Sawbone Shenanigans

August 18, 2014: The hit on Hawkeye may be over but the evening's not yet through for Deadpool and Domino. (Language.)

Wyckoff Heights Medical Center in Brooklyn

Because there's nothing creepy about paying some hack under the table for on the spot medical treatment in the morgue.



  • Tyler Conway

Mood Music:

"The job was to retrieve the mark. The mark has been retrieved. My dues have been paid. I'd say I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'm really not. First come first served, if you wanted to split with one of your buddies then you should ha-"

"Go to hell, Frederick."

A ghostly white hand wrapped in a fingerless black leather glove slams the payphone back into the cradle with a satisfying *Cling!* There the hand remains for a moment, trembling slightly through the Vise-like grip she has on the set.

When the hand falls away Domino quickly shifts to catch herself on the booth, turning around and stiffly moving back to the awaiting black Stingray convertible parked at the curb. Deadpool got a lucky hit in, -and- he scored the contract all on his own. What had she told someone else not that long ago? 'Trust a merc to never forget.'

In addition, he stabbed her somewhere that is really quite difficult for her to treat on her own, as much as she'd like to. Something like this is going to require a bit of assistance, which becomes a bit of a problem when she has very few people which she actually trusts. The closest sawbones willing to do the work, no questions asked, is Tyler Conway working at the Wyckoff Heights Medical Center in Brooklyn. It's not a far drive.

Too bad he never quite saw eye to eye with her. Still, her coin's good. So long as she pays up front, what's the worry?

In through a back entrance, down a flight of service stairs, and into the dim and chilly environment that is the morgue. The tools are already prepped. Just a phonecall and a short drive and she's on the cold stainless steel table with the cash already counted out and resting on a nearby counter.

"This'll help with the pain," he had said. What she didn't count on is it helping so much that she can barely feel anything, anywhere.

Within a moment she can no longer move beyond a lethargic blink.

"It will also interrupt most motor functions. I'm sorry, did I forget to mention that before? I'm flattered that you'd still come to my neck of the woods after all of these years, I really am.'s what I don't understand," Tyler runs on as he rolls the stool about to more or less face her. He has to lean forward in order to make eye contact, peering at the motionless albino through the thick black plastic frames of his glasses. "You remember my remember my location..yet you completely forgot that I walked with a limp for eight months because you all but ruined my right knee?"

Tyler reaches aside then carefully brings a fresh scalpel into view, the implement delicately held within his fingertips as he passes her a dark smile. "We don't forget, dear Chinadoll."


Red and blue lights dimly flash across the ceiling of Barton's ceiling. A few slaps to Deadpool's body which looks whole, that his mask is half missing and there are holes in his body. "Mister? Mister, are you alright?" One of the paramedics shakes his head. "There's no pulse. Well, alright. Get him on the stretcher."

With that, Wade's body is hefted onto a stretcher and covered with a white sheet. The man is gone. Domino did him in, just did more damage than his body could recover from at once. As the ambulance leaves with Deadpool, it begins on the long trek back to the hospital through city streets. What the paramedics don't count on is the corpse sitting straight up with a gasp of air and a mad look in his eyes. "THOR'S TESTICLES ON A PANCAKE. I could -really- go for a cookie right now."

This nearly scares the paramedics out of their own skins, screaming as they get up against the ambulance walls. Putting a finger up to his mask, Wade sshes them. "I was never here. No more tears. It'll be okay." Climbing out of bed, he undoes the latch of the back of the ambulance while the paramedics stare at horror. "Oh come on, my face isn't /that/ bad." Another door, another foot. Frustrated with the latch, he kicks open the door. "Allons-y!!" And he's out the back on the roof of a taxi cab, which brakes quickly and throws him onto the road. "Yeah, up yours, pal! You try coming back from the dead."

And then he's off, back to home probably. Stalking from the streets, he walks down the sidewalk like he's just your average joe. Reaching up, he tears the remains of his mask off, leaving his face exposed, and his extremely deep scowl. Yeah. Up yours.

