Rocket (
prettygoodplan) wrote in
all_inclusive2014-12-04 11:09 am
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Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho.
Hunting down slimeballs generally ain't a job you can do and stay local. You wanna make the big money, you gotta be willin' to travel halfway across the damned universe and back, and you gotta be willin' to put yourself in the middle of a lotta different kinds of people. Slimebag people, but you know. Culturally different.
They got festivals on almost every planet out there, and unless they're givin' away free booze, there ain't nothin' Rocket likes about 'em. Even the free booze ones usually have a catch, and he don't understand why people want to be around each other on purpose anyway. If he could have a festival, it would be a festival of one.
...okay, maybe two. But that's it, and he don't mean Quill.
This Terran holiday shit's got to be the most annoying of the whole lot, though, with it's frickin' twinkle lights and trees in the middle of the room for no good damned reason. 'Supposed to be all about love and cheer and all that bullshit, but he ain't feelin' any goodwill from any of the humans who've yelped just at the sight of him.
Like they ain't never seen somebody looked any different from them before.
He don't like the hotel in the first place, but it won't let him back home yet, and even his room is filled with spangles and fake snow. (Who the hell wants real snow, much less fake snow?) In his attempt to find someplace a little less annoying, he's found himself down in the basement, sitting alone in a row of cushy chairs with very low expectations for whatever he's about to watch. If it's got anything to do with that fat guy in the red suit, he's bailing.
But oh, it ends up being so much better than that.
"Aw, what! Just take 'em out!" he's yelling now, on the edge of his seat and motioning angrily at the screen. "You gotta machine gun!"
[Watching Die Hard, best of all holiday movies.]
They got festivals on almost every planet out there, and unless they're givin' away free booze, there ain't nothin' Rocket likes about 'em. Even the free booze ones usually have a catch, and he don't understand why people want to be around each other on purpose anyway. If he could have a festival, it would be a festival of one.
...okay, maybe two. But that's it, and he don't mean Quill.
This Terran holiday shit's got to be the most annoying of the whole lot, though, with it's frickin' twinkle lights and trees in the middle of the room for no good damned reason. 'Supposed to be all about love and cheer and all that bullshit, but he ain't feelin' any goodwill from any of the humans who've yelped just at the sight of him.
Like they ain't never seen somebody looked any different from them before.
He don't like the hotel in the first place, but it won't let him back home yet, and even his room is filled with spangles and fake snow. (Who the hell wants real snow, much less fake snow?) In his attempt to find someplace a little less annoying, he's found himself down in the basement, sitting alone in a row of cushy chairs with very low expectations for whatever he's about to watch. If it's got anything to do with that fat guy in the red suit, he's bailing.
But oh, it ends up being so much better than that.
"Aw, what! Just take 'em out!" he's yelling now, on the edge of his seat and motioning angrily at the screen. "You gotta machine gun!"
[Watching Die Hard, best of all holiday movies.]
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She finds a furry little guy standing on his seat, watching a movie which, presumably, involves a machine gun. Yes, there it is.
So she waltzes into the room like she's always meant to come on over, everything from the way she looks to the way she walks screaming that she isn't any more human than he is. "Whatcha watching?"
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"Some Terran doin' a crap job of killin'," he replies instead with a motion to the screen. If there's a grudging respect to his tone, it's definitely only on account of the guy's sense of humor.
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"Terrans are from Terra. Earth. What a stupid name for a planet."
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That? Definitely one of the things she'll criticise them for.
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"This is like amateur hour, am I right?" he replies, and motions to the screen. "Terrans are too frickin' sentimental. No excuse for wastin' that sort of fire power."
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"Strawberry? The gray ones are still good."
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"Nah," he says of the strawberries, waving them off. "I don't do fruit."
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"I can only eat the color."
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Shrugging, she sucks the red out of yet another strawberry.
"Well now I know."
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"Now you know," he finally slowly replies, and looks back to the screen.
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She sets her bowl of strawberries aside and moves into the chair next to the not-raccoon, shape shifting into her bat form for some kind of solidarity.
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He's trying to decide if it's worth it to tend bar for a night when he ends up just wandering around, trying in vain to see if there's a door back home. He'll take anything, at this point, up to and including prison. At least he gets three meals a day there free of charge, right?
He winds up in the basement and finds Rocket who, presumably, hasn't made his furry ass back home yet either.
"Yippy-ki-yay?" Peter says, echoing the line on screen. He thinks it must be after his time, though he does recognize Bruce Willis.
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"When was the last time you were back there, anyway?"
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"Practically forever," Peter says. He doesn't exactly have the best memories of "home," such as it is. Most of Earth is wrapped up in losing his mother and it's not something he's really looking to relive.
"And everything after 1985 sucks anyway. I recognize the actor, though. It's Bruce Willis."