[ It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue. ]

[superxgrlfriend.livejournal.com]

WHO: jamie_prime and mouth_breathing; superxgrlfriend, doubleoohbaby, hhhhfuckedagain, wadewilson and deadredbird; apocalypsewench and cry_andletloose
WHERE: A warehouse outside the city.
WHEN: Late Saturday/early Sunday
SUMMARY: Emplate nabbed Jamie for noms and now there are Emplate!dupes waiting for Monet to walk into his trap. He probably wasn't expecting her to bring a few people who don't mind shooting him in the face.
WARNINGS: Violence and character death.
FORMAT: I'm going with quick para for now, but whatever you guys want, really. Tag yourselves in when you're available!



[ Monet distracts herself with clothing, checking and rechecking her gloves, stretching out new leather, scuffing her heels against the pavement. It's dark at the rendezvous point and she's alone for the moment, drowning in her thoughts, so concentrating on the physical material is helping to keep her from asking herself, over and over, as she's asked herself every day for last seven years, why. Why her, why her family, why ever, why now? Why couldn't her brother have been born with the X-gene that allowed him to propel through the air like a rocket or turn into a giant rock? Would it even have made a difference? Would anything? Would he have still turned out this way, so angry, bitter, evil?

Monet knows so much but this she'll never know. What if, what if, what if. A dangerous game to play on a good day. This is not a good day.

She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for her team, and picks the lint from her coat because it's easier than wondering if her father would ever forgive her, or why she needs his forgiveness at all. ]

Comments

[mouth-breathing.livejournal.com]

One of the dupes goes down, its entire front half blasted to little more than bone and flesh as the other three bound toward Deadpool, each one wielding wicked claws aimed at the man's throat.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Now THAT'S a gooey kablooey if'n I ever saw one!"

That's about all he can get out before the three mooks are on top of him, and he has to sacrifice the cannon to block their claws. These freaks are fast!

A backflip and a tuck and roll later, he's on his feet and moving, trying to angle himself behind them to nail that respirator business... but crazy strafing gunfire will do nicely.

"So 'Marius,' are you just incapable of having a cool name? I mean, bad enough your folks gave you a handle that sounds like you should wear bloomers and babysit British orphans, but when you get to choose your own, you name yourself after tacky commemorative dishware? For shame, lame-wad!"

[mouth-breathing.livejournal.com]

One of the three is rattled by the gunfire, his body twisting to the right in a hard, painful spiral that leaves him on the ground. The other two are still running, now phasing into and out of reality every time they feel that a bullet is near its mark.

The closest one is the one that speaks first, its words coming out too fast, too close together to be sane. "Don'tyouevershutupyoudamnedfuckingmorongofaman?!?!"

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

"Gopher Man? Did you just call me Gopher Man?!"

The phasing's a new trick he wasn't expecting - did he absorb somebody else in this fight? Maybe the Fonzie kid in the gay little domino mask is a phaser. Phasers suck.

"I GUESS I can see that," he says, holstering a gun and drawing a sword while springing backwards, vaulting off a support beam and flipping over his attacker's head. "Although I think you're actually straining for a Whack-A-Mole reference, considering how impossible it is for you feebs to land a hit on me, and you can't just sub in any old rodent for that kinda joke! Comedy's in the specifics, man!"

He lands in a crouch, taking a sudden sword swipe at that respirator hose on the farthest one, hoping he's got enough surprise on his side to catch him unphased.

"Unless you were actually trying to make a Caddyshack reference! Then I completely apologize, because that serves the dual purpose of praising my l33t sk1llz and making yourself sympathetic by casting you in the Bill Murray role! Well done! If only you could apply that kind of creativity to your boring-ass bad guy name - I mean, Emplate? That's so damn clinical that you might as well be Dr. Speculum!"

A twist to try and shoot the other one in the back, for good measure.

"Although come to think of it, Dr. Speculum and his goons Pap and Smear might make a really effective sicko kinda niche villain. I'd watch Elliot Stabler try to take a creep like that down..."

[mouth-breathing.livejournal.com]

The furthest dupe screams as its hose is cut, the sudden onrush of polluted air sending it into wild convulsions. As it goes down, it tries swipe at Deadpool, hand flexing and reaching, aiming to take a good chunk out of him with the last of his strength.

The second one phases through the bullet fully intent on finishing off whatever the first had started.

[wadewilson.livejournal.com]

No touching. Can't let him grab a hold. A duck and move, and then he grabs a hold of the flexing hand at the wrist as it whiffs over his head and tries to ride its momentum away from the other attacker - but wow, did he misjudge the strength of this mook in his flailing death throes. Deadpool goes flying away and slams his back against a steel pillar, dropping him into a heap.

"Oh Miss Buxley," he stammers, dazed and seeing stars. "Come and take a letter, will you? Tell Miss Blips she can kiss my grits..."