𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.ᐟ
❝ 𝘞𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘯. ❞
- Ugh, another day on this rock.
- Can somebody shut their shark up?
- Stolen, like most of Rocket’s goodies.
- The bar. Lead the way.
- Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And maybe a few drugs.
- See? Being a downer.
- Tell that to Deadpool.
- Is he always this big of a downer?
- “Correct. He’s stupid because he doesn’t listen.” The kid was sorta getting it. “Plus, I’m pretty sure cosmic rays microwaved his brain.”
- Then you better unsneeze it cause I’m not gonna sit in the snow.
- It’s so flarkin’ cold out my tail has frost.
- What the flark is Bitcoin?
- “Oh? And how does a human learn? Cause I got a terran like you on my ship and I’m pretty sure he’s never learned a thing in his flarkin’ life.”
- Pass the bottle then.
- Hell, Rocket was wrong. They do got something in common!
- “Who the flark are all these people?”
- “HE,” Rocket corrected, hands held behind his back. “He learns by experience and by listening to what I say.”
- Jeez, kids were hard to please. “‘Cause, kid, the tree is the most reliable one outta all of them. Big, tough, and doesn’t ask me a buncha stupid questions.”
- “Hey now, I might not have parents but I got a family. Family is who you choose. In my case, it’s a giant tree and a buncha flarkin’ humanoid morons.”
- He’s awake. His fur is matted on his cheek.
- Some of us are tryin’ to sleep. STOP MAKIN’ SO MUCH NOISE.
- The question caught him off guard, eyebrows raising slightly. “No. Are you sad?” Another half-lie but one he refused to linger on.
- He’s asleep with his head on his workbench, a little puddle of drool forming by his cheek.
- “They make meds for that?”
- Someone mentioning taxes.
- And he’s here to not give his money to a buncha flark knobs.
- “HA. I ain’t gonna pay taxes.”
- “You don’t say.” God, if he was in a room with Quill and this guy, he’d probably end up throwing himself out a window… or airlock. Whatever the closest path to death was.
