ＲＯＣＫＥＴ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beatupgrass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-03-10 12:12 pm
beatupgrass) wrote in entrancelogs2017-03-10 12:12 pm
[OPEN] Ooo 5, 6, 7, minus 9 lives
Who: Rocket and YOU...
Where: True Lab, aka The Traumatic Memories Theme Park
When: All through the event
Rating: PG-13 for Rocket's mouth and any mention of his Trauma
Summary: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE... no don't. he will bite your fingers off. (Pretend I have appropriate icons for this. Or just look at pictures of baby raccoons. It's great.)
aka Rocket is unfortunately teensy, is having Half-World flashbacks, and hates everything.
The Story:
ᴀ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ, ɪᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪᴇꜱ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
[nononoNO NO NO.
It's all he can think when he first wakes up. It's unusual to wake up to a nightmare, rather than from, but he should have expected this. He knew that stupid message from that Alice kid was going to bite him on the ass. He just didn't know how bad.
He has to take stock of himself in a hidden corner, trying to parse together what the hell has happened to him. He doesn't have any of his augmentations- well, not true. He has a few. His throat is still raw from where they installed the cybernetic implants to his vocal chords to turn his vocalizations to actual speech and the scar over his neck is still raw like they put it in only days ago.... Days? It's been years.
Everything else though... Those came later. Not much later for some, but later, which makes him all but useless. In a place that reminds him a little too much of where he came from, and all these people milling around does nothing to assuage that feeling of fear and dread at the pit of his stomach.
He stays hidden, waiting, and when the door opens, he bolts out of hiding lightning fast- a brown blur zipping by- only to realize he isn't accustomed to his legs working quite like this. It's like atrophy, except they're perfectly healthy legs for a juvenile raccoon, but to someone whose been operating with cybernetic limbs for several years, they're pitiful.
He gets through the door before it closes and then trips, falling flat on his face for a few seconds, before trying to get back up and running to the next hiding space. No one saw that, right?
Aw fuck. Someone saw it.]
ʙ. ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ- ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀꜱᴇ
[The Amalgamates may be harmless according to that network post- which he avoided because he doesn't even want to look at the person responsible for this shitshow when he can't even do anything to them except claw and bite pitifully- but he's still much smaller and dogs and whatever the hell he is (raccoon or otherwise) do not mix well. He's observing someone else dealing with them from the top of some equipment (and hating every second of it, because being this close to some of these things is making him anxious- not that he hasn't been anxious this whole time), and watching what they do.]
Look, I'm the last guy to be advocatin' for not shootin' things that look dangerous, but leave 'em alone.
[It's unmistakably Rocket's voice coming from the shadows of the wall, even if he's blending in really well and too small to see clearly, especially with the fog] They didn't ask t' be made.
ᴄ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇꜱɪꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
[Finding the weapons cache is a stroke of luck and Rocket wastes no time in clambering up the wall and picking up something small enough he thinks he can use, only to find that he lacks the augmentations to his skeletal structure to even hold it properly.
Great. He's anxious, waiting for the hammer to drop, and now if any of those white coat bastards decide to crawl out of the woodwork- and he's convinced they will (he knows they will. they always do.)- he can't even defend himself.
Which is why anyone who happens to pass by will get the semi-hysterical, but mostly depressing sight of a tiny raccoon grumbling over a small pistol with way more fury than that tiny body should be able to handle.]
ᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
[This isn't creepy at all...
The vats are new- nothing like that ever existed on Half-World, at least not that he ever saw. The prevailing sense of dread and wrongness, however, has amped up to eleven and he's wandered so far on so much adrenaline that he's getting exhausted, but now that he's here, he has to find something. He knows he does, deep in his animal hindbrain.
It's difficult, however. Every sound sends him scurrying towards the shadows or growling low in a way that his cybernetic vocal chords can't quite translate. Eventually, he finds what he's looking for- a single vat and in it... himself. His better self, he has to agree, reluctantly. He may have hated every minute and never asked for any of it, but dammit he's used to those augmentations now. They're his.
Now how does he break himself out of there...
He tries to climb up on the vat, but the surface is too slippery, and he's past the point of his temper being the first thing that blows when he gets frustrated. Right now, he's just genuinely scared. As he slides off the vat and onto the floor, it's with a frantic, desperate whine, he yells:] A little help here?!
