entrancelogs | [open] you were content to let me shine, that's your way.

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[open] you were content to let me shine, that's your way.

Who: Rocket and anyone who wanders into this hot mess
Where: Wonderland's "movie theater."
When: Various points throughout the month of March, except during events. (Catch-all)
Rating: PG-13 for Rocket's mouth, probably
Summary: Rocket doesn't always play Beat the Clock with bombs in the hedge maze or shoot things for fun... sometimes he catches up on Terran pop culture.
The Story:

ᴀ. ɢᴇɴᴇʀɪᴄ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ

We find Rocket seated comfortably in the first row of comfy couches, a bowl of trail mix situated beside him, which he keeps idly reaching his disconcertingly human-like hands into, as he stares at the scene unfolding before him with the look of someone wondering if the movie is going to actually get good if he looks away for a second.

"Bet he's still alive," he mutters, popping a pretzel in his mouth. Unsurprisingly, the killer gets to his feet, limping along and ready to have one last stab- hah- at the quirky killer. "Dippy broad. You're supposed to shoot his face in before you turn your back."

He ends up going through several horror movies and being continuously disappointed in all of them and their lame excuses for twists. He's probably even figured some out way before the ending, and isn't shy about proclaiming his theories, therefore ruining the suspense. He's a bro like that.

ʙ. ɢᴇɴᴇʀɪᴄ ꜱᴄɪ-ꜰɪ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ

If you thought watching horror movies with Rocket was annoying, then wait until you see how he gets with science fiction. Most of it is yawn-worthy to him, having lived in space. More importantly, it's horribly unrealistic. He spends most of the ones he watches flopped in one corner of the couch with his head on the armrest, rolling his eyes.

People watching with him get treated to a raccoonoid in various states of agony, running his hands over his face, muttering things like, "You can't freakin' do that, jackass. You'll burn up your d'ast engines" or "Did they hand a bunch of frickin' children laser guns? Why can't any of these people hit anything?"

But also, occasionally, he'll perk up and you get things like, "Now that's a nicely designed spacecraft. Y'all can imagine that, but you can't legitimately build it? What a waste."

ᴄ. ʙᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ

It's hard to say where Rocket was when this movie began, but right now he's in the middle of the comfy floor pillows with a blanket over his head, staring with wide eyes at the screen. He may or may not be sniffling a little bit as "Wind Beneath My Wings" starts playing.

Look, the story of an unlikely friendship withstanding the test of time and people being selfish and stupid, only for one of them to die really hits home for him. And while he's too manly to admit why it gets to him so deeply, he's not too manly to admit he can be genuinely moved by the film. God, people. He has feelings too, you know.

He definitely spent the entirety of this one engrossed entirely and threatened to shoot you if you interrupted it. Look, he's been thinking about Groot a lot lately. He was bound to find some way to deal with this.

ᴅ. ᴛɪᴛᴀɴɪᴄ

You probably stumbled upon this viewing because Rocket has spent most of it yelling at the screen, ranging from things like "YOU ARROGANT DICK" to "oh my flark- YOU CAN'T GET OUT OF THAT?" and so on and so forth. It's hard to tell whether he's pissed at this movie or worked up because he actually likes the characters and wants better for them. It's Rocket. He's difficult to read.

As it draws to an emotional climax, Rocket is tugging at his ears and looking somewhere between wanting to yell or cry. Or both. "You both could've fit on that d'asted raft! What the hell, Rose?!"

ᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪꜱʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀ. ᴍᴏʀᴇᴀᴜ

This one starts out promising. Plane crash. People duking it out for survival. Iceman from Top Gun is in it. All really great points, but as it goes on, it occurs to Rocket that maybe he should have paid a little bit closer attention to the details. At first, the strange hybrid humanoid animals and the talk of experimentation only make him tense and a little annoyed, but he manages to keep watching, if anything, out of stubbornness, growing continuously more on edge the longer it goes on. He doesn't even make it halfway, however, after a brutal scene involving bringing the Beast Folk into submission through their implants forces him to snarl and slam a hand down on the remote.

Once his fur settles, he tries to play it off. "It was boring anyway."

