[If this is heaven, then the powers that be have a pretty fucked up sense of humor.
Wade wakes up from chaotic dreams of noise and bright lights and pain to the decidedly unpleasant view from a hospital bed. Not really the position that one wants to be in under any circumstances, least of all someone who's had a fear of hospitals since as far back as he can remember. Which... isn't really all that far back, if he's gonna be perfectly honest. Attempting to rack his brain for anything approaching familiar causes the pain in his head to reach "Mama June doing the Riverdance in stiletto heels" levels of intensity, and so he gives up after a while. Works on his breathing. Attempts to slow his heart rate.
Waits for an opportunity.
Fortunately, in a complete reversal of how normal hospitals operate, he doesn't have to wait all that long to get discharged. All it takes is a nurse too frazzled and stressed from the apparent influx of patients to really concentrate on what she's doing. Poor dear. Her day's about to get a whole lot shittier.
Feigning sleep, Wade watches her through half-closed eyelids as she goes through the motions of checking his vitals on the EKG, adjusts his bedding; takes his blood pressure for what Wade’s sure is the millionth time. What, no changing his bedpan? God, the service in here is shit. There’s nothing on his face to give himself away when he slowly slips the IV needle out of his arm, holding the tube tightly to prevent any suspicious leakage. It’s hard to remain still like this, when every nerve ending in his body is telling him to get the fuck outta dodge before they decide to get flighty with a syringe, but Wade knows the value in being patient. Sometimes. Occasionally. In this instance, anyway. He holds his improvised weapon tightly in one hand and waits.
Patients and hospital workers alike are no doubt startled to hear a shrill scream coming from one of the rooms, and are even more startled to see the man with the horrific skin condition dragging one of the nurses backwards toward the exit, IV tube wrapped tightly around her neck; IV stand trailing awkwardly behind them. His tone is almost unnervingly conversational.]
Okay guys, just keep doin’ what you’re doin’! Just a little patient transference goin’ on, nothin’ to see here! Anyone takes one fucking step towards me and a garrote-induced hickey is only gonna be the second-worst thing to happen to Nurse Betty here, understand?
ii. Gonna take a walk without a sound
[Well. This place is certainly giving him some severe Stephen King vibes. All that’s left now is for Tim Curry dressed in a clown suit to come out of the forest and terrorize the populace. But at least he’s free of that godforsaken deathtrap they call a hospital. Wade’s almost disappointed at how easy it was to escape-- almost like he hadn’t needed such a flashy exit in the first place. But hell if he was just gonna sneak outta there like some sorta second-rate jewel thief. He’s got standards to maintain, after all. He thinks, anyway-- his memory's a little fuzzy at the moment.
Wade ditches his convenient Rent-a-Hostage fairly quickly, briefly watching her scurry off down the street before setting his sights in the opposite direction. Every journey began with a single step, as Confucius once said-- or was that John Denver? Whatever, it wasn’t important, and Wade’ll be damned if he’s gonna walk the whole way to… wherever the fuck he was going when he ended up here. All he needs to do is find himself a nice ride, preferably with the keys still left in it.
Apologies to anyone who spots the hideously scarred man in a hospital gown walking around town with his ass hanging out. He’s just passing through, honest.]
Wade Wilson | June 1 | Hospital; Town | OTA
[If this is heaven, then the powers that be have a pretty fucked up sense of humor.
Wade wakes up from chaotic dreams of noise and bright lights and pain to the decidedly unpleasant view from a hospital bed. Not really the position that one wants to be in under any circumstances, least of all someone who's had a fear of hospitals since as far back as he can remember. Which... isn't really all that far back, if he's gonna be perfectly honest. Attempting to rack his brain for anything approaching familiar causes the pain in his head to reach "Mama June doing the Riverdance in stiletto heels" levels of intensity, and so he gives up after a while. Works on his breathing. Attempts to slow his heart rate.
Waits for an opportunity.
Fortunately, in a complete reversal of how normal hospitals operate, he doesn't have to wait all that long to get discharged. All it takes is a nurse too frazzled and stressed from the apparent influx of patients to really concentrate on what she's doing. Poor dear. Her day's about to get a whole lot shittier.
Feigning sleep, Wade watches her through half-closed eyelids as she goes through the motions of checking his vitals on the EKG, adjusts his bedding; takes his blood pressure for what Wade’s sure is the millionth time. What, no changing his bedpan? God, the service in here is shit. There’s nothing on his face to give himself away when he slowly slips the IV needle out of his arm, holding the tube tightly to prevent any suspicious leakage. It’s hard to remain still like this, when every nerve ending in his body is telling him to get the fuck outta dodge before they decide to get flighty with a syringe, but Wade knows the value in being patient. Sometimes. Occasionally. In this instance, anyway. He holds his improvised weapon tightly in one hand and waits.
Patients and hospital workers alike are no doubt startled to hear a shrill scream coming from one of the rooms, and are even more startled to see the man with the horrific skin condition dragging one of the nurses backwards toward the exit, IV tube wrapped tightly around her neck; IV stand trailing awkwardly behind them. His tone is almost unnervingly conversational.]
Okay guys, just keep doin’ what you’re doin’! Just a little patient transference goin’ on, nothin’ to see here! Anyone takes one fucking step towards me and a garrote-induced hickey is only gonna be the second-worst thing to happen to Nurse Betty here, understand?
ii. Gonna take a walk without a sound
[Well. This place is certainly giving him some severe Stephen King vibes. All that’s left now is for Tim Curry dressed in a clown suit to come out of the forest and terrorize the populace. But at least he’s free of that godforsaken deathtrap they call a hospital. Wade’s almost disappointed at how easy it was to escape-- almost like he hadn’t needed such a flashy exit in the first place. But hell if he was just gonna sneak outta there like some sorta second-rate jewel thief. He’s got standards to maintain, after all. He thinks, anyway-- his memory's a little fuzzy at the moment.
Wade ditches his convenient Rent-a-Hostage fairly quickly, briefly watching her scurry off down the street before setting his sights in the opposite direction. Every journey began with a single step, as Confucius once said-- or was that John Denver? Whatever, it wasn’t important, and Wade’ll be damned if he’s gonna walk the whole way to… wherever the fuck he was going when he ended up here. All he needs to do is find himself a nice ride, preferably with the keys still left in it.
Apologies to anyone who spots the hideously scarred man in a hospital gown walking around town with his ass hanging out. He’s just passing through, honest.]