As he walks, the scowl remains, like someone pissed in his cereal. "I'm not going back. I don't care. We're mercenaries." He keeps walking, "She should've seen it coming. I would've been next in an instant." A couple people look at him weirdly as he walks and talks to himself, looking more sourpuss by the minute. Eventually he just looks like he had it, "FUCK." He punches a nearby brick wall with the result that the bones in his hand actually break, and then he shakes his while cursing again and again. "Ow! Ow! Heeeyooow! Fine, I'll go back. There /BETTER/ be tacos." A couple more people look at him weirdly, "I've been talking out loud again, haven't I?"

And that's the story of how he's come to this run down sawbone clinic based out of a morgue. What kind of a creep would set up shop in a morgue. That's just creepy. She might not even be at this clinic, but it's the closest scummy doctor Deadpool knows about. There's probably a greater chance that she's here more than anywhere else.

Sure enough, when Deadpool opens the door, he's just in time to see Tyler inject that paralyzing agent. He doesn't do anything to stop him, just waiting for a few moments until the real sketchy business begins. Then he's in there, suddenly right next to Tyler with that gross, scabby face and a smile so big it would make a clown blush. "Eeeeh.. What's up, doc?" He makes to grab for the man's collar and lift him up.



The tile-lined room is filled with an acute -Ping!- as the scalpel slips from Tyler's gloved hand and bounces across the floor, claiming a small chip out of the ceramic before coming to a stop a couple of feet away. He's got his hands locked onto Deadpool's wrists in no time, the chair getting kicked over in the sudden burst of upward motion. Even without his mask on, a person like Wade Wilson is a recognizable sort of character.


He's not so tough without his expensive chemical injections and his surgical steel implements. This merc isn't going to be taken out with a couple CC's of fluid. Of course, Tyler still isn't sure -why- Deadpool's here.

"Why are you here? You don't need to be here. Anything I can do you can already do better on your own. This isn't about Mark's payment, is it? I told him I'd have it ready by Tuesday!"

Meanwhile, on the table, all Domino can see are two pair of legs, a labcoat, and the familiar red and black from the man that put her in this predicament in the first place.

And she can't..reach..for a weapon…


Deadpool doesn't even seem to struggle just holding Tyler up with his fists balled up over the man's collar. There's something of an old murderous spark in his eyes, the dark side of Wade that you get when he's had a particularly bad day. When his internal demons come back to play. When he doesn't have his mask. The insanity's still there, and so's something else. Coming inches from Tyler's face, Deadpool grins a toothy grin.

"You're gonna fix the girl, or I'm going to pull your intestines out through your throat. You'll take half the money, and I'll take Patchy, and I'll think about not putting a bullet into your other knee." His voice really is gravel and gasoline, now.


This here's what we call a checkmate. Poor Tyler still finds a way to vigorously nod in agreement despite being lifted off of his feet. "Of course-of course! Half of..other knee…" He pauses, swallows hard. "You uh..have to ..I can't work if I'm ..put me down, please…"

There we go… It's an improvement, what with the moving and the being able to breathe and all.

The next glance he passes Domino's way is mixed, to say the least. He's pissed, he's -worried,- and he's being forced to do something he doesn't particularly want to do and to do it well. The fallen scalpel is ignored, he doesn't really need one for this treatment anyway.

"This will take me a little," Tyler says almost in gentle protest as he places his hands upon the tray and closes his eyes, claiming a deep breath to try and settle his nerves. Do it right, or intestines…

Luckily for Domino, she doesn't feel a damn thing! Because she can't move there's no involuntary twitch reflex to overcome, either. It's like practicing being a surgeon on a slab of beef, all Tyler has to do is go through the motions and patch up the Patch-Eye.

Hopefully Deadpool doesn't get too bored through all of this. Still, it's just a stab wound. No bullets to pick out, although Domino's half expecting there to be a few of those before she gets back to her car tonight.

Once the work is complete Tyler announces it simply with "She'll be fine."

(But what on Earth is that smell? Like..curb-side trash and tacos…)


Eventually, Deadpool does get bored. He rustles and opens a few of the morgue drawers, rifling through things before eventually finding a personal articles stash. There he finds a little brown messengerbag or manpurse or murse, which he slings around his shoulder. Looks good.

Good ol' Tyler might get the chance to prod Domino a couple extra times with the sewing needle for good measure before announcing she's done, and Deadpool returns. The most intimidating part of the procedure is how through the whole time, Deadpool never quite puts away the pistol he drew shortly after dropping Tyler back to the ground.

