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"Massster..." this came from a disembodied head floating in front of Raistlin's desk. The archmagus didn't look up immediately, busy scratching writing onto a piece of flattened parchment, the quill in his thin golden fingers practically vibrating with the speed of his notes.

Genessia was a land of fascinating marvels. He'd be sure not to forget a single one.

"Masssster pleasssse," the head tried a second time.

Finally, Raistlin glanced up, impatient at the interruption. "What?"

"Therrrre is an intruderrr in the Grrove."

That. That was interesting, and Raistlin's hand finally stilled. "In the Grove, you say?"

"Yesssss. The defenderrrssss have not been able to kill it..."

Extremely interesting. Something from Genessia, no doubt, nothing else would make sense. The blackrobe dabbed the last of the ink off the feather quill onto a pad and set the instrument aside, and then took the time to carefully close up the inkwell. This could take a while.

And so it was that whatever this stranger was doing, he suddenly wasn't the only living creature in the dark, ancient grove. Raistlin lurked in the deepest shadows, silently watching.

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"Hoold on, hold on, wait up-" Let him get the safety on before he hands it over. He can handle getting shot in the face. Pretty sure his new bestie can't. Once he's got that handled, Raistlin gets handed the gun.

"Well when you don't have magic, technology does the rest. Shit like this comes in bigger sizes too. Wait until I show you a bazooka. Guns are pretty much just tiny, controlled explosions in a tunnel."

Yeah no, Raistlin's day would be ruined with any part of him getting shot, let alone his face. And then Wade's forever would be ruined, trapped in here with his corpse by the Shoikan Grove.

Raistlin actually lets go of his staff -- which stays upright on its own -- to turn the gun over in his slender, golden hands. Of course, part of this examination is peering down the barrel because what does he know about gun safety? Nothing.

"A tiny, controlled explosion in a tunnel... behind a projectile?" Otherwise how was it murdering things at range?

"Doooon't look in that end." He's just gonna... reach over and... move the barrel away from Raistlin's face.

"Safety's on but I don't want to take any chances with someone who's face doesn't grow back. Look, I can take this apart if you want." Then he can answer a lot of his own questions, and NOT get shot! Win win!

"Yeah, pretty much. The make of the gun decides the power of the explosion and the size of the bullet."

And Raistlin moved to hand it back, with an accompanies, "Yes, do."

Take it apart! He wants to see all the parts!

"The bullet being the projectile in question. No larger than an arrowhead, I should think."

That tunnel wasn't exactly sized for anything huge, by that measurement.

Taking the gun back, it was with quick, almost mechanical efficiency that he disassembled the gun, kneeling to lay the parts out properly. After all, he doesn't want to stand there and juggle everything.

"Yep, the bullets come in two parts-" He snagged one, working it a bit until the shell popped off, the scent of gunpowder in the air.

"The casing has the gunpowder in it, and the actual bullet is this-" Held out for inspection, it was even smaller than an arrowhead.

Raistlin didn't immediately follow him to the ground, of course, opting to lean against his staff and watch, at first. But when the bullet was dismantled and held out, the mage went ahead and crouched down to take it in his free hand, the other clutched onto his staff for support.

"And gunpowder is... a... combustible?" Why else would it be needed for the explosion, right? Right. Something like alcohol but more-so, to burn so fast as to explode in such a tiny space, with so much force.

"And how does it ignite?"

"Ignition's in the gun." A little more fiddling with the gun, and with a sudden click and SNAP, sparks shot from the section he'd been playing with.

"That sets off the powder, sends out the bullet, and the casing," he jangled the metal casing about, "is just tossed on the ground. They got a ton of different kinds of bullets too, shit like tracers, hollow tips, explosive ammo, they got shit for anything."

"And it sends it out so fast that it does..." a gesture off toward the latest of the unfortunate rocks, or at least the pieces of it, "that. Interesting. Much more efficient than archery."

"Yeah, and it's louder too." He sounds gleeful about that one.

"I got tons of different rounds if you wanna pick those apart."

"Is being louder particularly useful?"

In general, Wade.

"No, but it makes me giggle like a fresh faced school girl, and that's all that matters."

"I trust you realize how exceedingly peculiar you are."

The shade of it all.

"Thanks, my mom said I'm special too." No trust him, he wholly understands how peculiar he is. He was off before the brain tumors but all the cancer isn't helping.

"So you want those rounds or not?"

"Certainly," look, he's still crouched down here, one-handed death grip on his staff and all. For all Raistlin knows, Wade here just keeps a full artillery of bullets on his person at all times, like the mage's own spell components.

"Alright, well when I see you again, I'll make sure I got some tracers on me." That's right, those aren't here at all. No reason to carry tracer bullets around!

"But you can totally buy a more standard gun in town. They all pretty much work the same, just with modifications to make the explosion bigger, hold bigger rounds. Some of them have scopes, fuck, some of them have hinges on the barrel so you can shoot around corners."

That earned a single raised eyebrow, the effect lost in the shadows of Raistlin's hood. "You intend to continue to harass the denizens of the Grove, do you?"

You plan to come back?

But since the demonstration seems to be over, the archmage hauls himself back up to standing, with visible effort.

"Well, I wouldn't have to, if I saw you outside of Shit Your Pants National Park. You could like... go outside of this place and I can give them to you."

No comment on the effort it took for Raistlin to stand. The guy got up, so clearly he didn't need the help.

"I suppose that would be the case."

So, no. Raistlin is just fine staying in his tower, observing Genessia from its confines and only occasionally venturing out to take a sample of something that holds his interest long enough to warrant it.

"... Dude, if you wanna hold my hand so bad you can just ask, I don't have to keep getting multi-murdered in Hell's Hundred Acre wood here."

HE WANTS TO VISIT.

Raistlin takes a moment to try to parse that one, both hands still on the Staff of Magius at his side.

A moment later, simply, "Clarify."

"I don't like your woods, bro, but if that's what I have to walk through in order to come hang out with you, fine.

But that does mean that you're going to have to walk me because I'm actually, genuinely terrified of that fucking forest."

"Is this... attachment of yours a side effect of your being 'special'?"

Raist don't be such a sour grape.

"If I said yes would it make a difference? Come oooon, don't be such a jerk. I just wanna hang out, talk about shit, blow stuff up, you know.

Friend stuff."

Raistlin visibly recoiled a bit at that word. Ew. Gods above, this man really was an overgrown kender.

"We don't even know each other's names."

Aaand hand out for a shake.

"Hi, I'm Wade Wilson, code name Deadpool, don't tell anyone my real name.

Unless you do.

It actually doesn't matter, but the code name does sound really cool. And you are?"