busemox | like you're satin in a coffin

Entry tags:

travis,
wade

like you're satin in a coffin | travis+wade

[All in all, Travis Touchdown wasn't the sort for gainful 9-to-5 employment. There were only so many respectable gigs to be had in Santa Destroy--less so, with the city's economy in shambles post-UAA--and even those weren't paying half what they had compared to, say, two-three years ago? As reluctant as he was to admit it, there was only so long he'd be able to last on the leftovers of his old UAA days. Picking the old beam katana back up was going to happen sooner or later.

So why not sooner? And why not take out somebody big while he was at it, too?

One thing led to another and after way too goddamn long he got a hit. Some mob thing or whatever; like he could really afford to question it, especially not now that he'd jumped on board for sure. And lo and behold, here he is: still wearing the same old dorky t-shirt/jacket/jeans combo, still brandishing a light-up sword like an idiot and whacking a bunch of slower idiots with it. Straight up for cash now, though. Something about it doesn't sit right with him, and then he remembers:

It's just a job. The daily grind.

Travis grits his teeth, extricating his sword from some unfortunate sucker's skull.]

'Least I fought you head on. And didn't beat you to death with a baseball bat. [He chuckles, humorless, and moves down the hall in search of the real target.

He hates having to go back to this. But he's not good at much else nowadays.]

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[He's unpleasantly surprised by the fact that Wade's words actually do sting him. After he'd finally figured out he could tolerate the guy. But that was how it always ended up, didn't it? Somebody putting a knife in his eye.]

Bingo.

[His fingers tremble, closed around the hilt of his sword; shit, he didn't sign up for this--killing somebody he actually KNEW again, two-timing fuckface or not--shit, shit, shit. His feet move, simply because he needs to feel like he's doing something: eyes staring straight down the barrels, Travis starts circling Wade and sizing him up. He's put down some pretty resilient assassins in his day, but never... well, never like this guy.

Still. He can take him, if he has to.

Right?]

You've got your own way of doing shit, right? This way's mine. [Biting off more than he can chew, like always. As he speaks, he gradually slows his steps until he's stopped again.] And it ain't the style that matters. It's the end game.

And I know you know how this is gonna end.

[He catches that look, but doesn't believe it. Or can't believe it. Not in this business; not this time.

It's kill or be killed.]

[Wade keeps both his eyes and his guns trained on Travis as he circles him like a predator-- not because he doesn't trust him not to take a cheap shot but because it's what's expected of him-- allowing a disparaging chuckle to slip past his lips. It hurts a little, surprisingly. He's done enough shady dealings to recognize that small look of betrayal in Travis's eyes.]

Oh, I think we both know how this is gonna end, Trav.

[There really is only one outcome to this. He just hopes he has the stomach to go through with it. Ten million dollars. It's a rich reward.

He hesitates for a few seconds before holstering his guns and reaching backwards to grasp the hilts of his twin katanas. The blades sing as he draws them out, gleaming intimidatingly in the artificial light of the lobby's chandelier.]

But I was always taught to never bring a gun to a knife fight. We'll make this sporting. More fun that way.

[Wade pivots on one heel, keeping his eyes trained on Travis as he takes a few steps backwards to gain some distance. He moves his swords in a graceful, fluid motion, bringing them to rest in a defensive position across his body.]

C'mon, Travis. Show me how well you can dance.

[It's not about the money now. Fuck the money. This is about the two of them; this is about following through with his word and not fucking up the one thing he can do well. He's number one, or he was, once upon a time.

He's also a man of more pride than he knows what to do with, and like hell he's going down. Not now.]

Fair and square, huh? Sounds like a plan to me.

[He wouldn't have it any other way.]

Try to keep up!

[Fuck the money, fuck defense, fuck patience and strategy, fuck whatever residual emotional--whatever else. The fight, the sword-on-sword, the blood pumping through his veins, that's all that's left, that's all there is. With a roar, he takes his beam katana in both hands and charges straight at his opponent, prepared to meet his swords head-on.]

[This can't register on an emotional level.

