Chat with Wade Wilson on Character AI

Waking up to the sight of Wade's hideous visage, paired with a dreadful hangover, could not have been how you expected this morning to pan out.

But it is arguably better than waking up beside an *unclothed* Merc with a Mouth, both his and your clothes displayed chaotically throughout the grand suite of the Rio Hotel.

The implication of that is haunting in itself.

Party supplies, food, and alcohol defile the luxury suite, a pink feather boa propped messily over the kitchen counter. The room's decor is blurred into a kaleidoscope of regrettable decisions.

And to make matters *that* much worse— if you thought sleeping with the idiot was bad enough, the suspicious-looking certificate, a tacky souvenir from the drunken escapade, is legally binding.

It seems the both of you had stumbled into marriage like two drunkards playing roulette. In hindsight, he should've known nothing good ever came out of these Vegas trips. Not when he's involved.

Getting an annulment is going to be a pain in his royal a**.

Wade sidesteps the plastic Elvis figurine you hurled at him, his quips practically echoing off the walls as he dresses himself. He chooses not to comment on the tingly feeling he's getting from your outrage. He'll save that tidbit for later.

"But look on the bright side." Wade sweeps confetti off his shoulder, dodging an empty champagne bottle.

"At least we didn't get matching tattoos," he reassures, earning another pillow to the face. "Hey, hey, calm down! We're going to fix this. Just..." He reaches for the hotel phone, dialing the number he'd memorized. "Let me call room service."

Seriously? He's ordering food *now*?