[OOC: ALSO AVAILABLE FOR WILDCARD OPTIONS if you'd like to force Rocket to sit through your personal favorite movie.]

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[You know what's really hard when you're three feet tall? Yanking something back when you get offended, granted it's only mild offense, but the fact that he swung his hand at dead air to grab it back makes it all the worse.]

I have life-long friends. It's relatable.

[Oh dear. Rip does his very best not to crack a grin at the sadly futile effort; he really doesn’t want to raise the ire of anyone quite so devoted to making whatever forms of weaponry they can manage from closet scraps. Instead he offers out the case to Rocket, considering the perspective.]

Hopefully not too much so; that was a funeral scene I walked in on. [Although it might explain why Rocket had felt so moved. Whatever hint of teasing might have been in Rip’s voice fades, and he looks towards the now still screen.

Relatable indeed.]

[Rocket's ears flick down slightly, his scowl becoming more of a pained grimace as he avoids looking at the screen or Rip. This cushion looks nice. Very good material. Excellent focal point.] We didn't really have time to give him much of a funeral. Wasn't really necessary anyway, 'cause we kinda brought him back- Groot always could grow back his limbs when he lost 'em, but it was a big chance that we could regrow him entirely when there wasn't much left. But I don't know how much of him is gonna be left in that twig we got to sprout.

[It's not even just Hillary's death that gets him- it's CC agreeing to raise Victoria. I don't know how much of a mother I'll be, she said. If he goes back home and it turns out that the Grootling isn't the Groot who remembers him, then he's essentially gonna be raising Groot's "kid," in some sense of the word.

He's with CC on that one. He is in no way capable of being responsible for another sentient lifeform, but dammit, he'll try.]

Edited 2017-03-09 22:04 (UTC)

--I am sorry. Truly. [His voice is soft, quietly reverent as Rocket reveals the strange truth of his fallen friend. Some sort of alien creature, certainly so to Rip, but he doesn’t need to grasp all of the technicalities to understand the pain of loss, or the inability to hope for a miracle that might indeed prove entirely too impossible to come true. Rip had traveled through time and space in an attempt to save his family—one that in the end failed, and though it might not be the same thing it is close enough, he thinks, to allow him genuine sympathy.]

I suspect that whether he returns as your friend or as something else, you already intend to honor him. You can do nothing more than that.

[Though it may never feel like enough.]

[pity of any sort has always been a powderkeg where it comes to him, liable to set him off if the match strikes right or fizzle and die as if the powder were wet and unignitable, and no one can really tell which it's gonna be until they've expressed it.

and every time, he always tenses up, regardless of whether the pity is directed at him or a situation. this time, he's fine and he waves it off.] It's fine. I ain't been back home in years, and who knows if I'm ever going back. It's not really worth gettin' all worked up about.

[It isn't pity, however, not exactly or entirely. Rip rests his hands on his hips as Rocket tries to brush it aside, to act as if in the end it's inconsequential to let himself feel the sorrow of loss, the worry that comes from an unknown future.

Rip could leave it be. Perhaps he should. But given that Rocket has offered to share something so vulnerable--an act which Rip suspects he doesn't do easily--it feels wrong not to at least tell him of their common ground.]

My wife and son were murdered. [He says it softly, only after casting a glance towards the door to ensure they are still alone. Like Rocket, Rip's gaze then falls on something harmless, inconsequential: in his case, the far wall.] Shortly before I was drawn here, I learned that I truly would not be able to save them from that fate. Yet the man responsible still lives, in my world.

[He pauses for a moment; Rip cannot think of Vandal Savage without the man's face flashing in his mind. In turn, he needs a breath to subdue that instinctive surge of anger--which is entirely the point.]

Perhaps it's because I've only been here a handful of months that I think this way, but...whether or not it's worth it, I doubt I will ever stop hating whatever powers brought me here for delaying my efforts to avenge them.

