rocketxraccoonx

[rocketxraccoonx]

Damn. 

Steve reached for one of the spare settings, trading his fork for a clean one. Then, after mulling his options long and hard over what happened to be some very delicious eggs, Steve echoed the raccoon’s words. “Here’s the deal -” 

Real or hallucination, the creature appeared to be in no hurry to go away. But it did speak English and, after the meal, that happened to be the biggest break he had gotten all day. He might as well use both. 

“I happen to have found myself in a bit of a predicament which makes this -” he took another bite, sure to put on a  show of how enjoyable it was, “incredibly valuable.” Who knew when his next meal might be, if there’d even be one at all. “In fact, the only thing more valuable to me right now is information. And since you’re the only -” he gestured vaguely, not having the words because animals didn’t talk, “that speaks English here I’m thinking we could make a trade.”

-

As the other parroted his words, his ears lowered and his lip curled as he fought the urge to start snarling. “It ain’t as cool when you say it.” he pressed, wanting to offer any kind of blow he could, no matter how small.

As the stranger vomited their pathetic little story about how deserving they were of the food, he finally caved and allowed himself to bare his teeth. As a treat for having at least tried not to. “If it’s so valuable to you, why are you throwing it on the floor like it ain’t nothin’.” he answered, his words quiet but firm. “You want information from me, it’s gonna take a bit more than some whatever that is.” he slowly lowered his claw towards the eggs again. 

“You bought that. You can buy it again. But for me.” his tail flicked in anticipation. “Thens, maybe, if you play nice and don’t start throwin’ things around like a barbarian, I’ll think about tellin’ you what I know about-” he cut himself off, shrugging as if to say that they both know what he was referring to and that it wasn’t to be said out loud. In reality, Rocket had no idea what the other could possibly be talking about, but was willing to string him along.

[rocketxraccoonx]

A planet. A peculiar type of phrasing to go with the possibly explosive cake – at least one of those had to be bullshit, but Berto wanted to check how far that would go. It was a funny sight, the raccoon’s little hands holding the wrapped up piece like a ticking bomb ready to go off. He had no idea who or what a ‘flark’ was, adding to his curiosity.

“Nah, I’d like to come with you, I wanna see what might happen,” he replied promptly, without much room for doubt or arguing. He was already smiling up at the waitress that had taken his order and leaving a couple bills on the table to cover for the food and a generous tip, before he stood to follow the creature. “You got a name? Pronouns? Don’t wanna insult you by guessing anything wrong.”

-

“Come with me?!” Rocket barked instinctively, the fur on the back of his neck standing up in outrage at the other’s audacity to not let him off freely after such an award winning performance. “I can’t just put you in danger. You gots them little human families to go home to. I ain’t insured.”  he shook his head to reinforce his refusal and took another step backwards, creating distance between the two. 

“Name’s Rocket. Only thing you’re guessin’ wrong is that you need to know anything about me. I ain’t here to be your friend, pal. I’m here to save your sensitive little tail hole from the radiating blast of the whatever-this-was-again.” He realised mid sentence that he’d forgotten the name of the honey cake, but was willing to keep going. “This thing’s drippin’ in all kindsa danger. You wouldn’t get it. Just go home to your family and pet your dog or brother or something. I’ll handle this.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

“More like… shapeshifting humanoid beasts who lose control of their rational ability and go into a bloodlust. Not all the time. Ever watched old monster movies? Used to love ‘em.” Why was he talking to this… alien racoon? He should just insist it was a hallucination and stop pretending, but even if it was something he made up, he had no idea where it was getting this personality from. He knew Khonshu was real because that asshole had knowledge that Marc didn’t and affected the world. So why not this guy? He’d seen things just as weird. He really needed to be better at accepting the insane faster. “You might enjoy the stupid shit that people come up with.”