If he thinks about Travis being hurt by his actions he'll completely break the illusion. So he does the only thing he can do in this situation, the only thing that actually makes sense.

He doesn't think.

Smirking, he dances gracefully backwards as Travis charges towards him, raising his blades up in a cross position to block his beam katana.]

Good. That's good, Trav. Good to know your skills haven't gone all rusty with disuse. Though I have to admit the positioning of your foot's a little off, which makes it quite easy for someone to pull off a stunt like this.

[He extricates them both with a hard shove designed to throw Travis off-balance. Which it undoubtedly will-- Wade knows full well he has the upper hand when it comes to sheer strength.]

[His katana hits the mark, sparking and fizzling as their swords clash.]

Don't-- ngh-- [--and Wade is stronger than him; he can feel himself starting to tip back, heels scraping against the floor; there's only so long he can keep this up--] --don't fuck with me!

[Then Wade shoves him backward. The other man's got weight, height, and brute strength on him: it's only his practiced timing that saves him from falling right over. His blade hums and crackles in the air as he jumps back to regain his stance... correctly this time.

Travis curses under his breath and rushes forward again.]

Fight me!

[He learns quickly. That's one thing that can be said about the hot-tempered little nerd. Deadpool actually feels a surge of pride at that discovery. This time, when Travis comes at him again, Deadpool parries the attack one handed, slamming the blade of his other sword into Travis's stomach.

It would have been an easy kill, the sharpened edge completely opening up Travis's unprotected belly, except for one small problem-- Deadpool had struck with the flat of his sword. He sweeps his leg out in a wide circle to knock Travis's legs out from under him. He needs to restrain himself. Despite himself, he feels anxiety stiffening his muscles. With his healing factor and unpredictable fight patterns, this fight is clearly outmatched. At any point he might forget himself and end the fight with a swift, calculated stroke.

And for the first time in a long time, Wade doesn't want that to happen. Wants to avoid that, at whatever cost.]

[He's too distracted to focus his rage into anything resembling technique anymore. He's the one having trouble keeping up, in the end: Wade's real skill is showing through in every movement, in every arcing swing of his swords. He really is better than he'd given him credit for.

Not to mention much quicker.

Travis gasps as the wind's knocked out of him. Still recovering from the blow, he's a moment too slow to react, again; he goes down like a charm and hits the ground with a heavy thump. And his hold on his beam katana, already loosened, finally fails. The weapon clatters to the floor, still in reach, but not in hand.

He glares up at Wade, the bitter expression in his eyes daring Wade to keep going. To kill--

It's finally dawned on him. The flat of the blade. Of course.]

I told you... to stop screwing with me, already.

[He positively spits the words at him. Mercy. Like hell. This is disrespectful, and Wade's already made him look like a fool enough times tonight.]

[Wade twists his expression into something akin to impatient disdain. As long as Travis remains angry at him, the ruse will work. Already his employer's voice is shrilling harshly in his ear to finish him off already, what are you waiting around for?

Deadpool ignores him. Even when he's not facing down someone he knows intimately, that's not how he works. He backs off, gesturing to Travis's beam katana with one of his swords.]

Stop screwing with me. We both know you're better than this. Pick up your weapon and come at me with everything you have. Stop tryin' to hit me and just hit me already!

[He scrambles to grab his weapon again, but doesn't stand quite yet. Travis doesn't take his eyes off him: while he's not fighting him off and trying not to get a limb hacked off, he's got time to think (for once). He runs through scenarios in his head, tries to recall Wade's patterns of motion; but when the man speaks again, he doesn't hear his words. He immediately picks up that Deadpool's guard has gone down and, with the movement of his arm, so has his even stance.

He doesn't know when he'll get a shot like this again. So he hops to his feet and runs at Wade again. This time, he aims not for the center, but for Wade's arm: to cut him deeply enough that he can't hold that sword anymore.

Or to hack off the arm entirely.]

