(no subject)
It definitely wasn't as great a find as the sleeping naked lady on the beach was, but on the Island the Dullest Entity in Existence built, beggars couldn't be choosy. A Skrull duct-taped to a couch wasn't something to sneeze at, though, but it was kind of upsetting that half the job was already done before he got there.
I don't think that's a Skrull...
Green. Pointy ears. Skrull.
Those are horns.
I think I know when I'm being held at gunpoint by a Skrull. Again.
It's unconcious. And we're the one aiming the gun.
Semantics.
When whatever the *&%# it is starts to come to, a second gun quickly joins the first one being aimed at it.
"Uuugh. Did anyone happen to catch the number of the bus that hit me?" the maybe-Skrull groans before groggily open bright red eyes.
"Ooohhh." Guns and any and all homicidal thoughts temporarily curbed, Wade's suddenly perched on top of the weird round couch directly behind the maybe-Skrull, playing with a roll of duct tape some had left behind. Finders keepers, losers losers. "Silver. Sticky. Duct tape!"
"Uhhh..."
"Hey, you wouldn't happen to be in your current predicament 'cause some big oaf with a metal arm left ya here to rot, would ya?" Who hasn't been in that situation? It did sort of scream Nate. If this was his doing, though, his work had gotten a little shoddy.
"Who--"
"--am I?"
"Yeah... And where--"
"--are you? All excellent questions, and the answer to your first one is - shaddup! I got my own questions. The most important one being: can I have this?" Wade asks, unfurling a long strip of tape slowly. "Ooohh."
"Yeah, yeah. Look, take the... tape, take the couch -- preferable not while I'm still attached to it -- just tell me what the heck's going on here. I know Angel's got an arm on him, and I've probably got the bump on my noggin to prove it, but exactly how long have I been out?"
"Okay, but, you really might want to sit down for this. It's a doozy."
"..."
I don't think that's a Skrull...
Green. Pointy ears. Skrull.
Those are horns.
I think I know when I'm being held at gunpoint by a Skrull. Again.
It's unconcious. And we're the one aiming the gun.
Semantics.
When whatever the *&%# it is starts to come to, a second gun quickly joins the first one being aimed at it.
"Uuugh. Did anyone happen to catch the number of the bus that hit me?" the maybe-Skrull groans before groggily open bright red eyes.
"Ooohhh." Guns and any and all homicidal thoughts temporarily curbed, Wade's suddenly perched on top of the weird round couch directly behind the maybe-Skrull, playing with a roll of duct tape some had left behind. Finders keepers, losers losers. "Silver. Sticky. Duct tape!"
"Uhhh..."
"Hey, you wouldn't happen to be in your current predicament 'cause some big oaf with a metal arm left ya here to rot, would ya?" Who hasn't been in that situation? It did sort of scream Nate. If this was his doing, though, his work had gotten a little shoddy.
"Who--"
"--am I?"
"Yeah... And where--"
"--are you? All excellent questions, and the answer to your first one is - shaddup! I got my own questions. The most important one being: can I have this?" Wade asks, unfurling a long strip of tape slowly. "Ooohh."
"Yeah, yeah. Look, take the... tape, take the couch -- preferable not while I'm still attached to it -- just tell me what the heck's going on here. I know Angel's got an arm on him, and I've probably got the bump on my noggin to prove it, but exactly how long have I been out?"
"Okay, but, you really might want to sit down for this. It's a doozy."
"..."