The restaurant wasn’t far and Marc lead them behind the alley where the kitchen entrance was. It smelled like rotting food in the dumpster and he tried to ignore that as he dug for the spare key that lived on his keychain. An annoying part of his chronically missing memories, never being sure which new key went to what. He eventually got it open. It was a big enough space for about three people to work in and one counter pushed up to the side where they could put plates for the server. He set the bag of newly acquired goods on the counter by a stovetop.

“It’s closed, so no one should come wandering in and looking for a midnight snack. Well, except us. But I don’t have to keep us outside. And try not to make a dent in anything important. We’re here because they help, not to rob them.” Marc gave him a flat look. It seemed a little bit like stealing. He’d leave cash around for them. For now, he was going to find the first aid kit.

-

“Listen, I know a thing or two about humanoid beasts. Ugly, for a start.” he looked quickly to the other and then away again. “Ain’t really my thing. I used to have to live with a humanoid beast, always talked about old movies. I never saw them myself, but, he said they were good. So, you gots that in common at least. Good for you.” he began to wonder why he’d even brought up his old shipmate. He snarled and spat on the floor. Good riddance. 

Rocket followed Marc, but made sure to keep just enough distance that if he needed to suddenly make a break for it, he had space and time. It wouldn’t be the first or last time the promise of food had offered the reality of a cage or trap. As he waited for the door to open, he scratched an itch in the depths of his cheek fur, silently grossed out by the sheer amount of dirt and debris that flew into the air as his claw hit his fur. He couldn’t remember when he’d last bathed in clean water.

As the door finally opened, a smirk scrawled across Rocket’s face. Showtime. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll just be taking the essentials. They ain’t gonna even notice we’ve been here.” he followed the other in, quickly climbing up onto a countertop to get a better survey of the surroundings. “What are you fancying? I kind of picture you as a raw meat guy, but, maybe that’s just me projectin’. Don’t tell me you’re one of those herbivores.” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll eat you myself in that case. Spare the rest of the planet from havin’ to meet you.” 

[rocketxraccoonx]

“Listen, I know you’re not a raccoon, but to everyone that isn’t an alien, you kind of are.” Clark told him despite the plate throwing and the fact that he shouted at him but Clark just shrugged, moving along outside so they weren’t attracting more attention. At least the streets weren’t as crowded so Clark continued to walk ahead of Rocket. 

“Is this your first time on Terra?” He couldn’t remember if he ever heard that the Guardians team had been down here recently. 

-

“You’re all dirty little meatbags to me but I still call you humans, - not that you deserve it!” he barked back, not allowing the other to even attempt to give any kind of moral high ground or even reasoning as to why he would throw such an insulting word around at all let alone directed at Rocket himself. He snarled again before spitting onto the dirt below him, narrowly avoiding his own foot.

“Yeah, what of it?” he snapped, focussing more on keeping up with the other. Walking on two legs had its downfall and speed, or lack thereof, was most of it. “You think just cause you been round the block a few times that you’re some kind guru? You gonna guide me around and tell me what ain’t poisonous? I’m doing fine on my own!” he pressed, still internally heated about the mention of the Guardians. “I’m makin’ out like a bandit. Might stay here forever.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Not many things had the power to leave Roberto da Costa speechless, yet he truly didn’t know how to react in the face – or snout? – of the creature handling his uneaten honey cake as if it happened to be radioactive. “Contain it, Christ,” Berto let out, valiantly trying to process the whole thing. “Couldn’t you just flush it down the toilet? How much damage can a piece of cake make?” The whole thing sounded absurd to him and he crossed his arms as he watched the other. “So you’ve just done that out of the goodness of your heart, without expecting anything other than my gratitude? You’re far more of a humanitarian than most people I know.”

-

Rocket crinkled his nose as the other’s outburst. He was sure the game was over and they’d seen through his antics. He went to explain himself but as they spoke again he realised he was still in luck. After a brief inward sigh of relief, he focused his mind back on the situation at hand. “Flush it down the toilet, are you crazy? What if it explodes? You know how much infrastructure costs on a planet like this one?” Rocket didn’t, but it felt like the smart thing to say. Human toilets were gross. Even if the cake was dangerous, he wouldn’t subject it to the horror of those things.

