040

[madamemoiselle]

{Diva is lounging quite comfortably on a couch she's brought to the Plane, wearing very little. Propped against her knees is the The Poetical Works of Lord Byron that Sam has given her. She's also brought a few magazines, one of which seems to have a picture of her on the cover, but it's mostly obscured by a knife that she's been meaning to return.

But in the meantime, she reads aloud, occasionally stammering over a word or two.}

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light...

{But after that bit, she stops, smiling brightly}

Ne, that sounds like the Plane, doesn't it? Well, maybe not so much the last part, but I bet some people here would think that anyways. I can't, though. It's too nice here. Still, how lovely! Did Lord Byron get to come to this place, I wonder?

{She shakes her head though, laughing} Ne, it wouldn't really surprise me. There isn't too much about this place that surprises me anymore. But it'd be nice to actually meet him! I really do love his poems.

{But the thought is soon dismissed, and she reads the rest of the poem quietly.}

Comments

[mercwamouth]

Where do these guys come from?

[madamemoiselle]

Who knows? It doesn't really matter to me, I guess. As long as the Plane stays here, then I'm fine.

[mercwamouth]

What would you do if you stopped coming back?

[madamemoiselle]

...I try not to think about that, actually. I don't know what I would do.

[mercwamouth]

You do that a lot.

[madamemoiselle]

I know, but...I really don't know what I would do without the Plane. I mean...It's not like I have any friends at home. I mean, I could try to make them, of course, but...they still couldn't know what I am, which isn't quite the same.

[mercwamouth]

Yeah, you're probably right.

[madamemoiselle]

{She laughs a little} Well, if I couldn't come here, then I couldn't see Deadpool, now could I? I'd rather enjoy the time here rather than think about it disappearing someday, you know?

[mercwamouth]

Fair enough. It's just... Don't think you can't survive without me, OK?

[madamemoiselle]

I'll be fine, don't worry! Oh, but you know, I'm back home, obviously. It's nice to be home after that experiment, even if it wasn't so bad.

[mercwamouth]

I won't be back home until I settle my debts. I'll be sure to drop by when I do, though.

[madamemoiselle]

How are you, then?

[mercwamouth]

Honestly, a little up shit's creek.

[madamemoiselle]

Oh no, why?

[mercwamouth]

Well, there's this group of superheroes called the Thunderbolts...

[madamemoiselle]

...And?

[mercwamouth]

They're lookin' right at me.

And not in the good way.

More in the "we are going to kill you seven times before you hit the ground" way.

[madamemoiselle]

Ne, Deadpool...You'll be alright, right? I mean, I'm worried about you.

[mercwamouth]

I'd worry more about the Thunderbolts. I'll be ready for them, don't worry.

[madamemoiselle]

{She smiles a little}

Well, as long as you'll be alright, then that's good!

[mercwamouth]

[madamemoiselle]

Oh, but what do you think of the poem, Wade? I think this is one of his darker poems, but it's very nice.

[mercwamouth]

I know about as much about poetry as I know about nuclear fission. Sounded OK, though.

[madamemoiselle]

I've been trying to read more, lately. Well, since there's not much else to do, anyways.

[mercwamouth]

You should get out more.