re_alignment_logs | [Open] The Outer Banks

WHO: Rocket, Open
WHERE: Near the Badlands
WHEN Around the time that everyone is meeting up at the bar.
WHAT: Rocket can't help but want to venture closer, mostly because he's tired of the noise in his head.
WARNINGS: None at the moment.

If there was one thin Rocket wasnt fond off, it was others getting in his head. Well, that and talking dogs named Cosmo but that was another story. The idea of anyone or anything messing with his mind set the raccoon off a bit and this time around was no exception. He wasn't feeling it like the Drift guy apparently was but it was still there and what with everyone talking like they were, it was pretty easy to pinpoint where it might be coming from.

So Rocket set out to get a slightly closer look for himself because while knocking back a few drinks sounded good, he was a Guardian and wanted to see what was going on.

He had every intention of not gettin too close in the long run but the closer he drew to the Badlands the stroked the noise, the stronger the draw got. Rocket forced himself to stop, perched atop a rock as his ears flicked irritably, red eyes narrowed as he glared out at the badlands in the distance.

"Farkin' place," he muttered, feeling that draw again, that will to move his feet and keep going forward, his law twitching for one of his pistols before he finally did start moving, hopping down off his perch and continuing forward as his tail lashed.

Rocket knew he needed to turn back....but he wanted to know. Needed to know....no, needed to be there.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That space raccoon was up to something. If there's one thing Deadpool knows, it's that raccoons are always up to something. Normally digging in trash. And if he knows two things, that second thing is that Bea Arthur is hot.

Wait. That was not important right now.

What was relevant right now is that if there was anything more shady than a foul-mouthed raccoon wearing clothes, it was a foul-mouthed raccoon wearing clothes that wandered off on his own.

SO. Tracking.

It was pretty easy, because raccoons kinda stink.

He propped himself against an outcrop of rock, a bit in the raccoon's path, all casual like.

"Hey there, Racket." Whatever. "Nice day for a nefarious walkabout, eh, eh, wotwot?"

Rocket didn't even hesitate to pull his pistols, that annoyingly familiar voice enough to snap him out of his zone as he aimed the weapons at the mercenary before he even looked at him.

"What the fark do you want?" he snarled as his fur bristled and his tail lashed even more, narrowed eyes finall landing on Deadpool as his pistols hummed, ready to fire. "Don't remeber asking for any farkin' company, especially not from the likes of you, mercenary." One ear twitched as the white noise came back, Rocket glancing away from his companion towards the Badlands once more then back again. "I've got buisness to take care of that doesn't concern you."

Awwww, lookit them little pistols in those little paws. Sorta cute, really.

No, actually, sorta Hit-Monkey. Eurgh. Not good times.

Though...Spider-man.

Wait. Time to focus.

"Me? Just out for a little stroll. You know, I'm the kinda guy who likes pina coladas, gettin' caught in the rain and taking long walks in ominous terrain."

"And I ain't a mercenary. I'm a good guy." Believe it!

"You're crazy, is what you are," Rocket snapped, taking a few steps away from where Deadpool was and more towards the Badlands without even realizing what he was doing.

He was mostly just trying to get far, far away from the other and, unknowingly, closer to the source of the call.

"Good guy. Right. You keep farkin' telling yourself that and I'll just stick with calling you a mercenary. Fair? Fair," the raccoon drawled, ears flicking as he finally holstered his pistols and turned to head off once more, tail snapping behind him. "Enjoy your long walk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

It probably is, but it's gotten Deadpool this far. When your gimmick works, keep working it.

"You know you could make my job easier, the whole good guy thing, if you'd, you know, stop trying to get yourself in trouble. Be pretty humiliating for me to have to rescue your raccoonbooty."

An irritated growl like chittering noise escaped Rocket as he paused and turned back towards Deadpool, ears pressed flat to his head as he glared.

"You farkin' better keep your hands to yourself, mercenary, or I'll shoot your head off and leave you to fix yourself," he threatened and, really, it wasn't beyond Rocket's capabilities. He wouldn't have felt all that bad about it in the least considering who he was dealing with.

"You say merc like it's a bad thing. Seriously. What do you have against a little, you know, free market capitalism?" Not like Deadpool has any other marketable skills.

Maybe raccoons are all communists. It would make sense: he is wearing red gloves.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be the nice guy, here. Even Our Robot Overlords are afraid of where you're headed. Maybe, you know, they got a reason."

"All the more reason to find out what's out there. Plus, wouldn't be the first time I've defied some higher being," Rocket said with a shrug, clearly not at all put off by the prospect of something horrifying and ultimately terrifying hiding out in the Badlands.

He's probably seen something on par with whatever it is.

"While I appreciate your concern, I don't farkin' need it. So bug off," he snapped, waving his paw as if to dismiss the other.

"All right, you got a point there. Other than those spiky little cheeks of yours. But you know, not smart to go alone."

BEHOLD: Backup. Deadpool will just sort of spread his hands in a 'here I am!' gesture.

Starscream came out of the sculpted, roughly tetragonal alt and skidded to a stop near the outcropping's edge, kicking up a wave of dust and glancing down.

Earth animal, maybe? Definitely organic. But the fact that it had fabric on made him think it was probably conversation capable.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you."

His tone was a little strained.

Rocket had backed up some when he picked up the sound of the other coming, hunkering down just a bit in a defensive position as he glared at the jet. It wasn't one he recognized right away--honestly he was getting tired of all these giant robots but hey, it was their planet--and his paws hovered over his pistols.

"Why's that?" he asked, ears flicking then falling back as his eyes narrowed some more.

"I've been there. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I remember that it was extremely unpleasant."

The seeker crouched and peered down at the - organic - and noted he was armed. Well.

That was different.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, is all. Look--whose temple are you staying at?"

"Vector Prime," Rocket answered first, taking another step back before pausing, tail snapping back and forth as he tilted his head. "Wouldn't be the first time I got involved in something that no one could explain properly. Kind of what my team and I do back home."

Which was an understatement in a way but, well, minor detail.

[Open] The Outer Banks

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