[Wade thinks he knows Travis's technique by now. He thinks he can anticipate Travis's next moves before he even has a chance to implement him. Unfortunately Wade's forgotten one important thing in all of his interactions with the cantankerous otaku-- Travis has an almost innate ability to surprise him.

Wade moves in for the block as Travis once more attempts a charge, but realizes at the last second that he's not aiming straight on again. Quick as a flash, his right arm snaps upwards in a desperate attempt to counter-block--]

Agh! Ngh...

[--too late. He has succeeded in blocking the beam katana's trajectory somewhat, but it bites deep into his arm just below the elbow, sliding through muscle and bone as easily as a knife through butter. The severed arm bounces and comes to rest on the floor, the fingers of the hand gradually relaxing their grip on the sword.

Wade staggers backwards, his other arm instinctively crossing his body to protectively cover the stump.]

N-not bad... Guess I underestimated you...

[He's breathless with pain.]

[The stinging, metallic scent of blood fills his nostrils once again. The gore's long since stopped shocking him: he doesn't flinch for a second.]

And I guess this means I win.

[Wade can't fight like this; any desperate defense the man could put up now would only be prolonging his own pain. Travis advances upon him for the last time and deals the final blow, to end it sooner, rather than later. With a single swift motion, he brings his sword crashing against Deadpool's neck.

It's over.]

[The blow is awkward, slicing through his carotid artery at a diagonal angle and lodging somewhere just above his upper arm. It's not enough to separate his head completely from his shoulders, but it's a deep cut. Deep enough to completely incapacitate him.

Agony makes Wade's eyes as wide as saucers. His lips move but if he's attempting to say some parting words they're lost in a bubbling groan. He reaches out a tentative, trembling hand as if he means to grasp something, but only succeeds in lightly caressing Travis's face.

With another painful, whispering exhalation, he falls to his knees. His head drops weakly to his chest, one last weak breath issuing forth from his lungs.

In the ensuing silence, the small, tinny sound of his employer's voice can be heard clearly and frantically through the earpiece he wears.]

Deadpool, what's happened? What's going on? Answer me! DEADPOOL!

[It'd been a little too close for comfort, but he won.

Travis feels something in his stomach twist horribly. This isn't how it's supposed to feel.

He's made it a point to never dwell too long on the corpse of a fallen opponent, but now--now he can't look away and it's making that knot in his gut pull tighter. Coming down from the high of drawing out the other man's blood, all those hangups he'd put aside for this gig rush back at full force. He's just ruining everything for himself all over again.

He takes one, two, three hesitant steps backward, then turns away, running up the stairs to meet his original hit.

Suck it up. A good man finishes what he's started.

The scuffle sounds over Wade's earpiece. A short few moments of confusion. Something crashes to the ground. The man shouts, but his voice dies in a gurgling, pained scream.

There's silence. Travis reenters--so quietly it's almost meek.]

[Wade's body remains where it has fallen, kneeling in the center of the room. With his-- its head against its chest, it almost gives the illusion of being rapt in prayer. That is, if one didn't take into account the missing arm; the sword still loosely held in the numb fingers of his remaining hand.

Even now, Wade's internal healing factor is hard at work reversing the damage Travis's beam katana has done, but Travis will not know this. Not for a while.]

[He doesn't know why the hell he's coming back. The show's over, after all; he's got nothing left to do here but contemplate the corpse of a man he barely knew. And why the hell would he want to do that?

Then why?

Travis sighs wearily and sits, crosslegged, in front of what's left of Wade.]

I should've fucking known.

[Known what? That it'd end like this? That he'd end up wandering back here to talk to a hacked up dead guy? He grumbles and rubs at the bridge of his nose. This business shouldn't be as exhausting as it is. Not nearly. Travis shoots an accusatory gaze at Wade's bowed head.]

What the hell were you expecting me to do, man? Give up, or forfeit, or--

[The silence is deafening. He speaks again, the notes of frustration--maybe regret--clearer:] What do you even fucking want from me?

[His eyes fall on the deep, not-quite-severing gash carving its way through Wade's neck and shoulders, and a most unexpected pang of guilt shoots through him. Severed fucking heads. It's always severed heads. He stares at the ground.