Coming back to the table, he looks at Tyler sternly. "Oh, good." Reaching up, he takes the back of Tyler's head and smashes his face against the side of Domino's table. Hopefully only knocking the doctor out, rather than kill him. Superheroes and villains always need horrible scummy doctors.

First thing's first, he neatly divvies up half the money and puts it into his murse. Ah. Free cash. It remains to be seen if he's keeping it for himself or for Domino. Next thing, he scoops his arms up under Domino, and picks her up. Fireman's carry would have sufficed, but then she'd maybe be able to pick a gun off his belt. Not that she can probably move. She can probably still do that like this, but at least she would comically be dropped in that situation.
"Dude, where'd you park?" Old Wade says, a bit more like his old self as he moves for the door. "Just 'cause I'm carrying you like this don't mean we're married or nothin'."



Domino's perspective continues to be limited, though she knows what sound is accompanying the sudden jolt which is felt throughout the table. She can just make out the sight of Tyler, with some fresh blood on his face, collapsing like a ragdoll in her peripheral as well.

(Great, now it's down to us two again.)

And he's asking where she parked? Well crud, now she's wondering if the guy's gonna try and throw her into the trunk or something!


(Dammit, this isn't helping.)

Dom pinches her eyes shut, barely feeling the discomfort of being hauled out of there. "-Curb-… Bh..-ack.-"

At the curb, in back of the building. He'd recognize the car. It's the same Stingray he fell into just a few days ago. It's ..well, it's looking -really- freaking nice now. As in, how could it be the same car? It gleams so brilliantly under the dim city lights that it'd seem like it was 1969 all over again and it had less than twenty miles on the odometer. 'Pristine' doesn't quite do it justice. The top's down, too! Perhaps the poor car's just destined to have dead weight in the shape of people dropped into the passenger seat.


"Cuur.. Cu.. Kirby? Curb. Back. The outback. I'm not really in the mood for steaks. Oh, there's your car!" Deadpool says as he spots the Stingray. How do you even get Outback from Domino's slurrings? Whatever, his brain did just grow back. Approaching the passenger door, Wade is as careful as he can be to put Domino into the passenger side. "You're probably wondering why I'm pulling you out of the fire." He clicks the seatbelt around her.

Leaning over, he starts searching Domino's various pouches for the keys. It's lucky she's got that numbing agent, else she might find some errant gropes.. As disgusting as that thought is, it's.. Unfortunately Wade we're talking about here. Atleast he's careful with the car he nearly fell through before. Coming around the driver's side, he hops in and starts it up. Shifting hard into reverse, he peels out and spins the front around before going back to first and driving calmly off like that peel out didn't just happen.

"It reminds me of this flashback. I was in the mountains with this girl, right?" He goes on to explain this story of this german girl that he barged into in the middle of the snowy mountains with a doctor. Something about dead monks, and her trying to save his life, and her being an outcast like him. All the while he drives down streets almost aimlessly, but obeying traffic laws (most of the time). Eventually, the story ends with the girl dying and him being unable to save her. God. He can taaaalk.

The scenery shifts a little more rural and the traffic fades away as cityscape pushes behind them. "So I was all in the afterlife and I spoke to Death for a while. Cosmic entity, right? Felt like you might've gotten in trouble, you know like that episode in Friends…"


Domino would drop her forehead into her palm, if only she could. Car's found anyway, that's the important thing. Presumably. "…" Butbut..he's so gentle, and..and -considerate!- The hell's going on here?? Did she shoot some compassion into the guy back at Clint's apartment?

It sure is comforting that she's wearing full body armor, having a barrier between herself and the blind search may be a small comfort but she'll take what she can get. In another moment they're in motion, sliding around in a none too subtle fashion, then they're on their way. To..somewhere.

(Well, that crazy meta mechanic did say that the car liked to go fast.)

It's an interesting overall experience… The chilled night air through her hair, driving through a mostly quiet city then out away from civilization. The virtually non-stop chattering. The drugs still metabolizing their way through her system. It all becomes a trip in its own right, and not just in the 'roadtrip' sense. For a while she doesn't even try to respond, stuck within a battle against herself simply to move something, -anything.- A finger. 'Wiggle your big toe.' She'll try talking once some form of mobility has returned.

