OOC
GAME: Mutant Haven
DESCRIPTION:
DATE: October 2008
PB: James Franco
JOURNAL: nonlethalhugs
IC
name: Wade Wilson (Deadpool)
age: 20 (Gemini: June 15, 1988)
sexuality: Beasexual.
occupation: Well-compensated establishment provocateur. Also known as a mercenary.
mutation:
Accelerated healing: Extremely accelerated; Wade can regrow entire limbs if so required. He can also recover from headshots and is largely unaffected by poison, thus making him maddeningly hard to kill — but he can be incapacitated by the fact that his healing factor normally kicks in for larger, serious injuries. He can regrow parts of his skull just fine, but cuts and bruises and maulings might not trigger the rapid healing.
Stamina: Wade's been calling a living Energizer Bunny. He's in top condition from both his stint in the army and his constant training aferwards, but the ability also helps his stamina and capabilities for fatigue. Wade's body recovers faster from lactic acid or something. He doesn't think about it much.
Banter: A nigh-superhuman ability to maintain constant, infuriating chatter. He can use this to his advantage by just damn near pissing off his opponents to the point of distraction. :]
PERSONALITY: Just as there are different types of inebriation — happy drunk, horny drunk, sleepy drunk, angry drunk — there are different brands and flavours of mental insanity: Wade likes to call his "tropical berry blast". In other words: much to the displeasure and aggravation of pretty much everyone else, Wade is a mouthy lunatic. He never dealt well with authority. He likes quips and one-liners, and was most often cuffed as a teen for his insatiable attitude and habit for talking back. He'll usually never shut up unless you shoot his jaw off — and even then, it's only a matter of time before it regrows and he's right back to his obnoxious form of verbal diarrhea. He just cannot shut up, and is immensely reckless in his choice of cocky word-vomit; screw Odysseus' hubris, Wade Wilson would have dropped his pants and capered in his boxers around a blinded Cyclops.
He was a careless delinquent even before he became "Deadpool", but the fast-acting healing factor has given Wade far more confidence than any man (psychotic or no) should rightfully bear. If it weren't for that healing, you could call him suicidal in his recklessness, what with this immensely lackadaisical attitude towards his own self-preservation. In fact, Wade doesn't mind people fucking with him; he's resilient, and bounces back like rubber more often than not, and it might even be said that he enjoys it. He likes pushing the limits and seeing how far he can go. If he dies, no biggie. And any dicking around in his mind is perfectly welcome — it's damaged goods anyway, so what could it hurt?
Truthfully, he doesn't just do the mercenary thing because his abilities make it convenient. He does it because he is very deeply violent in nature, and possesses no qualms about murder and injury as long as it pays his TV bills. Is the morbid sense of humour, sadistic lulz and intense schadenfreude a by-product of his mental instability? You tell me. Wade is fascinated with death (to die will be an awfully big adventure), and possesses an even stronger fixation on pop culture and television references. With his parents long-gone and him politely separated from his army peers, his walk of life takes him very definitely far away from that of other twenty-year-olds — but then again, Wade doesn't mind dancing around outside the margins of normal life. He breaks the metaphorical fourth wall sometimes, though it's debatable whether he's genuinely witnessing some True Form of Reality <small>(TM)</small> or if he just cray-cray. The man's bizarre hallucinations hint towards the latter.
Deadpool can be a big sleaze, but Olsen twin jokes and wet t-shirt competition requests aside, he really would not want people to know that this aspect of him is all talk and no walk. He mostly sleeps with hookers, and if any normal girl were ever to respond to his advances, he wouldn't know what the shit to do. He's physically self-conscious and sensitive about his scars, which is why he generally goes masked. Wade's also a bit touchy about the cancer subject — he can be blasé about his own situation and laugh it off all day long, but if he ever hears that someone else has experienced something very much the same, well. It's one of few things that'll force him to stop and give pause to think.
Yes, the devil-may-care merc with a mouth has a tiny shrivelled little soul in there somewhere, and he has vulnerabilities. He'd like to pretend otherwise, though.
HISTORY: "So I guess my writer is uselessly lazy or something, because she's tasked me with writing my own background. And I figure, hey, guy's got time on his hands. Plus, I've always wanted to do my own memoirs someday, and you gotta take a break from Jeopardy and porn sometimes, am I right or am I right?
Well, to start, my dad was in the military. You know the type: big guy, tough guy, got kind of punch-drunk after a few drinks. We weren't The Jeffersons, know what I'm saying? As far as I recall, George Jefferson didn't beat his kids. So my father and I really didn't get along, but it wasn't all that bad. My mom dying of cancer, now that's the kicker. He got way less cuddly after that. Like, he was Mr. Wilson and I was Dennis, if Mr. Wilson had an anger management problem and Dennis just didn't know when to stop. Granted, I was one of those angry youth delinquents, got mixed up in some not-so-fun-times, but things were still shitty. And then my dad got shot after one of my stupid dumbass friends got their hands on a shotgun.
Way to not check the safety, moron.
I joined the army to be like my dad, or maybe it was just to bust some skulls, I don't really remember. My memory's pretty fuzzy on all of the details in this part. Can we fast forward or something?
Yeah. So I'm in the army, right, and I get diagnosed with terminal cancer. Look ma, I'm just like you! I wasn't really planning on going out quiet — I didn't want to die in some hospital bed like she did, I wanted to go out with a bang on some oil-slicked frontlines, get it? But that got all screwed up after I started getting sicker, and they judged me "unfit for service", whatever the hell that means. I'll take Military BS for 100, Alex.
