A knock sounded on the door. Wade Wilson was on his feet and pirouetted his way to the door in a matter of seconds, flinging it wide open.
“Thank Thor (or Loki)! I was about to starve!”
The kid at the door looked on, vaguely unimpressed at Wade’s antics. “Are you the mister Pool comma Dead who ordered a large, uh… pineapple olive, large anchovy mushroom, and large special order of four cheese with… mozzarella sticks as the topping?” he recited the order in a bored drawl, but there was a hint of judgement in his tone. So Wade liked his pizzas with a bit of zest and creativity. Was it a crime? Part of Wade hoped it was, how thrilling would it be to live on the run from the cops for daring to order a pizza outside the conventional system? It would make a great movie! He should write it, he could make millions-
“I’m taking that as a yes,” Pizza kid said, clearing his throat loudly. “If you could maybe pay for these, I gotta get going.” He shifted the pizzas in his grip with a peeved look on his face.
Okay, rude. It’s not like Wade had made him stand there for… Wade checked his watch. Oh. Nearly five minutes. Okay, maybe he’d been dissociating a bit longer than he realized. “My bad,” Wade said, reaching for his wallet, “what do I owe ya for, pretty boy?”