He lifted the rolled up parcel into his paws, continuing to hold his arms outstretched to keep it from coming into contact with his body. “Gratitude ain’t necessary, but, I like your thinking. Work with that.” he nodded, taking a step backwards to motion to the other that he’d like to leave now. “Well, that’s just how it is on the streets. We gotta look out for one another. Flark knows they won’t.” he wasn’t pertaining to anybody in particular but knew most younger folks tended to dislike their local ruling bodies, so it felt like it may gain him extra favour. “Now, if you’re ready to truly focus on that gratitude, I’ll take this somewhere you ain’t even knowin’ exists.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

No, he was probably just some dumb ‘humie’ in too deep. “You ever met a werewolf? I did, couple times. You’re not like… a werewolf are you?” He wasn’t going to do anything about it if he was, Marc had never actually had to put down a werewolf but he had intervened between a few werewolf fights and a guy who was an art thief and a werewolf. He really just needed to understand what and who he was dealing with and who he was promising explosives to.

Marc couldn’t really take this thing home with him, but he could take him out to the station he used to meet with people. The restaurant was open during the day, but closed at night. Jake seemed to have a decent relationship with the owner and cook, somehow. Marc could get into the kitchens. They would be mostly sterile. “We’ll see what the first aid kit has. Know much about Earth kitchens? You’re probably not actually allowed in one.”

He made a point of hiking the bag up high enough that Rocket couldn’t get to it. “Weapons after medical emergencies. We can have some riveting conversation.”

-

“Werewolf?” he inquired, brow raised in equal parts confusion and curiosity. “What’s that some kind of sentient dog? Yeah, I met one of them. Kinda a dick though.” he leaned back as the other accused him, offended. “Do I look like some kinda slobberin’ ball chasin’ fleabag to you?” he decided to answer for him before he could say anything on the contrary. “I ain’t a werewolf. I ain’t a anything, okay? I’m just me. There ain’t nothin’ on this dumb planet that comes even close to what I am, okay? So stop askin’.”

As the word ‘kitchen’ entered into the playing field, he quickly began to realise just how profitable befriending this local lunatic might actually be. “I know kitchens.” he nodded, “Been kicked outta those plenty.” He had a suspicion the other supposed he wasn’t allowed in on behalf of his shedding fur and he was happy to let him believe that over the reality that he’d been caught stealing. He subconsciously put his hand to his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten anything substantial. “I can cook somethin’ if you’re able to keep the place cordoned off. It’ll help recover that wound of yours.”

“Weapons and medical emergencies!” he repeated, deploying one of his extremely subtle and not obvious fake laughs. “If I ever write an autobiography, that’ll be the name of that masterpiece!”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Steve had seen a lot since crashing on Themyscira, had done his best to adapt and open his mind to impossible things like magic and gods and even this strange form of time travel, but this? He didn’t know what to do with this. Was this a future thing? Had animals advanced to the point of talking? He looked around again – no one seemed particularly alarmed, but Steve still didn’t trust his own mind, didn’t want to get locked away in some room somewhere before he could ever find the actual help he knew he needed. 

So, yes: “Shoo. Get. Scram. S’en aller.” His eyes followed the swipe of the claw on a fork he would definitely not be able to use now and choked out a sigh that was half-tired, bewildered, but also just a bit amused. The threat was just so very absurd.  But if it would not be intimidated, maybe he should just give it what it wanted. Certainly not at the table, though, and when he broke off a piece of sausage he tossed it away. As far from his own chair as he could without interrupting the other patrons.

