“You mean zombie as in perfectly indoctrinated by the school system, the media, authority figures, and the government? Or is this a literal zombie from Walking Dead?”
“Uh… closer to the first one, if I absolutely had to choose? But he’s just a kid in a costume – let him alone.”
“I’m taking my daughter trick-or-treating that night, and since I’m their favorite parental figure, I’m almost positive I’m going to be able to convince her to give me half of her candy.”
Carlos looked to the other man in surprise. “Really?” he asked. “Well, that’d be awfully nice of her. Heh, you sure you shouldn’t be carrying around your own bag?”
Carlos jumped in shock and he stared incredulously at the masked man. “Dude, what the f@$*??“ he asked. “I don’t know who Kate Spade is!” Who the hell – who let this maniac into the bar?? “And I don’t know who would even want to walk a day in Peewee Herman’s shoes.”
Carlos swallowed and scoot his chair away, turning toward the other man defensively. He tried to relax – he couldn’t freak out.
“Look, uh, I’m sorry you’ve had a sh*t day yourself,” he said as carefully as he could. “Uh, but I don’t think property-damage is the answer. I mean, heh… what could a poor little glass have done?” Has someone called the police? He hoped so.
Wade was far more used to that sort of reaction than he probably should be. The screams, the choice words. Neither of those ever really fazed him. So he continued with his finger still held tight to the trigger. Scouting for a target. And at last, he found one. Swiftly knocking the frame from the wall and shattering the glass portrait with a single bullet.
"Was. She kicked the bucket an’ did the slow dance with death, Buzz Killington. Don’t tell me it’s too soon, neither. Been about a week since you first got hit with that truth bomb. Lazy hackin’ writer.“
As the poor guy tried scooting away, Wade slowed the chair to a halt by using his foot as a barricade. Returning the sap’s attempted retreat with a scowl prominent enough to be seen from beneath his mask.
“Nuh-uh, Nells. I don’t like back talk after being swindled out of a hefty 70 grand. So what’s say you line up a few shots to look like Russell Brand, and I’ll Jackson Pollock my own No. 5 outta glass instead of your epidermis.”
‘Writer’? Was Kate Spade a book character? Carlos had no
idea – none at all. “Uh… um… okay.”
Carlos froze in place when he realized his chair wasn’t
going anywhere. He stayed facing the man however, not wanting to let any action
he made go unnoticed. While looking Carlos got an eyeful of just how visually dangerous he appeared to be – the weapons,
the athletic build, the mystery pouches… definitely not a costume. This guy,
whatever he did, was clearly not just some Mandalorian Merc cosplayer, like
Carlos initially thought. God, if only it was a Mandalorian…
“I, uh… shots as in… drinking? Or did you want to continue
with your, um… target practice? B-because, uh… well, I- I’ll help with either.
Whatever you need.” So long as a bullet didn’t hit him. Also, who used people’s names as verbs? He had no idea what the man meant!
Carlos hoped he didn’t have to actually mix drinks – A: he didn’t work here, and B: he was atrocious with
anything to do with anything edible. Chemistry degree or not, he couldn’t prepare
food or drink for the life of him!
Open up a bottle and pour it into a glass though, he could do.
“Yeah, boo hoo, ‘ya had a $&#% day, just heard about Kate Spade, I get it. My day ain’t exactly been a walk in Pee Wee Herman’s shoes, either. First ‘ya get swindled out of a deal, a fat paycheck, after a night of Netflix and kill with Tori Spelling’s crapshoot of a twin, then what? The &$#@%/ wuss up an’ books it to Tijuana.”
The reminder of what transpired hours ago left Deadpool once again seeing red. And with a click of the Desert Eagle, he fires a few rounds of bullets into the lone glass that’d been left behind on the counter of the bar.
“When I get my hands on ‘im, I’m gonna rip his innards right out of his @&$ and use it as a jump rope.”
Carlos jumped in shock and he stared incredulously at the masked man. “Dude, what the f@$*??“ he asked. “I don’t know who Kate Spade is!” Who the hell – who let this maniac into the bar?? “And I don’t know who would even want to walk a day in Peewee Herman’s shoes.”
Carlos swallowed and scoot his chair away, turning toward the other man defensively. He tried to relax – he couldn’t freak out.
“Look, uh, I’m sorry you’ve had a sh*t day yourself,” he said as carefully as he could. “Uh, but I don’t think property-damage is the answer. I mean, heh… what could a poor little glass have done?” Has someone called the police? He hoped so.
The Perfect Scientist 