Wade 'Deadpool' Wilson

It was Wednesday night and Deadpool had the sneaking suspicion that he was gonna need beer.

A lot of it.

So he had a lot of beer waiting in the fridge. And a stack of ANTM DVDs waiting.

Aaaaany minute now...

[[OOC: Open! The large mutant guest would be chronologically last]]

No longer all comatose or in the clinic-- hospitals smelled funny. Like old people.

No one liked smelling old people.

Deadpool went home with his ninja.

A bit clingy. Just a bit. Maybe.

Shut up. It had nothing to do with Nate's memories of his wife making Deadpool want to hold onto Arashi even more.

At all.

Ignore the clinging.


[[OOC: Establishy! Husband modded with permission!]]

Deadpool was watching television.

Yes, this was shocking.

Totally.

Oh shut up, it's not like he had much else to do tonight. Well, he could plan the date tomorrow. Or, you know, actually ask Arashi if he wanted to go out. But noooo.

TV.

With a small pile of animals all sniggled up on his feet.

"Come on guys, I have to go to the bathroom!"

Max opened one eye and yawned in a way that was far too adorable.

Deadpool? Sighed and allowed them to stay. "I swear, my poor bladder."

It was time for Saturday morning cartoons. Or, as Deadpool liked to call it, 'Spot which show was created only to sell cheap toys!'

"What the hell is this?!" Deadpool couldn't look away from the screen, it was like a car accident.

On the screen were what appeared to be a classic childhood favorite duck and rabbit, only X-TREME and edgy and violent. "What has the world come to?"

Deadpool had learned many things this weekend. First and foremost was that one Nathan Summers was an idiot. And that he sure as hell better stop being dead soon or else...

Well, Deadpool wasn't sure what he'd do. It might very well involve drunken prank calls to the X-Mansion asking if their refrigerator was running or if they had Prince Albert in a can.

...yeah. He was too drunk to attempt any wittiness.

Second thing he learned was that if he wanted to stay drunk for more than a few hours, he'd need a lot of beer.

This might explain why the floor of his living room was ankle deep in empty beer cans. He was thinking about building a beer can pyramid and then throwing stuff at it. Like the damn statue.

The third thing involved squishy ow-his-chest-hurt feelings that weren't to be talked about.

He needed more alcohol.

Deadpool wasn't sulking and he would be shocked and disappointed to hear anyone describe his actions as such. Thankfully he can't read his mun's mind.

He was merely sitting in his office, contemplating his now gone children. Nothing depressing about that, right?