-

Rocket’s brow furrowed slightly more with each new variation of shoo. It was almost impressive how many terms could come to the stranger’s mind. Well, it would be impressive, if it wasn’t both insulting and mind numbingly infuriating to sit through. “You done?” he asked, hoping there wasn’t going to be a second round of indulging the human thesaurus sat before him. He took his paw off of the fork and crossed his arms. 

The portion of sausage flew away from the table and landed on the ground below. It bounced a few times, as if mocking him and trying to pick up as much dirt and debris as possible. “Wasteful.” he commented nonchalantly, gesturing his left paw out towards what was now easily considered garbage. Realising this person was either really dumb, or was under some kind of defect, he did his best to be Rocket’s version of accommodating. “Here’s the deal.” he reached for a spare napkin and took a moment to open it out fully before presenting it onto the table in front of the other. “You put that,” he pointed to the other, then to rest of his meal. “Into there.” he moved his pointing finger over to the napkin. “Capeesh?”

[rocketxraccoonx]

“You wouldn’t be the first otherworldly apparition stuck with me, certainly the best looking one though.” He could feel, faintly, the tickle of Khonshu’s presence at his back in that disapproving way he had when Marc insulted him. He could stuff it up where the sun don’t shine as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t the one getting stabbed for gear.

Marc paused, a smoke grenade in hand, and held it up to the light. “You want some of these? What’s a guy like you gonna do with some explosives on this crap heap of a planet? Gonna make a rocket ship out of bullets and scrap metal? Yeah, not likely.” If this little shit racoon was a criminal, he was going to drown himself in a lake. It would be his luck that this thing was some kind of evil entity. Following him around. Demanding his shit. Once again, at least he was better looking than the other guy who did that.

He could just summon the suit. That would solve all of this. But if he summoned the suit, he’d be doing Moon Knight things. And this wasn’t about that. This was about him. Marc. Being Marc. Having things he did other than punching whoever Khonshu told him to. He stood up, grabbing the bag, and gave a pained sigh. He really hated his judgement making skills sometimes. “Fine. Come on. You can have one gun. And two grenades. If you stitch this without getting fur in it.”

-

Rocket couldn’t help but grin as the other complimented him. Even if it was probably a tiny compliment, as apparitions tended to lend themselves to the more horrific side of physical appearance, he would take praise where he could. “Of course I am. But, I’m glad you noticed. Maybe you ain’t just some dumb humie after all.”

Rocket’s eyes sparkled as the other held the grenades closer to him, his fingers splayed like talons ready to take the prize into his clutches. “Oh, exactly! What am I going to do with something like that?” he agreed, willing to let it slide for a chance at getting what he wanted. “So, let me carry them and we’ll get you somewhere safer. Like you said, it ain’t no trouble for me to have them.” He held out his paws more obviously, asking to be given the weaponry. 

He watched Marc grab the bag and go, taking it as a cue to follow hot on his heels. He smirked, “Really? I was going to use my whisker to stitch it, but, if you insist, I guess I’ll find some thread or something.” he thought for a moment. “Do you got a needle and thread in there or do I need to source everything myself?”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Clark watched as Rocket analysed the sandwich he just let him have and let out a slight chuckle. “Well, I guess you’re not used to earth’s offerings of food.” he remarked at the disgust. “Oh come on, you like Quill.” Clark smiled to himself. “he may be annoying, but he’s your annoying teammate.”

He sat back and glanced around at the people in the cafe staring at a talking racoon. “Perhaps we should take this out of here?” Clark suggested. “People aren’t used to a talking racoon in these parts.” He gestured to the door then got up. “I was taking a walk to check up on things.” 

-

“You call this food? It is an insult to chefs across the galaxy to consider this food.” he finished it off, wiping his mouth again with his arm. “I mean, it keeps you alive, sure. But, it ain’t exactly worth livin’ for, you get what I’m sayin’?” His face dropped as Quill was mentioned again. He didn’t like to have to keep going over their friendship or even their time spent together. There was a lot of memories to unpack, but Rocket preferred to ignore all of it the best he could. “Teammate?!” he snarled, “We ain’t a team. We were just some silly little puppets he used to do his dirty work.” he squinted, looking the other in the eye. “And that guy, has, a lot, of dirty work.”

