fandomhigh | BWI Airport, Portalocity Port, Saturday Morning

Current Mood: contemplative

Entry tags:

!event: newbie shuttle

BWI Airport, Portalocity Port, Saturday Morning

Spirit's ride to the island had been settled and Adora was trying very hard not to be nervous while she waited for the Fandom transport to arrive. Looking out the airport window, Adora realized she'd never seen so many fleets of vehicles in all her life that weren't involved in some sort of insurrection, and found herself desperately hoping her mother was right about this Earth place being safe from the Horde.

Just the thought of her family calmed Adora and she instinctively reached to touch the Sword of Protection where it was hidden by her hair and clothing, feeling that no matter where she was, she always had a way to contact the people she loved.

Now if only she knew for sure that this room marked "Fandom High" was really where she needed to be. Adora paced the large space as she waited, thinking she couldn't possibly be the only new student journeying to campus in this manner.

[OOC: There is wee ocd ~~coming~~ ready!!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It is some kind of weird outfit school," Priestly said under his breath.

Of course, the fact that the driver was wearing a weird outfit gave him hope for avoiding the horribleness of blue blazered uniforms.

"Says you, punk wannabe!" Sometimes Deadpool had the maturity of a 12 year old girl.

"Ooo, sorry, is it a school for bondage, then? Where's your dom?"

"One, Vice Principal. And two... okay, I'm sorry, I can't remember, I zoned out on the hair."

It was like that one fat kid's...

"The vice-principal drives the bus?"

And wears a skin-tight red . . . whatever that was?

"Don't knock the hair, man."

"I was at the airport anyway!" A beat. "And bus driving is a proud and noble tradition!"

"So you're part of a creepy red-suit wearing bus driving cult?"

"No, no. This is just my lovely costume that expresses many things. Like something out of interpretive dance!" Deadpool replied. "Like, say, the colors mean I'm an anti hero from the early nineties. And the random pouches mean I was created by Liefeld, but thankfully I grew out of the tiny ankles."

Priestly just kinda stared.

". . . You're totally in a cult."

"A cult of educaaaa~tion." Deadpool even wiggling his fingers in an eerie way to prove it.

"I knew it!" Well, in that way where he'd had no idea whatsoever.

"We're insidious like that," Deadpool replied. "Aaaany minute now, you'll be talking about fractions and your TI-83 calculator!"

"Shows what you know, I don't have a TI-whatever calculator."

"...Yet."

"I'm on to you now, man." Wait, should he be pointing that out to the potential cult-guy? "You'll never get me."

"What if we offer hair gel?"

"I can buy my own."

"Enough to support your filthy jar a week habit?" Deadpool asked.

Hey, he didn't use quite that much. He went through hair coloring a lot faster than just gel.

". . . Yes."

That just got him an eyebrow raised.

...yes, there was a mask. But he was good at conveying these emotions, darn it! Like a mime!

"I can get a job," Priestly said, a little lamely. "And take less showers."

"So you can be the smelly guy?"

"It's better than brain-washed cult guy."

"No, I was blue when I was in a cult. And then I got bored and starting shooting Nate, but that's a whole other story," Deadpool replied.

"Is that a euphemism?"

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