Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 2
Deadpool's Apprentice; Kinda self-explanatory, don't ya think?
Topic Started: Feb 15 2010, 02:09 AM (633 Views)
DPsA
Member Avatar
One and Only Mod
:lol: It's all good, cabaret.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
lifeisacabaret
Member Avatar
Sane man's sane man
Excellent. Because everyone likes it. :twisted:
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
DPsA
Member Avatar
One and Only Mod
Yay! :twisted:
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Moon_Spider
Member Avatar
The Author
well, DPsA has been working hard over at other sites, so to help her out over here, I will be updating every Thursday.

Chapter 3 - Of Hobos and Elevators
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I glanced at the man who had handed me his tattered old jacket. He looked dirty, and his fingernails were painted black. He smiled at me, and I stared back at him. He looked like a hobo, all dirty and unshaven. He had a beard which was long and tangled, with bits of food in it. Ew. I smiled back with an emotion between uncertain and disgusted.

"Um, thanks sir. But I'm not that cold. Now if you'll excuse me," I said to him as an excuse. I really was cold, just not cold enough to except jackets from strangers.

Nonsense! You're always allowed to take things from absolute strangers!

You've got the saying wrong. You aren't supposed to talk to or accept anything from a stranger. Especially one that looks like a dirty hobo.

Oh yeah. What have you got against dirty hobos?

They're dirty and live on the streets. How many more reasons do you need?

Plenty. Just because a person is dirty and lives on the street is not reason to call them a hobo.

Whatever.

"Nonsense lassie! I've got plenty more back at the shop. Would ya like to come by for some tea and scones?" the hobo-ish guy asked in both a Scottish and British accent. What a creeper.

You can't call somebody a creeper just because they asked you over to their shop… Oh wait, it is. Never mind then.

Finally! I'm right for a change!

Don't get used to it, bub. The subconscious is smarter than the conscious. It's a proven fact.


Isn't that interesting? Yeah, if you're so smart how do I get this hobo to leave me and my groceries alone?!?

Easy. Leave.


Oh yeah! Why didn't I think of that?

Because I'm smarter than-

Guess what.

What?

I don't care.

Meanie.

"Sorry sir. I'm afraid I can't go with you to your shop, seeing as you're a complete stranger and all. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." With that I swiftly pushed my cart out of the alley that I had somehow gotten into. Weird how going fast down a hill affects your cart driving skills. And I was doing so well!

Until you crashed into that wall.

I'm going to ignore that.

Yeah, good luck with that, seeing as we're the same person. How exactly do you plan on ignoring me?

By singing annoying Christmas songs in my head. Dashing through the snow, on a one horse open sleigh. Over the-

AHH!! Make it stop!

-fields we go! Laughing all the way, hahaha! Bells on bobtails ring-

I give, I give! You win! Just stop singing!

-making, Huh? Did you say I won?

Yes! Just stop singing!

You didn't say the magic word.

Please!

That's the magic word for Saturday. Today's Tuesday.

Hocus pocus?


That would be Thursday's.

Abra Cadabra?

Sunday's.

Ah! Just stop singing!

That's the one!

I swerved the cart, narrowly missing an old lady trying to cross the street. She looked familiar…

That's because it's the same lady you almost hit inside the convenience store!

Oh.

"Sorry! Again!" I called back to her. She was giving me a dirty look. Weird old lady.

I'm not even going to say anything.

Good, cause then I'd start singing again.

That would be why.

I grinned to myself, literally. I sent a mental grin to my 'subconscious' along with the lyrics to 'Jingle Bells', in case she needed it.

I dislike you.

That's low self-esteem! Gasp!

I already said that in a different chapter.

I know.

My mad cart driving skills had gotten me all the way back to Deadpool's apartment building. The cart was piled high with stuff, but it was surprisingly light. Hmm… Weird. How am I going to get the cart all the way to the eighth floor?

Well, first of all you need to use the door to get inside.

That would be a smart idea.

Then I believe you can take the elevator.

Another smart idea. Where do you come up with these?

In the secret closet in the back of your head. There are also baking recipes in there, in case of emergencies.

