tactician
a natural savant, both the resident tactician && mechanic of Peter Quill's team.
marksman
able to build && operate most weapons' systems with ease and unparalleled accuracy.
pilot
captain of the Rack 'N' Ruin; can adapt to fly most vehicles able for space-travel.
❝
Definitely. though right now, I think we should get something to eat. HIS treat.
❞
The small smile on her features only rises when she shoves a hand down her pocket, careful in tossing the small bag of currency there. Their enemy didn’t quite store a lot on him besides weapons, but before their mad dash she had managed to steal some currency off his person.
❝A girl after my own heart.❞
The compliment was just that, a compliment- Offered up with a toothy grin that almost discounts Rocket’s unassuming appeal. Tucking his pistol into a holster on his hip, the raccoon lamented for a second over the much larger rifle he had lost along the way. It had been pilfered, of course, but a few nights in a holding cell had given him time enough to modify it; to improve it. He dropped it with the blow to his shoulder.
Tess was the reason he had gone there
— had even gotten back
— but new artillery was a confection for Rocket. It made him eager and drooling, and it’s loss was just a little more than a let down.
Soon as the rift vanished behind them & the scenery shifted, the relic couldn’t quite help but release a light laughter of relief from her lips, heavy breaths following suit. She’s never quite been to Xandar before, & as much as she rather visited for other reason than to escape someone, this was rather nice.
❝
-Never actually been here before. I’ll make sure to do that next time.
❞
A hand rises to cover the small puncture wounds from his claws, energy coursing through her veins enough to be rid of the wounds as if they were never inflicted.
There’s something to be said about the empty silence—like a pause—left behind at the instantaneous healing of a wound. Rocket had been use to the ache; the anticipation for pain. Its sudden loss drew his attention and he blinked at it absently for a second before an answer found it’s way from his muzzle with a grin.
The claws threatened to draw blood from her arm, teeth giving a light grit to hold back the pain. It could be either his claws of near death - rather take claws any day, honestly.
The surprise is just enough for her to be rid of the shield, energy transferring to make a rift just before them, one that would read them right into the safety of Xandar.
Their pursuer, who had begun to collect some atrocious names from Rocket, fell back at last. And, with him went the noise and rush of the fight as Tess threw them both into the folds of a rift that would close up on itself just as easily as it had opened. Not before Rocket hit the ground, though, and hard in the middle of a pedestrian bridge.
Left flat on his back, it took him a minute to breathe again. Even if he hadn’t lost most of his blood down his front, their landing hadn’t exactly been a soft one. It left him laughing, though, in relief at the puzzled faces of Xandarian people who both recognized him and didn’t.
❝There’s a park some-odd yards that way, Y’couldn’t aim for that . . ?❞
He barked his words, but it wasn’t with any ill-intent. After all, Rocket was just as happy as she that they were alive
— albeit a little worse for wear.
This time, there was no reply. Rocket’s full, undivided, & bleary-eyed attention was locked on their pursuer. Blood-loss dictated his reactions — lessened his quips. His claws dug into the soft flesh of Tess’ forearm, but not without reason. It was all he could to to keep himself balanced and aiming straight.
Much to their opponent’s dismay, however, lasers beat bullets by more than a few seconds. && it is from the midst of an explosion that the other must shoot once Rocket’s aim found an energy panel to shoot.
Their surprise met his laughter; cut short with the vicious reminder that it hurt to laugh at all.
Course she’ll apologize for yelling later on, but at the moment allowing him to sit wouldn’t quite work out, especially if they didn’t wish to be captured, or WORSE.
He’ll more than likely hate her for doing this, but the relic finally dares to lift him from the ground, carrying him in her arms as form makes a rather mad dash down the halls.
“I have a shield up, but you should be able to shoot at them through it, alright ? “
❝yeah, yeah, yeah, yeAH, YEAH!❞
Fatigue and bloodloss weighed him down, but Rocket’s answer was as gruff as it is forceful. He wasn’t fond of being carried, but desperate times called for desperate measures and Groot was MIA —as per frickin’ usual.
That left Tess and, fostering a bloody shoulder, he was in no mood to argue. With a pistol tucked under his arm, he swung onto her back. He’d need her shoulder as a steady.
Fangs bared and dripping with spittle between words bitten short with a grunt of pain, Rocket snarled at her concern—her affection. With a hole in his shoulder almost larger than his own paw, blood oozing down the front of his uniform left stains of angry red that grew muted against his fur. It had been a surprise; a jolt to his system, the sharp and sudden nature a bullet could leave in it’s wake.
A comment about the medieval nature of their enemy’s artillery was met, forcefully, with a considerably large semi-automatic pointed back at them. Rocket’s own handiwork, of course. ❝We don’t have time for this!!❞
“ - Gods you’re rather an adorable little being. Can I hug you ? “
❝adorable . . ?❞
Her enthusiasm wrinkled his nose in a mixture of disgust and valid confusion. Rocket had been called many things over the years—rodent, vermin, jackass—but adorable was a new one. Arms crossing in natural defiance, he stuck out his hip and, with it, a modified laser pistol of his own making. It matched a twin on his other side.
❝I can’t believe I have to say this, no you may NOT hug me!❞