Feels like his skin's crawling, or something.]

Shit.

Edited 2013-01-17 07:49 (UTC)

[The blood pouring from the ugly wound slows; stops. Torn muscles and organs repair themselves; the ragged flesh begins to close, sealing itself together. The process is gradual, almost unnoticeable. On the floor, the fingers on Wade's remaining hand begin to twitch.

As if breaking through water, Wade emerges into consciousness with a gasp. He immediately curls his body inward, clutching the vanishing wound with a grimace. As the miasma fades from his vision, his eyes fall upon Travis, sitting across from him with his head bowed.

Travis, who looks shockingly, unbelievably miserable right now.]

Tra...vis...? [A wince and a grunt of pain-- it hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe.]

Why... the long face... look like... someone just died...

[Turns out snarky comments don't exactly have the same punch when your lungs are in the process of reattaching themselves. Wade falls silent for now, focusing on getting his breath back.]

[He's just beginning to think about actually moving the body--he can't just leave him there--when Wade's gasp snaps him back to attention.

Oh God.

He's coming back from the fucking dead oh God he's officially lost it this is some MGS3 bullshit right here.

Travis immediately recoils and... scrambles backward several feet, looking a lot less solemn and a more like a really, really terrified crab.]

You're-- [BUT YOU'RE DEAD. I JUST KILLED YOU.] --w-what the hell?!

[Someone forgot about the healing factor, apparently.]

[A ragged, breathless laugh wheezes out of him.]

Thought I told you about the healing factor, Trav. Didn't... didn't you believe me? I got the invulnerability cheat code, remember?

[Little by little, he's gaining his strength back. He feels dizzy-- it's been a while since he's been wounded that badly. He attempts to get to his feet, only to slam harshly back down on his knee as his body informs him that it's not quite ready for that yet.]

Agh... Y'know, that little toy of yours really hurts. Good thing it doesn't cauterize when it cuts or I'd be in kind of deep trouble, huh?

I didn't think you'd actually die before it kicked in!

[Which isn't a lie. He'd never really considered the physical toll that'd need to be taken before Wade's body healed itself--nor had he ever thought he'd be watching the guy die in front of him. Now that he knows what's going on, though, Travis gets to his feet and watches the other man's body slowly knit itself back together.]

No, it doesn't. Some kind of... science... thing...

[He trails off. A moment later, though, he's raising his voice again: he advances on Wade again with an accusing finger pointed straight at him.]

I don't know what you were trying to pull--you were egging me on! You wanted me to do it, and--

[And he HAD, without hesitation. His anger fades.]

I don't even know anymore. [He's ashamed and frustrated and relieved all at the same time. There is absolutely no way for him to reconcile all of these in a way that isn't yelling and stomping off, and he's too embarrassed now to make himself look like as big of a dumbass as he feels.

Wade saw him sitting there, moping an idiot.

He covers his face with his hands, shoulders hunched, and simply shakes his head.] You son of a bitch.

[Wade watches him silently-- watches every reaction, every emotion that flits across his face. He can see now that beneath all the bullshit and the raging arrogance, Travis is one of those types who wears his heart on his sleeve.

And is he ever giving Wade a show right now. Anger, humiliation, pain, betrayal... Wade can see it in every nuance of his face.

And it makes him feel terrible.

He staggers to his feet, swaying a little as a wave of vertigo momentarily throws him off balance. He takes a few tentative steps toward Travis and places his hands on the other man's shoulders.

It's strange-- suddenly he realizes how small Travis is compared to him, in height as well as in physique. It makes him look all the more vulnerable, though Travis certainly wouldn't take it as a compliment.]

Hey. Travis. [His voice is gentle; coaxing.] C'mon. Look at me.

Edited 2013-01-17 09:10 (UTC)

[Travis' hands drop to his sides. He doesn't think to shake Wade's hands off, where normally it'd be his first instinctual motion to reestablish that distance. The contact--knowing Wade's actually physically capable of making it, more like--is a small comfort when he's feeling so...God knows what

He shoots an exasperated look up at Wade.]

