Doorknobs don't kill people. I KILL PEOPLE.

Have we seen any pics of Ryan in scarred makeup? If not... #wheredeyat

“I’m not gonna pretend I understood that.”

He watched Beli’s approach with something akin to what might happen if trepidation and excitement got sauced in Reno one night on two dollar tequila, had unprotected sex and popped out an eighteen year period of resentment and anger.  

Narrowing his eyes, he began casting suspicious glances in every direction. He would find this ‘Muscles’, oh yes. And when he did - A grin stretched over his face at Darcy’s words, grandiose plotting pushed aside for the moment. 

*stumbles up missing an arm and half his face on one side and holding a flailing shark tied in a pink bow on the other* "Is this yours?"

“Don’t worry…the floor is actually just an illusion.  Dirt, sand and stardust for  m i l e s. I have fun torturing half my guests assuming the tiles can’t refit themselves or rearrange like a self-aware puzzle—hm. Huh. Coincidences.” She bent effortlessly and took the arm from the floor, and inspected it. “Wade, maybe you need some duct-tape instead?” She eyed the red-gloved fingers and waved it back at him, miming a hello. “No matter. Hold still.”  She lined it up perfectly and twisted his severed arm into place.

“That’s gotta save a lot on cleaning. What does stardust taste like? I mean, I’m no expert but I feel like it would taste like putting pop rocks on your tongue and licking the floor of a subway station. Disturbing, but with a little tingling effect that might be a cosmic energy but also might be hepatitis.”

i-am-deadpool

*begins to strip*

“How about you tell me how you get in here in the first place?”

“It wasn’t hard. In through the back gate, onto a dumpster, past some dogs, onto a fire escape, scaled the wall then in through the window.”

*stumbles up missing an arm and half his face on one side and holding a flailing shark tied in a pink bow on the other* "Is this yours?"

“Nah…he gave up on eating people thousands of years ago…He had a run in with humans that pegged his head to their boat deck after hurling lit gunpowder kegs into his gullet, so now…He associates people with vomit. Like Pavlov’s dogs, but with more acidic overflow.”

“Nah, I’ll figure it out eventually. It’s kinda like those puzzles I used to put together for Christmas while my dad threw bottles of whiskey at my mom’s head. Or maybe that was on an episode of Cops I watched last night. Point is, it’s like a puzz- hey, you don’t mind me bleeding on the floor, do you? Because I’m bleeding on the floo- Oops, butterfingers - there goes the arm. It’s over by your - is that an axe? Could you just hand that to me, maybe?”

“.....”