Peter Parker woke up to the start of another day covered in old cuts and new bruises all gained in the responsibility he held as Spider-Man. It was Sunday, his only day off from work at his day job.
Sunday tended to be devoted to the only consistent day off from work at The Daily Bugle and the only time he could set aside to clean his apartment, get groceries, and follow through the other mundanities of adulthood which were constantly made a lot more difficult by being a vigilante superhero.
His alarm clock, in glaring red light, told him it was noon, the latest he'd slept in in three months without a spidey-emergency or a family arrangement with Aunt May. Glancing at the fridge of his studio apartment, he noticed the list that stated he was low- or out of, (he honestly stopped keeping track)- milk, bread, lunch-meat, pretzels, and a dozen other items from toilet paper to disposable ink pens. Today was going to be a long day.
Wade Wilson woke with a start, his phone blaring an obnoxious siren ringtone with the repeating phrase "douche bag is calling" every few seconds.
Picking up the phone, he answered it with a hint of irritation, "What?"
"Got a job for ya, an old guy living outside of Hell's Kitchen, his kid needs him dead for the insurance money. He wants to meet at some boxing ring there."
"You know I don't take-" he started, before the voice cut him off.
"Did I mention the kid is going to college to become a social worker and his dad has loads of thrown out cases of sexual assault against a minor, 3 counts of which were against his own son?"
"In that case, I'll be right over. Heat me up a burrito while I'm on my way?"
"What do you think I am, your mother?" He grumbled, "Yeah, sure. Make sure you bring me money for the burrito, your tab is getting really stupid-big at this point."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a hundo and we call it even, okay?" Wade smiled, perching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled his combat boots on. Lately, he found himself even taking naps in his suit. Things had been busy lately in the mercenary business and he liked to be ready for money at a moment's notice.
"Did I mention there's a guy asking around about you, well- Deadpool, actually. Not Wade."
"Was he cute?" Wade grinned, his boyish expression exaggerated at messing with him. Wade was amused as Weasel sighed irritably.
"I don't know, Wade. I don't swing that way." Weasel uttered defensively.
"Wow, I didn't know being straight made you blind, Weez. You should get that checked out." Wade pulled on the Deadpool mask, checking himself out in the mirror.
"Hurry the fuck up, Wade, you got a customer waiting. " Weasel hissed, hanging up on him.
"So hostile today. I'll go take care of this first, then go see his happy ass." Wade walked out the front door of his shitty apartment. He even swung his arms as he walked, almost as though he was in an old Mickey Mouse cartoon.
"It sucks to be- as the kids say these days- 'nerfed' by a giggling, also mildly fucking creepy, anthropomorphic mouse. Good thing that won't happen to me. You'll defend my right to drop the F-bomb, right, guys?" He says, gesturing his hands in beckoning to you, the reader, then turns the corner into an alley not far from Hell's Kitchen.
(We skipped the taxi ride to Hell's Kitchen for the sake of your boredom, you're welcome.)
"Don't worry," Wade Wilson/Deadpool assured, "the author won't do this often. In fact, she might never do it again, but it'll only be for comedic relief. It'll be like Jar Jar Binks, but tasteful and at least a little less blatantly racist. We'll have to see."
Upon rounding the corner, Fogwell's Gym standing in an area surrounded by industrial smog. A single person stood outside, talking in hushed tones on a cell phone, his tongue clicking in distaste as he put out his cigarette.
Really lives up to the... foggy name, he thought to himself. Yeah, nothing like inhaling noxious factory fumes and cigarette smoke on a Sunday morning.
The person smoking returned inside and not seeing anyone waiting in their car, walked inside the gym. Wade was not noticed at first, he managed to visually scan half the room before a kid hitting a rapid bag noticed him and missed his next hit, knocked back painfully on his ass.
The room started to notice him as they all looked to the kid who fell over, then finding the cause. The first person who talked to him, though, was a person lacing up his shoes, not even looking at him.
"You're new here. What do you want?" He asked, Wade giving him an odd look until realizing the guy was blind.
"Uh, looking for a friend of mine. Looks like he isn't here." Wade was suddenly fully aware of the blind joke he made that morning and temporarily felt bad for it.
"What's his name?"
"No idea." Deadpool admitted, "It's a mutual friend."
"Well, in that case, you should leave. Judging by everyone's reaction, you aren't welcome here."
"That's pretty harsh words from someone who can't even see me."
"Yeah, I can't see you," He admitted with a chuckle, turning up his chin to nearly look him in the eyes with his darkened red shades, "but I can hear you and you sound like trouble."
"Sounds like bullshit but alright, I'll leave. Any chance you know somebody here, college kid, wants to be a social worker?" Wade asked, watching the guy with interest as a look of recognition crossed his face.
"Yeah, his name is Grant. Did he call for you? You don't seem to be much of a pro-bono kind of guy." He responded.
"Do I know you?" Wade asked, leaning down to level with his face and looking closely at his face. Yeah, he was blind, wasn't faking. Nice blue eyes, though, he mentally noted, and slightly mussed red hair.
"You're uh, what's the name, Dead Pool right? Gun for hire?"
"Yeah... And you are?"
"Matt Murdock," he had a tight expression, standing and holding out his hand some to shake. "I was Grant's lawyer, that is... before he decided to take matters into his own hands by hiring you, I'm guessing."
"Sure." Wade nodded, looking at his Hello Kitty wristwatch, "Nice to meet you, anyway if you see the kid tell him he knows where to find me. I need to go see a guy about a burrito. See ya."
He took his time leaving the building and ducking into a public bathroom to change out of his costume. After he had changed and was headed to the bar, he wondered about the odds of some lawyer's case being both of their "clients". Low, he figured, but if the kid needed money and wanted his dad dead for it- it made sense he wouldn't have the money for a lawyer outside the Kitchen. Either way, he had a burrito calling his name. Hopefully, Weasel actually cooked it right this time.
Should I continue or no?
I know there's not much here but not really sure if I should waste my time lol
For reference, I'll be drawing on comics for looks; the show Daredevil, the Spiderman movies, and the Deadpool movies for personality/lore.