His ears perked up sharply as his least favourite word shot through them like a dagger. “I’m not a raccoon!” he shouted up at the other as he stood. He snarled and kicked the plate that was left on the table, sending it crashing to the floor. “Call me that again and you won’t have any legs to walk with, we clear?” Despite his frustrations, he decided it was a better opportunity to follow the other than storm off. He’d already tricked him into handing over food, he was interested in what else he could get his hands on. He jumped down off the table and walked slowly after the other creating distance between them, hoping it was enough to let him cool off.

[rocketxraccoonx]

Berto raised his eyebrows, disbelief written all over his face. The world truly had gone insane, for him to be sitting there listening to a raccoon warn him over a honey cake attempt on his life. He tried sniffing the piece of cake in front of him – definitely not rotten, but maybe it could be poisoned. Why, though?

“It seems I’ve lost my appetite,” the young man commented, pushing the plate away. He offered the strange creature a suspicious look, before crossing his arms. “Alright, let’s suppose you’re right. What are you going to do with it?”

-

As the plate was pushed towards Rocket, he looked at it more closely, bending down a little to scan over it as effectively as possible. “Yep, definitely suspecting foul play on this one.” he turned and lifted a spare napkin. He returned to the honey cake and began to carefully roll it into the napkin, exercising theatrical caution as if it may explode at any given moment.

“I think that’s the best I can do to contain it for now.” he put his paws out as if to protect himself on the chance it retaliated. “I am going to take it away from here. Y’know, away from all these squishy creatures.” he gestured to the other patrons. “I’m gonna take it somewhere where it can’t hurt nobody. Then, I’m gonna experiment on it and then I’ll dispose of it somewhere it ain’t ever gonna be found. Sound fair to you? You can spend your newly given time being alive thanking me.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Steve had not made much progress in his quest to find aid or a telephone, though some poor person did eventually take pity on him, sitting him down at an outside table before disappearing back into the cafe. He’d thought, maybe, that she knew someone who could translate and had gone to fetch them, but when she returned it was with a plate of food. She smiled encouragingly, patted him on the shoulder and then went on to help actual customers before he could even decide if he wanted to try and insist that this was not what he needed. Surprisingly, he wasn’t even hungry - whatever life he led now, it seemed to involve regular meals. But it smelled good. Really good, actually, certainly better than anything he remembered having had in months, maybe years. A full breakfast complete with pastries and he gave into the temptation, figuring at the very least, it was best to stock up now because he had no idea what was going to happen next. Case in point: 

He looked up, pleased, because finally someone who could speak English only to drop his fork, letting out a strangled gasp. Because it was a raccoon. A talking … no, he looked around, looking for another potential source, but it kept talking. And talking.  

So this was it. The war had finally done him in. If he hadn’t lost his life, then it certainly took his mind. Because of course this strange, strange future was a hallucination. What else could it be? Except … rabies. Raccoons had rabies. Rabies caused hallucinations. He ignored the fact that he was clearly reaching - he was the one that was seeing things, after all - instead brandishing his fork like a sword and issuing a very firm: “Shoo.”

-

Rocket’s ears folded backwards, mostly in confusion but slightly in offense. He furrowed his eyebrows, offering the other a look of disrespect before raising them again to offer a slightly more bewildered, “Shoo?” he crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “That’s what you’re going to go with?”

He clambered up onto the table, pressing his fingertip against the prongs of the fork, his claw tapping gently off of the steel. He gently pushed on the fork, returning it to its sender. “You maybe want to reconsider before this thing ends up in one of your sockets?”

[rocketxraccoonx]

He tried not to look confused about Rocket being concerned for him. His idea of intolerable pain was… somewhat skewed. Being brought back and forth from the brink of death for Khonshu would do that to a person. He just forgot that he didn’t have to put himself through it all the time. “Sure, you can get the next one.”