Where: True Lab, aka The Traumatic Memories Theme Park
When: All through the event
Rating: PG-13 for Rocket's mouth and any mention of his Trauma
Summary: LOOK AT THIS CUTIE... no don't. he will bite your fingers off. (Pretend I have appropriate icons for this. Or just look at pictures of baby raccoons. It's great.)
aka Rocket is unfortunately teensy, is having Half-World flashbacks, and hates everything.
The Story:
ᴀ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ, ɪᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪᴇꜱ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
[nononoNO NO NO.
It's all he can think when he first wakes up. It's unusual to wake up to a nightmare, rather than from, but he should have expected this. He knew that stupid message from that Alice kid was going to bite him on the ass. He just didn't know how bad.
He has to take stock of himself in a hidden corner, trying to parse together what the hell has happened to him. He doesn't have any of his augmentations- well, not true. He has a few. His throat is still raw from where they installed the cybernetic implants to his vocal chords to turn his vocalizations to actual speech and the scar over his neck is still raw like they put it in only days ago.... Days? It's been years.
Everything else though... Those came later. Not much later for some, but later, which makes him all but useless. In a place that reminds him a little too much of where he came from, and all these people milling around does nothing to assuage that feeling of fear and dread at the pit of his stomach.
He stays hidden, waiting, and when the door opens, he bolts out of hiding lightning fast- a brown blur zipping by- only to realize he isn't accustomed to his legs working quite like this. It's like atrophy, except they're perfectly healthy legs for a juvenile raccoon, but to someone whose been operating with cybernetic limbs for several years, they're pitiful.
He gets through the door before it closes and then trips, falling flat on his face for a few seconds, before trying to get back up and running to the next hiding space. No one saw that, right?
Aw fuck. Someone saw it.]
ʙ. ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ- ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀꜱᴇ
[The Amalgamates may be harmless according to that network post- which he avoided because he doesn't even want to look at the person responsible for this shitshow when he can't even do anything to them except claw and bite pitifully- but he's still much smaller and dogs and whatever the hell he is (raccoon or otherwise) do not mix well. He's observing someone else dealing with them from the top of some equipment (and hating every second of it, because being this close to some of these things is making him anxious- not that he hasn't been anxious this whole time), and watching what they do.]
Look, I'm the last guy to be advocatin' for not shootin' things that look dangerous, but leave 'em alone.
[It's unmistakably Rocket's voice coming from the shadows of the wall, even if he's blending in really well and too small to see clearly, especially with the fog] They didn't ask t' be made.
ᴄ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇꜱɪꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
[Finding the weapons cache is a stroke of luck and Rocket wastes no time in clambering up the wall and picking up something small enough he thinks he can use, only to find that he lacks the augmentations to his skeletal structure to even hold it properly.
Great. He's anxious, waiting for the hammer to drop, and now if any of those white coat bastards decide to crawl out of the woodwork- and he's convinced they will (he knows they will. they always do.)- he can't even defend himself.
Which is why anyone who happens to pass by will get the semi-hysterical, but mostly depressing sight of a tiny raccoon grumbling over a small pistol with way more fury than that tiny body should be able to handle.]
ᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
[This isn't creepy at all...
The vats are new- nothing like that ever existed on Half-World, at least not that he ever saw. The prevailing sense of dread and wrongness, however, has amped up to eleven and he's wandered so far on so much adrenaline that he's getting exhausted, but now that he's here, he has to find something. He knows he does, deep in his animal hindbrain.
It's difficult, however. Every sound sends him scurrying towards the shadows or growling low in a way that his cybernetic vocal chords can't quite translate. Eventually, he finds what he's looking for- a single vat and in it... himself. His better self, he has to agree, reluctantly. He may have hated every minute and never asked for any of it, but dammit he's used to those augmentations now. They're his.
Now how does he break himself out of there...
He tries to climb up on the vat, but the surface is too slippery, and he's past the point of his temper being the first thing that blows when he gets frustrated. Right now, he's just genuinely scared. As he slides off the vat and onto the floor, it's with a frantic, desperate whine, he yells:] A little help here?!
no subject
[It doesn't take much, and the effects should be immediate and pretty obvious.]
And you're welcome. [A beat.] Think you can stand up now?
[Not that she minds carrying him, but she has a feeling he'd rather not be.]
no subject
considering he makes it to the ground without falling on his face, he'll take it.] If anyone else saw me like that, I'd have to claw their eyes out and eat 'em.
no subject
[She looks amused at least, and relieved that he's okay.
Hopefully the event will be over soon, and this can just become a fading, bad memory. Not that either of them need another one, but that's better than it being their reality.]