[There are times when reasonable paranoia pays off.
In this case, it pays off less because of the paranoia and more in the sense that Rocket's not big on sweets, but it still counts. He does have a caramel apple on hand that he's been working on for a pretty long time and his focus on said apple is what's put him in what will become known as the vomitorium tomorrow- specifically, the place where everyone ends up vomiting after eating the Bad Candy.
It's a really bad spot to be eating, but he figures there's some honor-bound duty as an Avenger/Guardian of the Galaxy to make sure nobody swallows a razor blade or their own tongue. Also it amuses him.
As a new person arrives, horking or generally showing signs of nausea, a three foot tall raccoon takes a bite out of a caramel apple (smearing a significant amount of caramel on his muzzle) and barely glances up.]
Yeah, you probably shouldn't get candy from that dude. 'S pretty questionable, if you ask me.
STRAW-SCARY FIELDS FOREVER|
[And then there's the times when paranoia makes a bad situation even worse, as Rocket learns when he starts feeling that creepy sensation in the back of his skull that he's being hunted. He's been on the run before. He's seen some shit. He knows that feeling.
The first several times he whirls around, there's nothing there. Eventually, it gets unbearable and with a growl, he whips one of the guns out of its holster and aims it behind him, catching a stranger in his sights.
It's such an elegant solution to his current predicament that he doesn't even think to notice that one of the scarecrows is gone. All he sees is some rando who has clearly been stalking him down the road, and has just now come out of the shadows.]
Is this how you wanna die, jackass? 'Cause this is how people get dead. Stop following me.
THERE'S TROUBLE CLOSE AT HAND |
[Here's a sight: a scarecrow wielding a sickle trying desperately to slam the weapon down on something that is just a blur of movement- as small as a dog and fox-quick. The scarecrow seems single-minded in its task to stab the little pest and eventually said pest comes into view- it's a raccoon in a jumpsuit.
The raccoon has a gun. Two, in fact. Two fancy little pistols that it keeps firing blindly at the scarecrow, tearing bits out of it but never dropping it. His screaming in rage is enough to stir up the crows and get them circling overheard, but that's about all that happens. He's forced to move again, holstering the weapons and bounding away, just barely missing getting his tail hacked in half by the sickle. He's got his sights on a potential new ally- namely you, innocent bystander.]
Don't just stand there! D'you got anything that'll work on this jerk? [Being closer to another person who might be able to draw fire or offer something else allows him to rifle through his pockets for absolutely anything that might be useful.]
WILDCARD |
[WHATEVER ELSE. Great Sleep. Network. Whatever you fancy.]
ROCKET | MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE
[There are times when reasonable paranoia pays off.
In this case, it pays off less because of the paranoia and more in the sense that Rocket's not big on sweets, but it still counts. He does have a caramel apple on hand that he's been working on for a pretty long time and his focus on said apple is what's put him in what will become known as the vomitorium tomorrow- specifically, the place where everyone ends up vomiting after eating the Bad Candy.
It's a really bad spot to be eating, but he figures there's some honor-bound duty as an Avenger/Guardian of the Galaxy to make sure nobody swallows a razor blade or their own tongue. Also it amuses him.
As a new person arrives, horking or generally showing signs of nausea, a three foot tall raccoon takes a bite out of a caramel apple (smearing a significant amount of caramel on his muzzle) and barely glances up.]
Yeah, you probably shouldn't get candy from that dude. 'S pretty questionable, if you ask me.
STRAW-SCARY FIELDS FOREVER|
[And then there's the times when paranoia makes a bad situation even worse, as Rocket learns when he starts feeling that creepy sensation in the back of his skull that he's being hunted. He's been on the run before. He's seen some shit. He knows that feeling.
The first several times he whirls around, there's nothing there. Eventually, it gets unbearable and with a growl, he whips one of the guns out of its holster and aims it behind him, catching a stranger in his sights.
It's such an elegant solution to his current predicament that he doesn't even think to notice that one of the scarecrows is gone. All he sees is some rando who has clearly been stalking him down the road, and has just now come out of the shadows.]
Is this how you wanna die, jackass? 'Cause this is how people get dead. Stop following me.
THERE'S TROUBLE CLOSE AT HAND |
[Here's a sight: a scarecrow wielding a sickle trying desperately to slam the weapon down on something that is just a blur of movement- as small as a dog and fox-quick. The scarecrow seems single-minded in its task to stab the little pest and eventually said pest comes into view- it's a raccoon in a jumpsuit.
The raccoon has a gun. Two, in fact. Two fancy little pistols that it keeps firing blindly at the scarecrow, tearing bits out of it but never dropping it. His screaming in rage is enough to stir up the crows and get them circling overheard, but that's about all that happens. He's forced to move again, holstering the weapons and bounding away, just barely missing getting his tail hacked in half by the sickle. He's got his sights on a potential new ally- namely you, innocent bystander.]
Don't just stand there! D'you got anything that'll work on this jerk? [Being closer to another person who might be able to draw fire or offer something else allows him to rifle through his pockets for absolutely anything that might be useful.]
WILDCARD |
[WHATEVER ELSE. Great Sleep. Network. Whatever you fancy.]