[he'd be better off telling that story to Drax is Rocket's first thought. he has it on record that he is not incredibly sympathetic to people who've lost their families on account of not ever having any to begin with (save Groot, but it was too little, too late for that realization).

not that he can't try, he supposes. nothing will ever be as bad as what he said to Drax, and that was only because the d'ast idiot nearly got them all murdered. ]

I dunno, man. Some guys can think that way forever 'til it's all they can think about. [And well, it says a lot that he didn't even know this about Rip beforehand. or suspected.] You're a lot less intense about it than the last guy I met who had his wife and kid killed by a psychopath.

Indeed they can, Rocket. [And whatever impressions Rip might give, the truth is that he is that sort of man in so many ways. Trapped within this prison, removed from time, Rip's every goal still can be narrowed down to that singular purpose: get home, and finally end Savage once and for all.]

A lot less intense now, perhaps. My team has had some measure of success in stopping those responsible, if not the murderer himself. [The destruction of the Oculus had gone a long way towards dulling Rip's rage--and perhaps, so had knowing he truly couldn't rescue Miranda or Jonas from that end. In truth it's difficult to say, but the desire burns hot, even if it's contained.]

The point being that it's perfectly understandable to not be fine with it, even in these circumstances. He was your friend--and if the resonance that movie holds with you is any indication, you clearly still care a great deal about him, and what happens to his--reincarnation, as it were.

[Whether it's pointless to in an immediate sense or not.]

Edited 2017-03-14 23:56 (UTC)

[reincarnation. there's a word. Rocket can't even freaking describe what it is that gives Groot his regenerative abilities or how they work, so it sounds as good as anything, honestly.

he flicks his ears and looks away, not really eager to show any more emotion than he already has.]

Yeah, I know. [he huffs] Like I said, not much I can do about it here except feel things about it. That might work for some people, but not me. I gotta be okay with it for now.

Edited 2017-03-17 19:22 (UTC)

Fair enough. [Rip is learning, he thinks, how to more accurately judge the expressions on Rocket’s unique face, what it means when his ears flick or fold down. If Rocket doesn’t want to be pushed Rip would easily back away from the subject. It’s how the raccoonoid has to handle what he’s been dealt, and Rip won’t begrudge him that.

The offer of sympathy has been made. It’s enough.]

Were you looking to continue your movie watching? [Perhaps with company; Rip goes to the closet, pausing to think of a title before he opens the door to retrieve a dvd.] Perhaps with company this time? Although I can’t promise anything that will tug at the heartstrings, this is considered something of a classic in the world I’m from.

[Granted, Rip’s a little biased: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly is not at all an accurate portrayal of one of his favored time periods, but it has its charms regardless. He offers the choice to Rocket, in case he might be interested—be it in the movie itself, or the shifting of topic.]

[Rocket's keen eyesight locks onto the title, immediately, and his interest is piqued. the fact that it's a distraction from his stupid moment of weakness he wishes to brush off entirely now that it's done is a bonus.]

That sounds like a title I could get behind. The Good, the Bad, and The Ugly... [he chuckles] Almost a description for my entire freakin' team.

[jury's out on who the good is. sometimes all of them, sometimes none of them.]

[Well, if he does put it like that, Rip feels fully within his rights to ask the question:]

And which of those would you say that you are?

[There's the barest hint of a grin on his lips as he puts the thought out there; just enough to show that he might be teasing.

In any case, since Rocket is amenable, Rip goes to change out the dvds. Although it's an outdated technology, he's well-versed in how the player works--meaning he's able to set it up with little hassle.]

Although to be fair, I suppose you could say the same of my team as well--provided no one person is meant to fall into any one category all the time.

[Given that none of the concepts are so rigid as people might believe.]

Two outta three, I'd say. [he leans back against the couch cushions, smugly self-assured about which of those two-thirds he is. the "good" is subjective, but he's not a heartless merc anymore. his morals just tend to skew however he feels they should on any given day.] It's the same for mine. Nobody's all three, 'cept for maybe Drax.

[Rocket offers but a vague answer, and in turn Rip grins as he heads back towards the couch once the movie is programmed to start. Although which of the three he means is left unspoken, perhaps that’s what makes Rocket’s reply ring true.]

Sounds like you have quite the interesting team—as do I. [He pauses for a moment, considering what categories might suit each of his comrades as he settles on an empty spot on the sofa.] I might say Mick Rory would be all three among the Legends, but he would no doubt argue at least two of the points.

