wears shades in the house, anyway?"
"Fuck you."
"Uncalled for." You might as well give him what he wants, though. Where's he going to go, out the window? "Keep in mind that I'm going to be upset if you stab me, kid..."
Interesting. That's what gets him to lower the sword just a tad, relax a smidge. Would that be because what you said could come across as a veiled threat, or because he just figured out that there's not a lot of point to cutting someone who heals more or less immediately? Eh, either way you're happy with this result. It's definitely enough of a concession for you to reach up and find the bottom edge of your hood, pull it up enough to expose your face. Most of your face. Almost all of your face. Enough of your face that Dave's face twists up in what starts as disgust and ends up as...
Curiousity? That definitely looks like curiousity. This kid is seriously weird.
"Are you satisfied?"
"Nope. Leave it off." There goes the curiousity, to be replaced by pure obstinance. You're really beginning to like this kid. "What the fuck do you mean, you're not here for me but you are here for me?"
Oh, he's not going to like this. Should you lie to him? Probably. Are you going to lie to him? Yeah, no. He's thirteen, not an idiot. Being thirteen probably makes him an idiot by default, but not the kind that's going to buy any of the halfassed lies you could come up with as explanations.
So you shrug, and you tell him the truth.
"I'm being paid a frankly obscene amount of money to kill your brother—"
Dave instantly falls back into that defensive stance, sword coming back up like he's expecting you to start the assassinations with him, in the absence of your actual target. "Like fuck you are—you're going through me first—"
"Whoa there, cowboy. I don't get paid more than expenses unless I bring you to the lady who hired me. I mean, she's been pretty generous with those expenses, but still."
"No fuckin' way am I going anywhere with you!"
Damn. You sigh, rub at your forehead, remember that leather gloves plus tender scarred skin equals a substantial amount of pain, and stop doing that. "Lalonde could have told me you were going to be this stubborn."
"...Lalonde." The sword goes down again, as Dave's face goes blank with what you're going to guess is shock. "Rose? Rose is doing this shit? Why the fuck—"
"No clue! Asking for motivations isn't what I get paid for. In fact, digging too far into shit tends to get me not paid." You decide that Dave might be just distracted enough to make taking a step further into the room safe. And it kind of is; he doesn't actually stab you. "It might be your Rose, might not. You could check yourself. Maybe do it somewhere else, if Strider Senior is going to be home any time soon."
"I don't have a fucking clue when he'll come back," Dave says. Of course, as soon as that's out of his mouth you hear the door to the apartment open.
"Shit." The two of you say it in near-perfect unison; his is low and breathless, yours comes out as almost a hiss. He looks up at you and opens his mouth again, but you're next to him and muzzling him with one hand before he can make another sound. Your other hand's occupied with twisting the sword away from him; this also means you end up cutting open your glove and your palm. This job is turning out to be pretty hard on your gear.
"Is there a fire escape out that window?" You keep your voice low, just enough for Dave to understand you, and you don't let him go even when he makes a muffled sound in response to your question. "Nod or shake, kid."
It's a nod.
"Get out on it. Does it go up to the roof?"
Nod.
"Get up there, stay up there. I'll come get you." When he shakes his head, you take your hand off his mouth.
"He's gonna kill you," Dave whispers as soon as you let go. He flinches again, at the sound of another door opening and shutting; at least it's not the door to this room, thank god. You actually left the door to this room open. If he looks in here, you're going to have a serious problem. "You're the one who needs to get the hell out, he's gonna—"
You muzzle him again. "I'm the main character here, kid. I have plot immunity, you don't, now move, okay? Vamoose. Shoo."
The noise he makes behind your hand suggests that he doesn't believe you. Still, when you turn him loose, he only hesitates for a second before he slips out the open window.
It's perfect timing, too; you have just enough time to pull the mask back down and turn around before a roughly irritated voice with an edge of a southern drawl that's just pronounced enough to sound douchey asks, "Who the fuck're you supposed to be?"
He can't see it, but you still grin as you reach over your shoulders to grab both of your swords. "Do none of you know about me? Never heard of Deadpool? What's your problem, exactly?"
You're not really sure where he grabs a sword from, but he's got one in his hand even before you finish talking. Which is something you're one hundred percent fine with.
Time to start earning that obscene amount of money.