busemox | (no subject)

[In a moment of drunken clarity, Travis considers that maybe, just maybe, giving his home address to another hitman--one who could probably kill him without a second thought if he ever needed to--is probably a really, really terrible idea. Now this guy knows where he lives. If any bad blood ever ran between them? Deadpool could even shoot him out while he was on a can. He'd be a sitting duck.

...Which is the perfect opportunity for him to take another shot! (And spill a third of it down his front. Whoops.)

It isn't as if Travis DOESN'T drink often, either: he just never gets the chance to have decent vodka (that he's promptly ruined by mixing with terrible diet drink mix) with a decent content. He's too used to awful weak beer to have ever built up some kind of... socially acceptable tolerance for actual alcohol.

He might also be giddy that he actually has someone to invite over to watch him make a fool of himself while so deep into his cups. Maybe. Either way, he's pretty proud of himself right now. Travis stares, expectantly, at the front door.

He's going to be the best host ever.]

(after this thread!)

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[And with that, everything's completely fine again. It's as if the previous night-- the argument, the drunken confession, the morning-after bonding-- has been completely swept under the rug for now. And frankly, Wade wouldn't have it any other way.

He knows that they're nowhere near finished with this conversation-- it's entirely too serious, too deep to be merely forgotten about. But for now, this momentary reprieve is very much a welcome one. A wide, disbelieving grin crosses his face as he gives Travis a mockingly skeptical look.]

Seriously, dude? Seriously? You're gonna sit there with your hair all messed up and no pants on and try to start some shit? Y'know what? Forget the movie for now. Fire up the Kart. Class is in session, son. I've been playing games since before you were even a twinkle in your creator's eye. I really hope you've got extra padding on the seat of those underpants of yours, 'cause you're about to get spanked.

[Travis hurries over to the TV to fuss a few wires, then hands Wade a controller and flops back onto the couch. (Wade is second player, of course. Host always gets first. Always.) Being at ease with somebody like this again is so unusual for him that it's nearly foreign, but it hasn't stopped being really, really satisfying yet.

He might actually get to enjoy someone else's company. And he welcomes it.]

Oh, it is on, motherfucker.

[Still won't stop him from shoving Wade off Rainbow Bridge, though.]