Guess I should be a little grateful, at least, because once the cancer sank in, the government had this project they needed a military guinea pig for, someone who didn't mind vastly dangerous risks and liability contracts. The surgery was okay. No Igor and no lightning conduits, so it was pretty disappointing on that front, but they cured my cancer, at least. Hold your horses, though — I don't think they'll be winning millions off that patent, because the cell regeneration left me looking like a Cuisinart danced a can-can over my body and I think it made me clinically insane. So they tell me, at least.
So apparently cancerous cells and rapid healing just don't mix that well. Who coulda known? But it would make for a totally awesome commercial, don't you think? CURES YOUR TERMINAL DISEASE! LINE UP NOW, LIVE TO SEE ANOTHER DAY! Side-effects may include hallucinations and a permanently altered state of existence.
Whatever. So I was politely expelled from the army, and I've been up and down the west coast taking merc jobs since then. I've started to notice this quaint hotel in the area getting some new unique residents lately. Very Fawlty Towers. Starting to think I should check it out."
song lyric: modest mouse, "the view": well, you shot off your mouth and look where it got you.
SOUNDTRACK
marcy playground, "the devil's song":
I'm a deadly handsome man. […] Everything I say — like Socrates, most people love to quote me. My real name is Mephistopheles.
modest mouse, "the view":
Well, you shot off your mouth and look where it got you; my mouth runs on too.
modest mouse, "bukowski":
You were talk, talk, talk, talkin' in circles that day.
future bible heroes, "mr punch":
That Mr. Punch, he's a rum one, ain't he? Strapping as his yapping little wife is dainty. Hit her with a big stick, give her what for / And she's dead, dead, dead / On the crimson floor.
a perfect circle, "the outsider":
Lying through your teeth again, suicidal imbecile / Think about it, put it on the faultline / What'll it take to get it through to you, precious? / Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this / Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you / Disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time / What's your rush now / Everyone will have his day to die.
a perfect circle, "the nurse who loved me":
Say hello to the rug's topography / It holds quite a lot of interest with your face down on it / Say hello to the shrinking in your head / You can't see it, but you know it's there so don't neglect it / I'm taking her home with me, all dressed in white / She's got everything I need, pharmacy keys / She's falling hard for me, I can see it in her eyes / She acts just like a nurse with all the other guys. / Say hello to all the apples on the ground / They were once in your eyes but you sneezed them out while sleeping / Say hello to everything you've left behind / It's even more a part of your life now that you can't touch it.
the hush sound, "unsafe safe":
No, you won’t disarm my heart / The last gift you’ll ever get from me is the combination or the key. / The dial was rusted, vintagely constructed / To carry out thoughts of a small scale destruction / I saw this one coming, there's no use in running / Safe in the distance ignorantly witnessing / Everyone scatter as I had a vision / A regret, you might say; a worry, you might say / No, you won’t disarm my heart.
andrew bird, "a nervous tic motion of the head to the left":
Over prescribed, under the mister / We had survived to turn on the history channel / And ask our esteemed panel: why are we alive? / And here's how they replied: you're what happens when two substances collide, and by all accounts you really should've died. […] Over imbibed, under the mister / Barely alive, we cover the blisters in flannel / Though the words we speak are banal, not one of them's a lie / Not one of them's a lie / You're what happens when two substances collide, and by all accounts you really should've died.
eels, "fitting in with the misfits":
Fitting in with the misfits, living in the lost and found / And I will never be afraid / For lost souls don't know where they're bound
eels, "the only thing i care about":
She was a walking work of art / I am a broken wind-up toy / I thought I knew what really mattered. / Got a flat on the road, don't care about my car / Lost twenty-six bucks, don't care about my rent / Caught every episode on TV today / But the only thing I care about got away. / She had a brilliant future, I have a past / I have my memories, but they're fading fast.
eels, "my beloved monster":
My beloved monster is tough / If she wants she will disrobe you / But if you lay her down for a kiss, her little heart it could explode / She will always be the only thing / That comes between me and the awful sting / That comes from living in a world that's so damn mean .
eels, "cancer for the cure":
The kids are diggin' up a brand new hole where to put the deadbeat mom / Grandpa's happy watching video porn with the closed-caption on / And father knows best about suicide and smack / Cancer for the cure / Cancer for the cure / Buckle up and endure now, baby / Cancer for the cure.
modest mouse, "you're the good things":
Sleight of hand won't separate your body from the dirt you're standing on today / You're the good things, yeah, that's you— / You're the icing on the cake on the table at my wake / You're the extra ton of cash on my sinking life raft / You're the loud sound of fun when I'm trying to sleep / You're the flowers in my house when my allergies come out / You're the good things. / And help's not short when you're diggin' your grave / I'll help you dig it / So you're diggin' your grave, now you're speakin' my language, I'll help you dig it.
editors, "when anger shows":
You are a sleeping lion in your bed, I will not wake you / You're the moment love has passed / We all must learn to hate you, you're a memory from before / Please don't let me forget you, you're the wolves at my door. / In that moment you realise / That something you thought would always be there will die / Like everything else.
the tragically hip, "highway girl (live)"
covers: why can't we be friends, down with the sickness (richard cheese in general), milkshake (chance), etc
bo burnham, "love is…" ???
coldplay; "a rush of blood to the head" (cover?)
LOGS
October 6, 2008: Madeline Pryor blows up Deadpool
October 9, 2008: Warren Worthington welcomes him to the hotel
October 22, 2008: Playing William Tell with Aurora
