| Friends united in misery! | ||
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| Summary: What happens when a genetically modified raccoon and the offspring of a human being and a sentient gemstone get together? NEW FRIENDSHIPS ARE FORMED! THAT'S WHAT!   |
So whenever anyone goes to make a check, they'll find that unit number 110 does have a lock on it, and is secure. They won't have a reason to open it up, and see the absolute disaster it's once again become. Nor will they have to address the sixteen year old boy who is constantly seen coming and going from the locker at all hours of the day. That could lead to some very intense questioning, and force the owners to have to re-evaluate how they conduct business. Yet, when you're in the business of renting out empty concrete rooms for people to put their junk? Why do you really want to question anything at all? It's easy money. Rules are set for a reason, of course, even if that reason is to outright break them. Sure, one might argue in the context of rule-bending or potential loopholes, but some things are simply too blatant to be reasoned with smooth talking. Case in point is what one customer does, or has done in somewhat record time, which has involved some suppressed air gun usage to bolt things into the concrete floor and walls. Foof-chk. Foof-chk. The soft sounds ending in a slightly louder click might give a hint that something is not fully kosher with the activity within one of the storage cells from any whom may pass by, but greater still might be a clue larger for the moment the door is opened to reveal its contents. And the occupant? A raccoon. Wearing clothing. Holding a watering can. Watering a plant. "Right, now you be good, mate, and keep an eye on me place while I'm out." The sound of a loud gasp and clattering cans is easily heard from behind the walking, talking, clothes-wearing raccoon. It doesn't take long for the source of the noise to make even more, as young man suddenly rushes towards the houseplant and raccoon, a young man in a pink jacket is kneeling down, staring directly at the raccoon itself. "THAT'S. SO. COOL!" The boy suddenly thrusts his right hand forward towards the creature, obviously not dissuaded in the least bit by the fact it's a raccoon, but more excited by the fact it can walk and talk! He's even wearing clothes! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER! "Hi! I'm Steven! So do all raccoons here talk? What kind of plant is that? Did you build all of this yourself? What's it like being a talking raccoon? Whoa! Cool! Did you make all of this stuff yourself?!" Jesus Christ, Steven. Slow down! It's an ambush! The raccoon barely has enough time to turn to look over his shoulder -- heck, he barely has enough time to swivel his ears in the direction of the noises and voice -- before he finds somebody very much in his personal space in his new personal space. Reeling backward at first, the yellow jumpsuit-clad furball drops the watering can with a dull thunk and a following splash. "-va flark?" The end result is stare-off between the two, at least until the raccoon registers that a hand is being offered, but this glance downward is followed up by a quick shifting of his eyes left and right to take in the change in surroundings now that the door is open and things are exposed. The upper lip of the right side of his muzzle lifts, exposing a tooth or two not in a snarl but an unsure questioning expression. "Blimey, mate, you right given me a start." Nonetheless, slowly, a smaller hand partially covered by a fingerless glove reaches out to meet the greeting in turn. "I'm called Rocket and, yes, vese are me fings. Also, I'm not a rac-" The small mammal sighs but doesn't finish the last statement. This all answers few of those questions so presented so far. Rocket's hand is taken, and firmly grasped by Steven. The handshake is strong, and it's extremely obvious to the raccoon that Steven is holding back with his strength. "Awww man! You're English too! That's so cool!" There is a blatant disregard now to the fact it's a TALKING RACCOON, but is instead a TALKING /BRITISH/ RACCOON. This day just got so much better! Steven finally releases the hand, slowly starting to calm down from the excitement high he seemed to be on. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to freak you out. I mean, talking animals is still pretty high on the list of cool." Realization of the fact he just ambushed a complete stranger, asked them tons of personal questions they may not really want to answer.... A pink flush starts to rise on Steven's face as he steps back, fully soaking in all of the ways he just made the worst impression ever of himself to a complete stranger. Now, all things considered, it would be extremely easy at this point to tear into the situation with utter debasement and aggression while turning the approach into an absolute slight against his dignity. Lots of people are great at playing the victim. Rather, this Rocket fellow recognizes that type of flared passion as something he has, at times, demonstrated himself regarding machinery and weaponry that he finds impressive. Furthermore, Rocket's grasp may not smack of intense super strength, but