"Jeezus..Wade..the hell..?" It's difficult enough to roll her head around to face him better, everything still feeling like a dead weight. "Haven't we gone through enough for one night..? What are you doing here?"


The winding roads outside of New York are nice. Nice in the sense that there's no other cars, just the dim glow from the city and winding roads through nature and cliffsides. The car purrs as it cruises along at a smooth fortyfive and sometimes sixty or seventy. When Domino tries to talk, he shuts up long enough to listen.

The questions don't even give him pause, "The answer to your first question is shuddap. The answer to your second? .. I don't know.. Maybe I'm just hoping for a cookie from whatever fucked up cosmic god decides what happens on our shitty little rock." That's a pretty selfish reason. If that were the case, he'd probably be able to just ditch her and be square, or kill that doctor and take all the money. Or even just hold Domino at gunpoint and take her car.

A slight pause, "I don't know where we're going."


(Thought I was the only name in the game that had a conscience tugging at my sleeve…)

The stories, legends in some cases, of the Mouthy Merc don't go into any detail about this side of the picture. Maybe due to death threats if word ever got out, Dom's not sure. Most people in their line of work tend to keep their feelings, if they actually have any, to themselves. Case in point, tonight she discovers that he may have feelings of his own. Or at least the ability to feel emotions. Sometimes. When he wants to. Either that or she got a lucky shot in and managed to make a couple of extra connections in his synapses long enough to get a free 'get out of dying' pass.

Either way.

She's still not going to start trusting him.

"Well..we're out here now." Wherever the hell 'here' is. She lost track some time ago. "Either you want something from me or you're looking out for me. The latter really isn't like you," she adds with a wince as, with great effort, she brings the heel of a hand up to rub at her forehead. "You already cashed in on the hit. What else is there?" It had never been a personal matter between the two, right?


They're not friends. Wade doesn't have friends. So it couldn't be that he's looking out for Domino. But there he was, beating up a doctor to save her skin. Just her luck. "I had a hit on you." The car is slowly pulled off the road and into the lane as he crosses to a gravel rest stop. He shifts down and shuts the car off. At this distance from the city, the stars are visible. Pulling up on the recline level, DP lays back to look up at the sky with his arms folded behind his scabby, disfigured head.

"I'd still sell you out for a coupla' tacos. That's what it's like. We're /villains/, mercenaries. Ain't no one we're a hero for but our own stories, babe. Double the cash for your head and Hawkwhatshisface." He holds up a couple fingers and looks at you, but then back at the sky. Eight hundred thousand. "You woulda done the same."


Dom's learned a long time ago that there's a difference between looking out for someone as a friend and looking out for someone in a professional sense. He did take the money for that hit, so maybe making sure that she doesn't end up dead over it is his way of being courteous. Of a fashion.

At least, that's what she's considering until he comes clean and tells her the truth.

"Only 'villains' to polite society," she mutters with a little irritation. "You're not telling me anything new here, Wade." Eight hundred G's..? There's a tiny snort from her end before she confirms "Damn right I would have."

This makes for an interesting dilemma. Now they're parked in the middle of nowhere and she's still not completely with it. The ball's in his court. "So is this where I try to make a counter-offer to keep you from taking me in?"

It sure is a nice night for a murder.


"Don't waste your time, patchy the dog." Wade laughs, "It's done. The deal already fell through the moment EagleEye-mcgee threw that blade." Ball's in his court indeed, Domino probably isn't safe to drive, and Deadpool could just blow her away right now and win. No point to that, he isn't the type to murder in cold blood. Usually.

"I need my costume repaired." In other words, he's keeping the funds he stole from Domino just an hour ago. No mention of the money he stole from the hit, "Annnnd, I won't shoot you." He looks over, sitting up a little bit and readjusting the seat.

"And also. For the record, I don't hate everything."


Right, because she doesn't have a giant puncture wound in the back of her armor to get repaired, or anything. Domino hates being backed into a corner, well and truly -hates- it. Deadpool takes the win tonight. She's just lucky enough to have survived it intact.

Still not going to say thank you. People that had just gotten fucked over don't thank the person for the experience, even if they try to make nice at the end.

"I'll take that as a kindness," she replies in a heavy voice. So, she won't be getting killed tonight. How lucky for her. "Never said that you did. Soon as I can drag my little white ass around the car I'll be gone."

Before he decides to change his mind again.

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