Wearing a classic white dress, Deadpool sashayed forward for dozens of meters. Since he had forgotten to bring high heels, he deliberately exaggerated the sway of his hips in hopes of achieving a more perfect filming effect.
But the result was that he looked like he was doing a yangko dance, only lacking some festive, lively background music.
"Wait, I suddenly remembered something."
Wade stopped where he was. Looking at the ornate chandelier on the gallery ceiling, he stroked his chin and recalled:
"I remember why I'm here! It's because I got a job. Someone texted me and said they were living in a nightmare and needed help, so after waking up, I figured I should clear out this assignment before the wedding. That's why I came here."
"As for why I forgot such crucial information earlier? Do you really want to lecture a poor brain cancer patient like me about memory loss? It's already lucky that I can remember it now, because I still can't remember what I ate last night."
"Hmm, in that case, I should find the client first instead of looking at paintings here. Although all these paintings are about me, which seems a little strange, I'm the protagonist, so it's perfectly normal."
Once he thought of it, he had to do it. Mercenaries were always full of initiative. He removed the dress covering his uniform, then rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a whiteboard marker.
Beside him was an oil painting depicting Cable and Negasonic Teenage Warhead kneeling before him, smiling seductively as they polished his shoes. Deadpool shook his head.
"If this is a dream, then it definitely isn't my dream. They're my friends, and this isn't a normal, healthy friendship. Besides, we're not NBA players with that workplace rule where rookies polish