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CRASHING THROUGH THE BAR
DRINKING FROM A JAR
DEADPOOL (DEADPOOL!!)
DEADPOOL (DEADPOOL!!)
WAY WAY LATE AT NIGHT
HE IS NOT QUITE RIGHT
DEADPOOL (DEADPOOL!!)
DEADPOOL (DEADPOOL!!)
NOWHERE TO RUN
NOWHERE TO HIDE
HERE'S A BAR WITH HIM INSIIIIIIIIIIDE
HE BROUGHT ASTROGLIDE!
DEADPOOOOOOOOOL
THE REAL CANADIAN PSYCHO!
DEADPOOL IS THERE!
KILLING FOR MONEY WHENEVER THERE'S CASH
OVER LAND AND SEA AND AIR
DEADPOOL IS THERE!*

By "there" we mean in the bar. And singing that. Loudly.

*with all due apologies to whoever wrote the GIJoe movie theme.

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That's a terrible thing to inflict on a scientist who's fallen off a building, landed at the end of the universe, drunk quite an alarming amount of coffee without any food but waffles to balance it out, and been exposed to far too many interesting things to be healthy.

~~Which, of course, is why his mun is doing it to him.~~

Ray Stantz looks up from where he's scribbling furiously in his notebook. "What the..."

Deadpool *staaaaaaaaaaaaaares.*

"Ray, are you a god?"

Oh, lord. Oh, lord.

"That depends," Ray says, very carefully. "Are you going to throw me off the top of a building if I say no?"

Deadpool is confused, but does not falter. "Ray. The next time someone asks you if you're a god... You say YES."

C'mon, man!

"That's... probably wise, actually," Ray says, starting to wish he could huddle up behind his notebook. "Um. Do I know you?"

Carefully, in a seriously not-a-sudden-move-at-all way, he puts down his pencil and starts to reach for his PKE meter. New York is weird where he comes from, but not this kind of weird.

Deadpool's good at the Not Violating People's Minds thing. "You're famous, man. I saw the commercials and shit. 'We're ready to believe you!', eh? You guys are awesome."

"Oh." He relaxes at that, though he still doesn't let go of his notebook. Not like it's going to be much of a defensive weapon, but despite the fact that he's in his jumpsuit, his proton pack is nowhere in sight. So- notebook. "Thanks," he says, remembering to smile, and to breathe. "We've been really busy lately. I can't even remember the last time we recorded a new commercial, with all the spook activity that's been going on-"

He stops, correcting himself. "Was going on. I imagine it's probably all over by now, considering."

"Oh yeah? Wait, which trouble?" Because dude, if he told Ray about Vigo or something before he fought him, he could UNDO THE GHOSTBUSTERS FOREVER and then his copy would disappear maybe.

That shit would suck.

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"Hey," Ron said, coming up to Deadpool. "I've got my hands on a broom catalogue from the twins, but if you want one, I need money to order it."

Deadpool forgot.

Oh man. "Oh, yeah, about that kid, I got my hands on a similar thing that's a bit more suited to my needs. I appreciate the effort, tho." It's true, that Meers kid made him this SWEEEEEET contragrav projector.

Ron frowned. "Bugger! I needed the money," he said honestly. "What dumb sod stole my sale?"

Deadpool shrugs and frowns. "Them's the breaks. I can't release my sources, though. Can't have you turning his ass into a toad or something. Can you do that? Turn people into toads, or is that just racist fearmongering?"

"That'd be a tough bit of transfiguration, I reckon," Ron admitted. "Too tough for me, but I could blast his bollocks off with a reductor curse if I really wanted to."

"Heh heh. You said 'bollocks'." Deadpool is Easily Amused. "So can you teach me how to roast nuts with magic? 'Cause that would be the best fucking party trick EVER."

"Sorry mate," Ron said, shaking his head. "You can't do magic unless you're born a wizard. I'll bet you could use magical weapons though. The twins make prank-things for a living and some of that stuff is downright dangerous."

He grins sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I already got a magic weapon hookup, man. Unless your twins are *really* fucking hot, I think I'm gonna stick with the one I've got now."

He grins, this time a little dirty. "She kisses with tongue."

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Asmodean visibly shudders at the horrendous travesty at music. He pours himself into his harp more as if trying to purge the memory of it from his mind.

Deadpool begins beatboxing along with the harp, and then launches into a little free verse.

Thinkin of a master plan
Cuz ain't nuthin but sweat inside my hand
So I dig into my pocket, all my money is spent
So I dig deeper but still comin up with lint
So I start my mission- leave my residence
Thinkin how could I get some dead presidents
I need money, I used to be a stick-up kid
So I think of all the devious things I did
I used to roll up, this is a hold up, ain't nuthin funny
Stop smiling, be still, don't nuthin move but the money
But now I learned to earn cos I'm righteous
I feel great! so maybe I might just
Search for a 9 to 5, if I strive
Then maybe I'll stay alive
So I walk up the street whistlin this
Feelin out of place cos, man, do I miss
A pen and a paper, a stereo, a tape of
Me and Eric B, and a nice big plate of
Fish, which is my favorite dish
But without no money it's still a wish
Cos I don't like to dream about gettin paid
So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made
To now test to see if I got pull
Hit the studio, cos I'm paid in full

Asmodean stopped playing the harp. He was obviously irate, and didn't look like he was in the mood for crap.

"Must you do that?"

"What, you don't like Eric B and Rakim? I can do some Fat Boys if that's more your speed?" He inspects Asmodean carefully.

"No... You're DEFINITELY a Wu-Tang kind of guy."

Asmodean gave Deadpool a blank look.

"I am a musician. That excludes whatever you were doing."

He shakes his head. "Ohhh, no. No, no, no. You're not giving me that whole RAP AIN'T MUSIC schpiel, are you? Because that shit is played out."

Asmodean continued the blank gaze.

"I was not arguing against a genre. I have had no experience with this 'rap'. What I was saying is that whatever you just did barely made the minimum qualifications to be considered noise."