beatupgrass: (✘ is he ever gonna stop screaming?)
ROCKET ([personal profile] beatupgrass) wrote in [community profile] entrancelogs2015-12-22 08:22 am

[OPEN] You know, I think this Christmas thing. It's not as tricky as it seems.

Who: Santa Rocket and YOU
Where: All around the mansion.
When: December 22-25
Rating: PG
Summary: Free of Krampusjail, Rocket finds his room in a state and submits to the will of the red suit. Christmas spirit ensues... sort of.
The Story:

Rocket's liberation from the pits of Krampusjail didn't come without a price- specifically, the fact that his damned closet was malfunctioning. At first, he tried to work around it, but after realizing his choice was either a pair of overalls soaked in oil or the d'asted red suit the closet kept spitting out, he swallowed his pride and slid the thing on.

...And immediately a new sense of perspective washed over him. His eyes get a little brighter, his tail a little bushier, his fur a little glossier, and his mind no longer preoccupied with the idiocy of the universe. No, of course not- there's so much to be done to spread good cheer to this mansion. With a new determination, he sets out to begin his work.

~*~

The... problem of being a raccoonoid from space with no concept of Christmas is that he has no idea how idea how all this works, but he knows what he likes and what would probably benefit the mansion's youth, so Santa Rocket and his overlarge bag of tricks will be delivering gifts to the mansion's youth in the form of weapons he's made himself and hoarded over his time in the mansion, ranging from slingshots to grenades to fancy guns. It makes perfect sense to him.

So there's a raccoon handing out weapons to children in the most cheerful way possible, because surely this is how Christmas works. That's happening.
rosswood: (what'd you shoot this with a potato)

[personal profile] rosswood 2015-12-25 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)
It's taken him the better part of the day, but Alex thinks he's finally - finally - managed to get those goddamn gremlin things off his back. He's still darting infrequent looks over his shoulder, frowning, paranoid that those damn goblins will come cackling back to fuck up whatever it is he's doing next. Just like old times, almost.

He's hiding out in the kitchen, for now - plenty of distractions and handily sharp objects should those little fuckwads come crawling out of the woodwork. He's expecting them to come at him any minute. Any minute now.

What he doesn't expect is a surprise visit from a gun-toting raccoon resplendent in a red and white Santa costume, and he promptly jumps in alarm.

"What the - " He adjusts his grip on whatever this...thing is, frowning at it in trepidation. It's shiny and metallic and vaguely gun-shaped, which for some reason is making him sick to his stomach, and not in a fun way. "What is this?"
rosswood: most of them could tell you their favorite radiohead song (if you lined up every white person)

[personal profile] rosswood 2015-12-29 02:36 am (UTC)(link)
"Flark?" says Alex with a raised eyebrow, now biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from snickering at the sheer absurdity of the sight. He'd say that Christmas has come early but apparently it really fucking has. This is beautiful. A raccoon is giving him a fucking weapon. And like - not just any weapon, but a futuristic alien spinning thing. Hell. Yes.

He takes it with enthusiasm, grinning, and tries without success to do the alien equivalent of cocking and loading it.

He whistles, as if he has any idea what he's doing. He doesn't, but, you know, it's the principle of the thing. "You, uh, you do this often, hotshot?"
rosswood: (tell him we're shooting a student film)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-03 05:44 am (UTC)(link)
Aw nice he's even walking him through the steps. Alex tries to look appropriately laid-back, as if he already knows the deal with an alien plasma-shooting whatchamacallit, but he can't really contain his incipient intrigue with just being up and given a piece of hardware like this.

(Ignore the shiver that runs up his hands when he takes the gun back, ignore the chill in his blood, ignore that he can't be trusted with a thing like this after what he did to keep everything under wraps.)

"Travesty, is what it is," he says, shaking his head. The man's from Alabama - defending himself is pretty much par for the stupidly-nationalist, paranoid course. "Doing god's work, my friend."
Edited 2016-01-03 05:45 (UTC)
rosswood: (your editing lacks continuity)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-06 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
"If they come back, I'll tell them to eat, um...what's this thing fire?" He almost peers down the barrel but, wait, that would be a really bad idea with a piece of equipment he's not totally familiar with.

Oh and, hey, there's one now. Free target practice. One of those sneaky little fuckers, probably on their way to his room to trash it for the third time this week. Alex braces the stock, or the alien weapon equivalent thereof, against his shoulder like one might fire a rifle. There. Seems about right, kiiiinda how raccoon-boy here did it, yeah? Totally. He was never one for shooting cans or birds and shit like some people might've in his piece-of-shit state, but he's seen how it works in the movies.

Turns out goblins are really, really fast, because Alex misses his first shot entirely. He's also totally unprepared for the kickback, which promptly knocks him flat on his ass like a pro.
rosswood: (what'd you shoot this with a potato)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-15 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
"Gee," says Alex dryly. "Thanks so much for the warning."

He rolls over, pushing himself upright and retrieving his brand new gun - like hell he's getting rid of this thing, not when it's damned useful. So what if his shoulder aches after the butt of the weapon punched into it. He can deal with it. He can walk it off.

He eyes the raccoon whom he's privately dubbed "Fursuit Santa" and frowns.

"So how d'you deal with the kick, then? S'not like you've got size on your side. No offense." All said with the tone that offense is very much intended.
rosswood: (all they'd find would be teeth)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-19 08:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Uhhhhhhhhh

uhhhhhhhhhhhh

"Wait."

Alex doesn't know whether to be surprised, excited, freaked, or all three. This is incredible. This is definitely a first. All the weird shit he's seen since he ended up here? Worth it.

"So lemme get this straight." He makes a floaty, equivocal gesture with one hand, pointing vaguely skyward as he mentally tries to work this out. "You are, and I just wanna be a hundred percent on this: an anthropomorphic cyborg raccoon who doubles as Santa Clause."

Wonderland is the shit.
rosswood: (a what a fucke)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-20 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
So...a bipedal raccoon who isn't a raccoon. Does he not have raccoons where he comes from, whatever the hell Half-World is? Is this a world where everything is half-human or anthropomorphized or some shit. This is some straight-up sci-fi junk.

"Genius, huh?" He taps the ridge of his brand new gun with a fingertip. "Did you build this or something? Could you build something big enough to blow a hole outta this place?"
rosswood: (all they'd find would be teeth)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-28 08:48 pm (UTC)(link)
"Goddamn." Alex whistles, impressed despite himself. Whatever wacky kind of comic book world this not-raccoon comes from, sounds like a real doozy. Unfortunately, it also means that they're probably pretty well fucked in terms of escape attempts.

Still, if they get free guns, it can't be so bad, right? If it weren't for the don't forget, you're here forever footnote, this place would be downright peachy. At least compared to Alex's home.

"Not even like a, a big car or a spaceship or something?"
rosswood: (a what a fucke)

[personal profile] rosswood 2016-01-30 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Suuucks. Alex tches his disappointment and shoulders his new weapon with all the awkward hefting of someone unaccustomed to dealing with all that extra weight.

"Shit." He sucks on the wall of his cheek thoughtfully, then shakes his head. "Well, figured I'd ask. If there's ever a breakout I guess I'll know who's behind it, yeah?"

He smirks. "Merry freakin' Christmas."