Rocket Raccoon | MCU (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donttouchthefur) wrote2014-12-31 11:33 am
donttouchthefur) wrote2014-12-31 11:33 am
Entry tags:
first escape
[VIDEO - public]
[When the feed clicks on, there's what appears to be a raccoon staring at the screen, teeth bared and lips pulled back into what might be a vicious smile, if smiling was a thing raccoons were capable of. He's dressed in what can only be called a jumpsuit, made of red fabric and dark leather, and if the utter chaos that can be seen behind him is any indication, he's not exactly thrilled to be there.
When he speaks, however, there's no trace of that, only sharp humor and the kind of arrogance that says this is only a setback. Temporary.]
Two joints in two days? I'm flattered, really, wasting all that time and money on little ol' me. Sorry about that last one, but if you look in the depths of your measly breeder hearts it was a cakewalk and you know it.
So who are you, Nova or Kree? Not that it matters. We're all screwed either way, right?
[SPAM]
[They'd given him a communicator, and honestly that was all he needed to know about the place. They were soft, they were stupid. He'd be out of here in no time, and never mind Ronnan and his stupid giant hammer. If the Galaxy was doomed he didn't want to be anywhere near the center of it, and okay, so what was the point, he knew that, but survival instinct was strong.
First order of business after seeing what bit on the network was seeing what he had to work with, including the comm. Depending on how it worked, what kind it was, he could use it to hack or blow something up or at least zap something, but when he pulled it apart it exploded, showering him in confetti and multicolored string and Styrofoam pellets. What the hell...?
So much for that plan. Whatever, he'd figure out something else. Had to be plenty of patsies to work, every place had at least one.
He ventured outside the cell after that, roamed the halls he found on the other side, and it was way nicer than anyplace he'd been before, way too cushy for a real prison, but he could work that too.
He worked his way into the ductwork, easy enough with his size and claws, peeked a head out wherever he found a grate; other cells, communal bathrooms, a gym, a library... A few wouldn't open, so he scratched and clawed and pulled and cursed at them, eventually moving on when they didn't give. Had to find a tool for it, he'd come up with something. Come back to it.
He found the deck, climbed the railing to stare at the stars, try to pick out where in the universe they were. If he could figure out where he could maybe figure out a way off, somebody to contact, something to take advantage of. He found the mess eventually, ventured in when he finally got hungry enough, walked across the floor like he owned the place, like he wasn't two feet tall (and he knew that was being generous). Like he was somebody not to be messed with.]
[When the feed clicks on, there's what appears to be a raccoon staring at the screen, teeth bared and lips pulled back into what might be a vicious smile, if smiling was a thing raccoons were capable of. He's dressed in what can only be called a jumpsuit, made of red fabric and dark leather, and if the utter chaos that can be seen behind him is any indication, he's not exactly thrilled to be there.
When he speaks, however, there's no trace of that, only sharp humor and the kind of arrogance that says this is only a setback. Temporary.]
Two joints in two days? I'm flattered, really, wasting all that time and money on little ol' me. Sorry about that last one, but if you look in the depths of your measly breeder hearts it was a cakewalk and you know it.
So who are you, Nova or Kree? Not that it matters. We're all screwed either way, right?
[SPAM]
[They'd given him a communicator, and honestly that was all he needed to know about the place. They were soft, they were stupid. He'd be out of here in no time, and never mind Ronnan and his stupid giant hammer. If the Galaxy was doomed he didn't want to be anywhere near the center of it, and okay, so what was the point, he knew that, but survival instinct was strong.
First order of business after seeing what bit on the network was seeing what he had to work with, including the comm. Depending on how it worked, what kind it was, he could use it to hack or blow something up or at least zap something, but when he pulled it apart it exploded, showering him in confetti and multicolored string and Styrofoam pellets. What the hell...?
So much for that plan. Whatever, he'd figure out something else. Had to be plenty of patsies to work, every place had at least one.
He ventured outside the cell after that, roamed the halls he found on the other side, and it was way nicer than anyplace he'd been before, way too cushy for a real prison, but he could work that too.
He worked his way into the ductwork, easy enough with his size and claws, peeked a head out wherever he found a grate; other cells, communal bathrooms, a gym, a library... A few wouldn't open, so he scratched and clawed and pulled and cursed at them, eventually moving on when they didn't give. Had to find a tool for it, he'd come up with something. Come back to it.
He found the deck, climbed the railing to stare at the stars, try to pick out where in the universe they were. If he could figure out where he could maybe figure out a way off, somebody to contact, something to take advantage of. He found the mess eventually, ventured in when he finally got hungry enough, walked across the floor like he owned the place, like he wasn't two feet tall (and he knew that was being generous). Like he was somebody not to be messed with.]
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It's a mammal. Native to North America, and usually a bit smaller than you are and not upright. Um, very adaptable, can live in the forest and the city equally well. People thought of them like tricksters, sort of clever, because of the [ he gestures at his face ] the fur patterns, looking a bit like a mask or paint stripes. Also the hands. They're not sentient where I come from, but they can still learn how to open doors and jar lids.
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Good for them, I'm sure they're very happy with that. But there ain't no thing like me but me, 'raccoon' or otherwise.
[He snorts, the sound derisive to match the skeptical expression improbably stretching across his features.]
Hands. Hands make it "sort of clever". You're kidding me with that, right?
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It puts the raccoon in a rare class. Only a few species on Earth can manipulate objects that way - primates, cephalopods. Not that it stops corvids from trying.
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And I only know you're Terran 'cause they're the only idiots still self-centered enough to think they're the only ones got an earth.
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Yeah, okay. You think I buy that I got a ship you might be interested in.
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