Marc rolled his eyes and wandered past the counter while Rocket berated him. The vault was open already. Marc squeezed his way in, looking for a large safety deposit box that wasn’t broken. He counted the numbers aloud softly, “Fifteen… sixteen… seventeen- here it is. No offense, but I’m still not entirely convinced you’re real. No point sharing all your secrets with a hallucination when someone else could be listening.” Sure, that didn’t make him sound insane at all. 

He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the deposit box. “This got me… two hand guns, ten boxes of ammo, a list of known smugglers working through here to pursue, the keys to a car, and,” Marc paused to smirk, pulling out a ball cap, “a Cubs cap. You were close.”

He set the cap onto his head, adjusting it until it fit snugly. The rest of the gear he started loading into a smaller bag that was left in the locker for him. His shoulder was sore and when he pressed his hand to it, blood came away with it and smeared onto the tote bag he was loading. “I don’t suppose you know how to stitch a knife wound?”

-

“Not entirely convinced I’m real?!” Rocket barked in offense. “You think I’m some kinda apparition?” he laughed forcefully, to try to show the other just how ridiculous his concept was. “Listen pal, if I was some kind of otherworldly nonsense, or even a figment of your imagination, - If I was anything that had the option of not being here on this crap heap of a planet, I certainly wouldn’t be here, and I certainly wouldn’t be talkin’ to you.”

He paid little attention to what the other was up to, all the counting and fidgeting just felt like useless noise. That was, until the box opened and it’s contents were revealed. He went quiet, staring doe eyed at the weaponry. If he hadn’t been so parched he could have started drooling. As the other started packing it away, Rocket opened out his paws. “Y’know, I could carry some of that for you. That way if someone did swipe it from you, it ain’t all in one place, you get me?”

He watched the other bloody the bag and screwed face in distaste. Gross and unnecessary. “Excuse me, can I stitch a knife wound?” he laughed again. “You’re askin’ me? Can I stitch a knife wound? Of course, I can!” he looked around, making sure they were still alone. “But, not here.” he gestured around them. “Too dirty. Get yourself an infection. Let me carry some of that and we’ll go somewhere less covered in paint and urine, deal?” 

[rocketxraccoonx]

He raised an eyebrow at the combative little… thing. Well, hallucination didn’t know his name or who he was, that was a point in the ‘real’ column for it. Usually things from your own head knew all the things you did, except for the fact that his disorder was created by his own mind trying to keep shit from him, so maybe it was a point in the ‘fake’ column after all. “Marc. Call me Marc.”

The building was in sight, an old bank that wasn’t in use. It was too expensive to repair the vaults in it, not when there was so much damage to infrastructure, and it had been graffitied over and abandoned for a while. It made a good exchange point. Marc leveraged his good shoulder on the heavy wooden door and gave it a hard shove, grunting at the exertion. He’d have to stop inside and do a better patch job on his shoulder, get some better pressure on it.

“I could say the same thing about you, look like some kind of evil fairy tale shit, work for the witch in the woods to turn kids into candy or something.” He kept muttering, trailing off and forgetting he was talking to a real thing and not something in his head the way he would when he was talking out loud to Khonshu or when Steven was trying to co-front with him. Marc looked back at the raccoon. “What else do people take to the bank? Money.” 

-

“Alright, Marc.” he repeated, focusing on the last consonant, almost spitting it as he enunciated. He followed the other blindly, not really caring where he lead them. He knew he could find a way out of almost any situation, and it wasn’t like he lived anywhere fancier than where they were now. He was used to abandoned, run down buildings. They were the perfect places for hiding, hoarding and anything else he had to do to get by. 