[Rocket snorts.] Drax would argue all three, but that's 'cause all he cares about is honor and vengeance. So good and bad are subjective, and [and here he drops his voice an octave to imitate Drax's cadence] "What does physical appearance have to do with anything?"

[he laughs at his own impression, slapping his leg with delight.] Damn I miss that aggressively literal hunk of muscle.

[he misses all of them. he can't say that maybe a week or two trapped on that ship with them wouldn't have torn his patience to shreds, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, apparently. Gamora and Peter have both been here and gone, and that was so long ago, he can barely remember those times or how they spent them.]

[He huffs out a short breath—something meant to be a laugh.] I don’t even know the man and I suspect that to be a terrible impression. [It sounds like it should be. Not that Rip is going to offer up much better.]

Mick would take a different form of offense. [Rip clears his throat for this. An American accent he can do, but Mick’s voice has a particularly gravelly quality as well. Like Rocket, he purposely speaks low, trying his best to sound as if he’s speaking around a bunch of pebbles.]

“Who you callin’ ugly, English?”

[He shakes his head—that might have hurt a little to attempt (or it was just terrible and Rip doesn’t want to admit it).] Of course, I’m trusting you to keep this conversation in confidence: Mr. Rory is actually here, along with two other members of my team. [And in that Rip is fortunate; he hasn’t been brought to this place alone, as it seems Rocket has.

What he has to offer isn’t the same; Rip knows that. Yet he continues anyway:]

I’ll have to introduce you at some point. You might get on well.

[it's a terrible impression. Rocket doesn't care, nor would Drax probably, beyond to say that he "does not sound like that." and, anyway, Rip is no better at it than he is, so he just snorts a little. someone as posh as fancy as Rip sounds should never talk like that. it's all wrong.

he deflates- only a little, but when you have a small body, any shift in it is perceptible, because there's not much to distract you from the subtleties.] I'm a charmer. I get along with everyone.

[deflect deflect deflect. it would be so much easier if he weren't a terrible liar.]

[Rip can’t help but wonder if he should perhaps apologize when Rocket sombers. He hadn’t meant to bring an end to the raccoon’s good cheer—only to offer a different brand of company. Yet without the compatriots he so clearly misses from home, Rip suspects that brand of loneliness could only be tempered so much.

So instead he turns his eyes towards the screen; the movie would start soon.]

You certainly do have a talent for it. I tend to be the sort whom people don’t get along with much at all—and yet here we are.

[It isn’t the same as having someone from home, no. Yet Rip truly does value this odd little friendship of theirs.]

[a snort- not really because he can't believe Rip is the sort who doesn't get along with people, but because Rocket half-expected to be called on the fact that he's actually not even remotely a people person and generally first impressions tend to go sideways fast.

as Quill pointed out, he does tend to threaten most of the people he meets. still, he's... gotten better at that. and people are a little more accepting of his brand of weird here in Wonderland.

he brushes off his brief descent into sorrow- no time for that. not when he's got movies to watch and bombs to build.] Here we are, stuck in Wonderland, watchin' Earth movies, and pretendin' we ain't slowly losin' our minds. What a way to live.

[Well to be entirely fair, if Rip rejected people simply based on the fact that they threatened him (or even did him bodily harm), he likely wouldn't have any compatriots at all. So it's entirely possible that his definition of personable has become a bit skewed--

Yet he still considers Rocket a friend regardless.

Which is why he's content to lean back against the couch and huff out a quiet breath when Rocket so neatly sums up their situation.]

Indeed. The only thing that's missing is the alcohol. [Because honestly, a sentiment like that? Truly should be a "toast" followed by the slow burn of something rich and smooth.]

D'ast. I knew I forgot something.

[but he's already settled and he's not getting up just to fetch beer from the closets to add to their experience.] We'll save it for next time.

[because there's something to be said about not having to take in all this "Terran culture" alone.]

[The age old dilemma: what is actually worth getting up off the couch for.

But like Rocket, Rip is rather content to leave it be for the moment—and to grin briefly at the promise of a next time.]

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[open] you were content to let me shine, that's your way.

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wrapping here? :)