Compared to most people cordially invited to a formal dinner party, Wade probably stands out more garishly than a debutante in a trailer park. Only in this case, it'd probably lean more towards the opposite.
He hasn't changed from his customary red and black spandex outfit, nor has he bothered to divest himself of his weaponry-- although some of the more pointy implements he's decided to leave at home; his guns still remain holstered at his belt-- because in this crazy town in which they're nothing more than playthings of the gods, he's long since gotten used to the idea that anything's possible. Regardless, he feels rather out of place amidst all this finery-- a rather odd feeling to experience, seeing as though he usually doesn't give two hot shits where he goes or what others might think of him (at least on the surface, anyway).
At least he's turned on the trusty image inducer for this soiree, and thus his face is unmasked, decidedly unblemished and sporting the brown hair he'd had pre-cancer. Wade takes a moment to take in the sight of the delectable food spread before him, arching a sardonic eyebrow.
"Kind of a year too late to roll out the welcome mat like this, but hey, I'll take it. Better late than never, in any case."
He japes, but his stomach growls as if in direct defiance of his sarcasm. He's never really gotten rid of his opportunistic eating habits from his three-year stint in Haven, after all, and he's not about to turn up his nose at free food, questionable circumstances be damned.
Wade Wilson | OTA
He hasn't changed from his customary red and black spandex outfit, nor has he bothered to divest himself of his weaponry-- although some of the more pointy implements he's decided to leave at home; his guns still remain holstered at his belt-- because in this crazy town in which they're nothing more than playthings of the gods, he's long since gotten used to the idea that anything's possible. Regardless, he feels rather out of place amidst all this finery-- a rather odd feeling to experience, seeing as though he usually doesn't give two hot shits where he goes or what others might think of him (at least on the surface, anyway).
At least he's turned on the trusty image inducer for this soiree, and thus his face is unmasked, decidedly unblemished and sporting the brown hair he'd had pre-cancer. Wade takes a moment to take in the sight of the delectable food spread before him, arching a sardonic eyebrow.
"Kind of a year too late to roll out the welcome mat like this, but hey, I'll take it. Better late than never, in any case."
He japes, but his stomach growls as if in direct defiance of his sarcasm. He's never really gotten rid of his opportunistic eating habits from his three-year stint in Haven, after all, and he's not about to turn up his nose at free food, questionable circumstances be damned.