Why would I need baking recipes?

In case of emergencies! Trust me; they may just save your life.

Um…Okay.

I pushed the cart through the handicap entrance. You know, the kind that opens with a push of the button? Those buttons are fun to push.

Did the audience really need to know that?

Yes, they absolutely did.

Anyways, I pushed the gigantic cart through the lobby, earning me a few stares from some of the tenants getting their mail. I went over to the elevator doors and waited while the mail-tenants continued to stare at me. When the elevator doors pinged and opened I watched as a few people came out and walked quickly to the entrance of the building, which also happened to be the closest exit. They kept staring at my eyes. Weird…

I might have to tell you something.

When don't you?

I'm going to ignore that.

I might have to start singing again.

Ugh, never mind.

I smirked to myself. This caused the mail-tenants to scurry away as quickly as was humanly possible. Which isn't very fast, when you think about it. I bet a lion would catch them right away.

Your mind is wandering.

Where did it go?

Into the closet; you may never get it back.

Oh no! Can I have my mind back please?

Only if you tell me what the real magic word for Tuesday is.

That's it? I mean, the magic word for Tuesday is Open Sesame.

I knew it! Here's your mind back.

I felt my focus return almost instantly, and my thoughts changed from lions to how safe an elevator was when you put a cart piled high with unnecessary groceries inside of it. Yeah, not very safe.

I pushed the cart through the doors, squishing it towards the corner to make room for the scruffy looking man wearing glasses, who was also waiting to go upstairs. I squashed myself in next to my cart.

"What floor?" I asked him, while at the same time maneuvering myself to hit one of the floor buttons.

"Eighth please," he said in a small voice. He smiled nervously at me, so I smiled back at him. He blushed slightly. I pushed the floor button.

When I didn't push any other buttons, he said, "Oh, you're going to the eighth floor too? Small galaxy…"

"Um, yeah," I looked for something he was wearing for me to compliment. Because that's what nice people like me do.

You almost hit an old lady with a shopping cart! Twice!

I said I was sorry!

"Nice pocket protector. It looks…nice," I said. He blushed again, then stared at my eyes. Why do people keep doing that?!?

I really should tell you something, but I think the audience would like it better if Deadpool told you.

Humph… Maybe I'll just start singing again.

Nooooooo!!!!!!!

"Oh, sorry. It's just that your eyes…they're glowing," the little man said.

Darn I was really looking forward to Wade telling you.

"Huh, what? What do you mean they're glowing?"

"They are glowing green! It…kind of… looks…pretty…" the man said in awe. It was kind of freaky how he kept staring at me though.

"You think they look pretty?" I batted my eyes for show.

Oh sure, you won't accept an invitation to go to a jacket shop, but you'll bat your eyes for a nerd? You are full of controversy, my friend.

Well then, so do you. We are the same person, as you keep reminding me.

I don't have anything else to say.

Hmm, that's odd. You always have something to say.

"Well, of course. You are- I mean your eyes are very pretty," he said while looking down at his shoes. Just then the elevator doors pinged and opened, revealing the eighth floor hallway in all its bland glory. I turned down the right-hand side with my huge cart, moving towards Mr. Wilson's apartment. The scruffy man followed me. I looked at him using my peripheral vision; he was looking at the numbers on all the doors, and occasionally at my hair. I don't know why though; Deadpool didn't own a hairbrush, so I had decided to skip it today. It was also the reason why I had bought all those hair-care products.

I stopped at the end of the hallway and rapped on the door with my knuckles. Deadpool opened the door with the sewing needles still in his hands. He looked at the huge cart I was holding and opened the door wider, grinning when he saw his Hello Kitty Band-Aids on the top. He was about to close the door when he saw the scruffy man.

"Weasel! You're early! I haven't even made the cookies for you yet!" he grinned at the scruffy man whose name was, apparently, Weasel. I stared at him in disbelief. This was Deadpool's special guest?!?
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
« Previous Topic · Stories by Everyone Else!! :P · Next Topic »
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 2

The Underground created by Sarah & Delirium