As the newly dubbed Marc rammed his shoulder into the door, Rocket winced in reaction. “That’s gotta hurt, big guy. I could’a got it if you’d said.” he went to continue, but was stopped by the other’s insults on his appearance. “Hey, I never said I wanted anywhere near those flarkin’ goblins. You were the one who wanted to hide under the identity of someone who breaks into houses to bake kids into human treats, or whatever it is Santa Clause does!” he barked, already becoming frustrated with the other. He liked him more when he was quiet and clobbering strangers. 

“Oh cause this totally looks like a bank, I could have seen it comin’ a mile off, cause you’re so forthcomin’ with information, aren’t you?” he scrabbled up onto some rubble so he could look the other in the eye more clearly. “So what? You got some cash to your name and you think you’re some kinda king? Well, I’ve got news for you. What you got in that sack there - ain’t worth crap. What use is money? If you’re wanting real stuff you gotta trade for it. Best you’re getting from that,” he pointed a claw to the other’s possessions. “Some kinda water gun and maybe a hat. Yeah, a hat that says ‘I’m a massive buffoon’.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Mia looked up from her phone with her eyebrows knitted together, candy bar still in hand as she chewed the bite she’d been working on and made eye contact with….a raccoon. A raccoon, sittng across from her, making commentary on her candy bar. Mia blinked once, twice, still chewing the chocolate in her mouth as she set her phone slowly down on the table. This was a first. Mia had met aliens, mutants, metahumans..but this was the first time she’d been approached by a raccoon that could talk. “Definitely bad for me,” she confirmed with a nod as she unwrapped the wrapper a little bit, revealing more of the chocolate bar inside. “No doubts about that. However, it tastes really good so I don’t really care.”

-

“You really should care.” he pressed, sitting down on the chair he’d been standing on. Just to make it clear he had no intention of going away. Not empty handed, at least. “Y’see, I got a nose for this type of thing. Know all about it.” he tapped his snout with his index finger. His nose twitched, as if to prove his point. “That ain’t no ordinary human treat.” he folded his arms. “I’d need a sample to run tests on, but, I’m definitely detecting some kind of poison.” his nose twitched again. “Or is it a bacteria? I hope it’s not flesh eating.” he paused his little conversation, looking over to gauge the other’s reaction. 

“I ain’t trying to swindle you. I ain’t asking for money. But, if you want your bacon saved, you should really let me check that out for you. Smelt it from all the ways back there. Why else would I come here, when there’s all them other tables. Poison.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Truth be told, Berto had been ready to jump out of his seat when he saw a raccoon climb up onto the chair right in front of him, but the fact that the creature started talking set him back a notch. “Fascinating,” he let out, momentarily ignoring the question. He’d seen all kinds of mutants and met an alien or two, so he wasn’t put off by a talking animal approaching him – even though it was kind of weird to have it happen in broad daylight on an inconspicuous Sokovian restaurant. Matchak was truly crawling with non-human beings.

“If I’m not completely mistaken, I think it’s called honey cake,” he replied, watching the other with curious eyes. On his part, Berto looked completely ordinary, playing the part of businessman when he was in fact so much more than that. “Would you like some? I fully intend to finish mine and do recommend you try it, unless this level of sugar is bad for you.”

-

“Honey cake.” Rocket repeated, checking he’d heard correctly. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard all about that stuff. Pulls you in with the sweet taste, then-” he made a fist and punched the palm of his other hand. “You’re out like a light.” his ear twitched and he looked up at the other. 

He shook his head at the stranger’s comments. “You poor, foolish little man. It’s you who oughta be careful. You’re the one with the squidgy bits that’ll rot first.” he leaned forward, using the table to prop him up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll do you a favour and take what’s left off your hands.” he looked around, making sure nobody else was paying him any particular attention. “This ain’t no ordinary café, and that ain’t no ordinary honey cake. If you don’t trust me on this one, you’re going to have a really bad day, do you get what I’m saying?”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Marc looked down at the knife, then at Rocket, deciding if he believed this hallucination that might be real could actually stab him. He decided it was a problem for later. “Sure, why not. You got a name?”