What?

Edited 2013-01-17 09:31 (UTC)

[That look hurts him. Not because he knows Travis means anything by it, but the reason for it. Travis is acting like a wounded animal, lashing out in fear of being hurt further.

He's acting like Wade would have acted, had the roles been reversed. He almost wants to look away, but he steels himself and swallows hard.]

I'm sorry. Okay? I know I was an asshole and I forced you into this. It wasn't fair. But I saw you bust through that door and I just... I panicked. I knew it was going to be you or me, and I didn't think I could convince you to throw the fight. Not without Douchey McSchmuckface hearing and putting both of our careers in jeopardy.

I knew there was going to be only one outcome to this, so I just... took a third option. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do.

[Travis pauses to mull what Wade's just said over. Finally, he shrugs his hands off his shoulders, though the movement is far from a harsh one. And neither is his voice. The traces of bitterness remain only in small dredges. He's... just glad Wade's not dead.]

Could've given me some kind of sign, at least. Or gone with a different plan. Couldn't you think of something else to do?

[All this shifting the blame onto Wade's getting away from what he's really concerned about. His voice lowers so that Wade'll miss it if he's not hanging onto his words closely enough.]

And I still did it without even thinking. Like an asshole.

[He looks away.]

[Wade shrugs.]

I'm not the best at plannin' things out, dude. You would've known that if you'd just read my comics. 'Course you probably would've known about my healing factor then, too.

[The chuckle fades and dies on his lips as his keen ears pick up on Travis's next words. He feels a sudden pain in his chest that has nothing to do with his healing wound-- obviously Travis is taking this much harder than he'd anticipated.]

Hey. Hey, come on.

[He searches Travis's face, trying to maintain eye contact with him.]

Don't beat yourself up over this. This was all me, okay? I put you in that situation. Fired you up and all that. Didn't give you a choice. You had every right to wanna get even, trust me. I don't fault you for being angry. Okay? I don't.

You know I don't keep up with that shit. Too many books to follow.

[He huffs. This is too much to think about right now--he just wants to go home and not ponder the rapidly widening gap between his actions and the sorry excuse he calls his morality.

Travis glances back at Wade, eyebrows furrowed together in a look of concern, before he gives a non-committal shrug and seems to finally let go. He won't fight this anymore.]

...All right, if you say so.

[Though he doesn't sound entirely convinced. At the very least, he's trying to shove those last lingering vestiges of doubt away.]

[Wade knows that Travis won't let this go. Not completely. But he doesn't press the issue. If Travis wants to talk, he'll talk. Instead Wade offers him a sunny eye-smile, patting him affectionately on the cheek.]

Good. That's good. Now just hang on while I get some things in order here.

[He immediately turns on his heel and strides to the center of the room, bending down to pick up his swords and put them in their proper place in the scabbard at his back.]

Just gotta tie up one last loose end before we can get outta here, okay? BRB.

[Yes, Wade actually just said "BRB". He makes his way up the stairs and disappears into the office. Five minutes pass before he reemerges, taking each step lightly and looking entirely pleased with himself.]

Man, you really did a number on that dude in there, huh? I feel sorry for the poor saps who have to clean up that shit in the morning.

Wh-- [What? What. He stands stock-still, staring dumbfounded after Wade until he's gone, and again when he comes back into the room.

It's all such a rapid shift from how somber everything'd been that he has to laugh, shaking his head.]

He deserved it, what can I say? [Jesus. What a weird guy.] Seriously, though... I'm done with this fucking place. Let's get out of here.

[That gets a laugh out of him.]

Hey, I wasn't tryin' to slam on you, dude. Just wanted to say I was impressed with your work. Guy was a prick anyway. Why d'you think I hacked into his bank account just now?

[He doesn't even give Travis time to react to that, pulling out his cellphone and dialing a number. When the person on the other end picks up, he switches to Japanese.]