neither is it dainty. Perhaps there's a fraction of a moment into the meeting of hands where the raccoon actually makes his half of the gesture more relaxedly firm. He is, after all, far stronger than he appears, too. "Last I checked, 'umans was animals, too, so-" begins he before stopping himself as his gaze turns to look down at the fallen watering can. A bit has leaked onto the floor, but it's not as if it was filled up completely to begin with anyhow. "Well, I weren't expecting company. S'normally mostly quiet around 'ere, innit?" That is, the place was likely studied a bit before a location was chosen. Rocket leans over to pick up the can while this Steven boy blushes a withdrawal in order to take his gaze off of him. He then wanders over and puts the can down next to the stand that supports the small sapling. "I were about t'ead out a'look for work. Everyfing 'as gone sideways of late. Coulda been worse, yeah? Could 'ave tried to mug me. Assuming...mugguhs be a fing around 'ere. So, you coming in or am I stepping out wot for 'aving a chat? I leave va door open and yer mum might 'appen by or somefing." That's...an invitation, or... Now it's Steven's turn to wince at the inquiries. The mention of his mom causes him to sigh slightly, but he does follow after Rocket into the Storage Unit, taking the chance to look at everything he can, but not touch. He's learned his lesson quite well about touching. Things generally explode or lead to some sort of catastrophe that he's really doesn't want to go through. Again. "It's pretty quiet around here. Always has been. Even when it was in Beach City. Though you don't have to worry about my mom. She's gone, but that story is super complicated and still makes my head hurt when I think about it." He does stop to look at the sapling, nodding his head in acknowledgement to it, "Mr. Tree. It's nice to meet you as well." Continuing to look around, Steven does manage to find a few things that make his curiosity spike, but in the sense of trying to not a complete fool of himself, he still makes sure that he isn't touching. Seeing that Steven intends to visit for a spell, Rocket walks over and peeks outside to look left and right before pushing a button to start the automated closing process despite the fact that Steven has left a number of items scattered outside the door. Wait, is that a stock option? It's around that point in listening that Rocket notices the sapling being addressed and, perhaps unseen, faintly shows a wry bittersweet smile. It's just a tree, nothing special, but...it helps him cope. Pushing that bit of emotion aside for the sake of company, not one to be a particularly bad host, Rocket crosses over and hops up a small set of platforms to the more 'kitchen'-like area to open a mini-fridge. Very fitting, really. He pulls out two plastic bottles of differing colors and begins to make his way back so that he can offer one. They have no labels, but they might be juice. Or juice drink. Or flavored water or other potential electrolyte replacement formula. ...he probably didn't exactly buy these refreshments. His guest probably finds the space easy enough to move about in, even with all the extras about, and the workshop area dead center has a few makeshift chairs. The other questionably safe goods in the area aren't actually powered or fully functional, anyway. The focus of late has been in converting the storage space into something far more livable. Much like the drinks, chances are that the materials used in the construction were either scavenged or 'borrowed'. "Fair enough. So I assume vat means you take care o'youhself? If so, cheers t'vat. I'd drink t'self-reliance any day. I take it you aren't from around 'ere. Well, initially?" "Well, I mean.. I've pretty much always fed and dressed myself. My dad helped when he could, and the Crystal Gems were.. helpful in their own way I guess?" The question seems to have thrown Steven off. He never really thought about things like that. Is he self-reliant? Is he capable of taking care of himself? This is the kind of stuff that he's generally shied away from. "I've had help when I really needed it, for the really big stuff?" Sliding into a chair, Steven readily takes one of the offered bottles, carefully opening it to take a sip. "Originally, I'm from Earth. A town called Beach City. I did just spend the past couple of years though on the Gem Homeworld with the Diamonds.. that was.. uh.. interesting? I guess I could say that." Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, Steven fishes out his cellphone, and starts swiping across the screen to get to the pictures. "These are the Crystal Gems. Garnet, Pearl, and Amethyst. Uh.." He swipes again, "And this is my pet lion, Lion. I'm trying to find them here, but so far it doesn't look like they ended up here with me." Rocket has encountered many different planets and peoples. While the notion of gemstones is enticing for the matter of oft-perceived worth, the talk of these things as a reference to a group of people, and then names, surely conjures elemental-type life form mental images at first. After all, when you know a walking talking tree... However, after pulling a 'chair' over closer and hopping up onto it, the raccoon is better able to look at the shown photographs. The people shown are...pretty average compared to his experiences. He is neither surprised or disappointed. Though, at the mention of them not being found as being present in the same sense of location or reality, Rocket exhales and eases down into a sitting position before cracking open the bottle of mystery drink. "Yeah. Va's somefing I know a fing or two about, as well." Squinting one eye at the bottle he holds, the contents akin to a mix of avocado and ginger, the fuzzy one states, "Well, me, I've been all ovuh va galaxy, seen plen'y o'va ins and outs, countless people and peoples, and I've made me fair share o'venemies. Put down more'n me fair share a'vose, too." He pauses. "Not usually alone. Vere was...ol' Wal Rus, ven big green 'ulk, and even'ually met me best mate affuhwards." His eyes flick toward the potted plant briefly. He'd mention the Guardians, but the last he seen the team -- Ben Grimm, Kitty Pryde, Flash Thompson, and Groot -- well, they all went their separate ways after the second superhuman civil war. Rocket alone has carried the mantle of the Guardians many times over the years when all others left. He doesn't mention the group when he might be the only one and possibly has no chance to ever gather everyone up again if he can't find a way 'home'. "What I'm trying t'say is, nevuh give up, but nevuh let va lack of 'aving vem wif you define you." Sadly, lost friends and feeling separated is something easy of which to relate. It's also depressing. Rocket reaches over to give Steven, a total stranger, a bit of a slap on the side. The slap is unexpected, but the intent is known. Steven takes a few moments to try and gather himself as he stares down at the mystery drink. It appears to be someone's attempt at mixing plum and spinach with a hint of dirty socks. Then again, that could be the intent, given how most 'health' drinks tend to go. He suddenly shudders, remembering the last time he subjected himself to something of this nature. "Oh man, this is almost as bad as Guacola." Maybe Rocket might like it, considering there's at least fifteen cases of it sitting just a couple of storage units over. Steven already knows his dad won't miss them, and Steven REALLY won't miss them. Yet that gift of pure abomination can await another day. "I mean, it sucks but.. All I can do is keep going and hope I'll eventually find them, or find a way back to them. Giving up just doesn't feel right. I mean. I've stopped galactic wars, brought peace to a galaxy, and saved the Earth more times then I really want to remember." Taking a longer drink now, Steven visibly shudders at the after taste, but doesn't complain about it. It'd be rude to insult something given to him by someone he just met. Especially someone who has an idea as to just what he is really going through. "Too right. Even if va Earf doesn't seem like it's worf saving at times. Miserable mudball backwatuh planet, self-centuhed people wot can't reason veir way wif each ovuh much less any o'veir galactic neighbors. We get brats like Quill from it, you know, and vere ain't too many redeeming quali'ies in which I might be so inclined to list. Still, so long as Bette Midler lives, I 'ave reason to uphold va intuhstelluh trea'ies." Origins completely removed, it's almost funny to talk about the same planet which likely endures very different circumstances. Clearly Rocket holds his distaste for the planet on his sleeve, yet holds some sort of obligation to defend it anyway. That's a lot of responsibility for such a small raccoon. "Now, I don' know you from Adam, Steven, so you might well be making all o'vat up, but if you are a galactic guardian, from whichevuh dimension or chronospatial origin you come from, ven... Yeah. You'll be fine. Mostly, you 'afta stay proac'ive-like. Construc'ive." It's at this point that Rocket hops from the seat and points to the closed storage room exit. "So, we can eivuh be passive and accept what is dealt us by chance, or we can ventuh forf and find somefing far beh'uh t'drink. Vis is bloody awful!" "Hey! Earth might be a backwater planet, but that doesn't mean all of it's bad! Most of the people from Beach City are really nice! But.. I mean.. You're not too wrong I guess." Even Steven does have to relent on that point. Some people are just jerks, but there are jerks everywhere in the universe. So it's not just an Earth thing! Yet, once Rocket says that Steven will be fine, the fog of depression and sadness that he's been carrying starts to lift. Sometimes, just hearing it from someone else is enough to remind you that there is always hope. And hope, is just what Steven Quartz Universe is full of. When Rocket hops up from the seat, only to point at the exit of the storage unit, Steven moves to stand right next to him. Pointing his finger at the door as well, the enthusiasm pours off of him in waves, easily infecting anyone who might want to resist. "Yeah! This is the second worst thing I've ever drank, and out there is a whole new world of things I've never drank! So let's get out of here, and go find something great to drink!" | |
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