He considered summoning the suit to heal his arm, and maybe make sure he could get anything out of his system that might be causing him to see the creature. He really shouldn’t be shocked if it was real. He talked to a giant Egyptian god with a bird skull for a head. He’d fought a werewolf. It was weirder for him to just deal with art thief than it was to have some guy who claimed to be the reincarnation of Tut and vessel of Ra. He kind of wished Khonshu would show up and make some remark so Marc could find out if he could see the raccoon too, but since this wasn’t a mission he was invested in, the god was noticeably absent.

“Candy canes, I’m Santa Claus, ho ho ho.” Marc deadpanned. He adjusted the bag, gripping it in one arm and pinching it close to his side with his elbow so he could put pressure onto the knife wound where it was bleeding out into his shirt and jacket. “Besides, they aren’t dead. Knocked out. Probably a few broken bones and maybe a few lost teeth. But they’ll live.”

-

“Everybody got a name, don’t they? What’s yours?” he pressed, wanting the other to offer something more before he gave anything in return. All information had value. 

Rocket watched the other closely, there was something about them that he found unsettling. They weren’t pleasant to look at, but, most of the creatures on this planet weren’t. But, it was something more. His instincts told him to keep his guard up, so that’s what he planned to do. 

“Yeah, you really look like you’d be trusted around kids.” he snarled before spitting onto the ground in way of disgust that the other was messing him around. “I know when I think of Santa Claus, I definitely think of broken bones and lost teeth. He’s famous for that junk.” he looked over again at the other, pausing to scratch an itch behind his ear. “What’s in that thing?” he pressed again. “I ain’t asking to see it, or hold it. Just use your words, like a big boy. You can do it.”

[rocketxraccoonx]

Marc was a lot of things. Kind of a bastard. Violent. Something of a compulsive liar. He really thought he had a grip on the whole insanity thing, though. Multiple personalities he could handle, and the whole Egyptian god of the moon that only he could see, doable. But this knife had to have been drugged. He blinked at the creature, adjusting the bag so it sat on one shoulder (just barely), and grabbed the handle of the knife. “Hold on, let me just… process that a raccoon in a jumpsuit is talking to me. Right. This is either a very fast acting poison for some street level crooks to have their hands on, or I am really cracking.”

He pulled hard, aiming straight out, to follow the path the knife had already made. It tugged a grunt out of him and he blinked through the initial pain. “Alright, if that’s a hallucinogen, I’ll just work through it. Let’s go rat guy.”

If there was one thing he knew at this point, it was just fucking go along with the delusion. “It’s another two blocks to the locker I’m supposed to be putting this in.”

-

Rocket jumped backwards slightly as the other moved to grab the handle of the blade. He could never be too cautious and the other did seem to be able to handle themselves just fine. He didn’t want to get between some lunatic and his, recently borrowed, knife. As they called him a raccoon, the fur on the back of his neck stood on end and he couldn’t help but snarl. Every fibre of his being wanted to lash out and make him eat those words, but that would ruin everything. 

He stopped baring his teeth and sighed deeply. “I’d definitely agree you’re a few short of somethin’, pal.” he commented, bluntly. He had to be to think he was looking at a raccoon. However, his offense was quickly forgotten as the stranger pulled the knife out of their arm as if it were nothing. Rocket’s eyebrows raised and he blinked a few times, just checking with himself that he’d seen what he had. He shrugged. “Quit it with the rodent talk or that’s going right back in there.” he mumbled, kicking the dirt idly. 

As the conversation finally turned to the prize at hand, he quickly changed his tune and began following the other with much more enthusiasm. “What’s in that thing anyway? Must be worth somethin’ if you’re willin’ to kill for it, right? As your-” he grit his teeth, “Sidekick,” he relaxed, rolling his eyes to himself. “I at least gotta know what the stakes are here. That feels fair.”