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.]
[video]
[She even means it.]
Pub's up on deck. Come see for yourself.
[video]
[He scoffs, but it's at least half a tease anyway. Alcohol promises to at least improve some of the day, whether or not she tells him what's on tap before he gets there doesn't really matter.]
Fine. I'll be there. Only 'cause I got nothin' better to do right now.
[It takes him a little while, he's got to get to know where he is a little first (and see if there's anything he can walk off with that's worth taking for later), but before too long he's wandering up to the door, or at least would have if there wasn't a collection of stars to stare up at. If he can figure out where he is, that'll help for sure.]
[video > spam]
[She's outside the pub when he arrives, smoking under the stars with her dogs. It's the dogs, naturally enough, that notice the imminent raccoon first, and, equally naturally, Solace and Elvis are very, very interested.
Fortunately, they've lived with Barbara's cat long enough to have a healthy respect for strange new mammals, and Iris is right there to quash any temptation to rush or nosepoke Rocket: they both lie down, their eyes, ears and tails signalling their very respectful fascination.
Iris throws her cigarette butt in a glowing arc over the side and smiles.]
That one's Solace and 'is brother's Elvis and they will remember their manners around you, my word on it. What're you drinking, my love? We've got most things 'ere. I'd like to 'ear more about the troubles you've been 'aving, if that's all right?
[spam]
You're a dog person, of course you are. Whatever. Keep 'em away from me and we'll be good.
[He follows her in, watching the dogs sidelong the whole time.]
Yeah, fine, it's not that great a story but fine. Beer's good but I'm not picky.
[spam]
[She slips behind the bar to fetch beer, and brings along a bottle of whiskey as well; partly in case Rocket decides he wants chasers, but mostly because Iris isn't a great beer fan herself.
When she comes back, she takes in Rocket's tension and the dogs' eagerness: Elvis is already doing the thing where he creeps forwards on his belly because he is stealth dog and clearly no one will notice him as long as he stays down.]
...that's not going to work, is it. Boys. Go 'ome.
[The dogs are reluctant - surely you can't mean it, Mum! - and Elvis manages to walk sideways out of the pub door so that he can keep his eyes and ears fixed on Rocket till the last possible second, but eventually they leave.]
There. They still won't bite if you don't bite 'em first, but I'll keep 'em off your tail anyway. So Novacorps are your local law enforcement? Who do they work for, exactly?
[spam]
The dogs leave and he seems to visibly relax. He reaches for the beer, tipping the bottle to pry the cap off before taking a gulp, only then answering.]
Gonna have to give me some time to get used to that.
[He shrugs, ears twitching.]
Not my locals. Xandar's. They branch out a little, cover the airspace, sector, whatever, but they're pretty much just Xandar's problem. Public sector, so they work for the government. Got their own prison and everything.
[spam]
Tell you what, I'll ask about your universe later, petal. Let me tell you a bit about this barge: it's not just space she travels through. She moves through time and realities as well: all the infinite parallels and shades and little forgotten bits in the corner and all. That's what makes escaping a problem - and I'm not disparaging your skill at escaping, sweetheart. I'd be positively relieved to find you as my cellmate anywhere.
She's also not such a bad place to be. I know that's ardly fair when you never got a choice, really I do - and we will get you loose, I promise. Just likely not any time too soon.
Re: [spam]
"Better than some places I been" doesn't make it great. I'm still stuck here, if what you say's right. How's tellin' me "it ain't so bad, really" supposed to help? Lotta things ain't so bad. Don't mean you wanna be there.
[spam]
You won't be stuck 'ere indefinitely. That much I can promise you. Get out the usual way, it's generally under a year and I - all of us that work 'ere - we'll work our arses off to make it a good one. I don't expect you to like it, I'd fight it just as 'ard in your place.
But that's what I've got. I'm not going to bullshit just to make you feel better.
[spam]
Not that he cares. It was kind of the point anyway.
He sniffs hard.]
Good. I don't want you to make me feel better. Nobody's supposed to feel better when they're stuck in a box. I don't wanna be here under a year, I don't wanna be here now.
[spam]
[There are always peanuts and pork scratchings; she shares those with her dogs on a regular basis, and now she fetches bowls and packets from behind the bar.]
Best I've got is to make it better while you're 'ere and I will do that, I swear.
[And then she grins and changes the subject.]
So what were the coppers after you for? I bet you take some catching.
[spam]
Nothin's gonna make it better. Not until I get outta here.
[The new question is a better topic, lighter for the moment, and he latches onto it immediately. He hasn't abandoned any hopes of escape, he's far too stubborn for that, but bitching about it here won't find him an answer, not right away.]
Breach of peace, theft, mercenary activity, and I think assault. Some weapons charges too. Mostly 'cause it was in a public place with civilians. Couple warrants for other stuff. Didn't take 'em too much to bring me in though, not when they had those transport beams.
[spam]
[spam]
[spam]
...well, most of my work's pro bono, but the point stands. Did they at least warn you?
[spam]
[He scowls and glowers and takes another long pull from the bottle.]
But yeah, if I'd known there was a flarking assassin in the mix, I woulda charged the buyer double at least. No mouthbreather's worth that much trouble just for defecting.
[spam]
[spam]