Hey, I'd like to place an order for delivery. Yeah, this is him. Is this Ren? Hey, dude! How's it goin'? You get the results for your entrance exams yet? Well, don't worry about it-- I'm sure you'll do fine. Listen, I was wondering if I could get the usual. Awesome, bro. You're the best. Oh, hang on.

[He covers the mouthpiece with one hand, switching back to English to address Travis in a stage whisper.]

Hey, what kind of Thai or Japanese food do you like?

Then thanks. You should've seen how I-- wait, you did what?

[And sure enough, he doesn't have much time to do anything but continue to stare, his one raised eyebrow threatening to migrate up into his hairline.]

I don't really-- just a plain ol' bento, b-- are you seriously getting take-out right now?

[...He totally IS ordering take-out right now.

What.]

[Wade scoffs, as if it's obvious.]

Yes, I am seriously getting take-out right now.

Losing about a pint of blood has the tendency to make you ravenous, going out to a restaurant in the state we're in now would probably cause a panic-- you're practically covered in bodily fluids, did you notice?-- and I just don't have the energy to cook right now. Besides, I figured we both deserve a celebratory dinner. My treat.

...So is a bento all you really want?

Edited 2013-01-18 10:24 (UTC)

[Right on cue, Travis glances down at his clothes. They are, indeed, completely blood spattered.

Oh.]

I guess you got a point there. [But wait, celebratory dinner--] The hell are we celebrating, even, the fact that your superpowers still work?

And-- I dunno, sushi, I guess. I don't care.

[Again. This guy's way too weird (and way too quick with his words) for him to find any room to protest at all.]

[Wade flashes him another grin.]

The fact that we didn't die, for one thing. The fact that you made good on your contract, for another. Aaaand the fact that I came outta this fifteen million dollars richer despite putting my client in the ground. I consider it severance pay for dealing with the pompous asshole.

[He puts the cell to his ear again.]

Ren? Sorry about that. What would you recommend to someone who's uh... indecisive? Curry? Sounds great. Put some sushi on that order, too. I dunno-- salmon, crab, tempura... surprise me. You got all that? Awesome. Fifteen minutes? Sounds good. See ya.

[He hangs up, sliding the cell back into one of the pouches at his belt.]

Okay, we're all set. Meet you at my apartment? We've got about fifteen minutes before the food gets there.

Fif--you've gotta be fucking--Fifteen million? [He echoes himself like repeating it will make it make any less outrageous. (Hint: it doesn't.]

You're shitting me. [Which he isn't, of course. Travis continues to watch Wade (and his unfairly perfect Japanese), dumbfounded, until he finally responds to him again.

He's never gonna get used to this. But why the fuck not.]

Y-yeah. Sure.

[Travis is unfairly cute when he's dumbfounded. Wade's smile turns cheeky as he reaches over to muss up his hair. Travis has a good head of hair. If only he didn't put so much shit in it. Who the hell did he think he was, John Travolta?]

Fifteen million, yup. Not a bad haul, I'd say. You gotta stop watchin' all that anime and start putting that dorky energy to good use, my man. Like learning how to be a decent hacker.

But hey, I'm glad you got enough sense to snap up a free dinner. It's a date, then. Don't be too late-- I might just rescind my offer and eat it all myself.

[He winks and offers Travis a nonchalant wave as he saunters out of room, hardly looking like a man who'd just made a rather large blood donation all over the carpet of an expensive hotel.]

[He responds with a disgruntled sort of noise as he tries to repair the damage that Wade's done (Hint: it fails).

Before Travis gets the opportunity to answer, or even snap back in defense of his hair, Wade's gone, entirely too springy in step. Hacker, assassin, actor, apparently smarter than he is. Apparently also cannot die.

What can't Deadpool do? God, he isn't sure if he wants to kill him again or-- or, er, something else entirely. Travis shakes his head. No, not good to dwell on this shit, or he'll go crazy. He waits a moment or two before he shoves his hands into his pockets and exits too.

If anything, this is interesting. God knows he prefers that to nothing at all.]

[And he's already on his way when it dawns on him.]

...a date?!

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like you're satin in a coffin | travis+wade

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