3877/'Routine' inspections

'Routine' inspections
Date of Scene:	14 February 2018
Location:	Milano - Lower Deck
Synopsis:	There's a hole in the cargo hold where Peters Booze was. Rocket may or may not be to blame.
Cast of Characters:	Star-Lord, Rocket Raccoon

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Star-Lord has posed:
Downtime is good.

Downtime with booze is better.

Peter had made sure to always keep a decent bottle of Carnosian 'Grease' for those times he wants to get blackout drunk and ride the buzz quick. Nothing was going on, after all.

Spending a half hour checking his cargo though -double checking even!- there was a ... noticable hole in the floor, where the bottles should have been.

"Rooockettt." Peter gives in exclamation... in both an amused, and frustrated, tone. He'd Done Something Again (tm).... and just stared at the gooey hole on one knee in his corner of the cargo hold.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket wasn't in the hold. He was in the little kitchen space, making some sort of sammich. Just given the fact it is clearly quite messy it must taste particularly good. "Wha?" he calls around a moutful of said sammich. "Whaf ew ant, Q'ill?" He saunters back looking unconcerned and quite pleased with his culinary creation.

Star-Lord has posed:
Peter stands, and points right at the hole, "I didn't have anything in here that could do... /that/." Peter thrusts his finger at the hole in emphasis. Then, he turns to regard the Raccoon, "You remember what I said about cargo boundaries, right? I'm pretty sure my Grease bottles melted right through down there with... whatever it was that you put here."

"What was it?" Peter asks, slightly accusatory.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket saunters over, chewing appreciatively on his sammich as Quill protests. He looks at the hole, leaning over to peer down inside. "...greeff? Wha'ya 'eepin' greeff for?" He swallows, "I mean, c'mon. Ya think *I* had somethin' t' do wit' dis? Pfff.. Nothin' I had would'a done this. At. All."



"'course there was that /one/ thing. But I doubt it."

Star-Lord has posed:
Peter just gives the Raccoon a very, very neutral stare. "Carnosian 'Grease'. My specialty booze. I picked it up out of Knowhere last time we were in that sector." Then, Peter squints, "Well?"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket looks back down the hole. "Well that would explain the wet stuff around the hole. I mean c'mon. you greased it!" he laughs. "That's funny. C'mon!" He snickers and then looks around, "Well. that case there? That's where I had the Thing. But it's not there. Someone must'a moved it. But that's not MY fault."

Star-Lord has posed:
"Rocket. What Thing?" Then, Peter sighs then, instead heading over to the toolbox over to one side, and grabs a scanner. Then, he heads over and gives it a good check, "I really hope this stuff won't burn through to the plating." Peter notes.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket shrugs. "Ammo, Quill. Ammo. I TOLD you about it when I scored it. The Thermium Razor rounds." He looks around again. "They ain't here. Someone moved 'em." He looks at the hole. "If they stuck 'em near your booze... if the alcohol got to the casings. Yeah. Guess it could'a done this.." He shrugs, "Still not my fault."

Star-Lord has posed:
"Why would you even /want/ Razor rounds?" Peter looks at Rocket like he's grown three heads, "Those things are just as likely to bounce around to hit /you/, as they are to hit your target."

Then, Peter reads the scanner, "Well, it's not acidic, so there's something." Peter chuckles, then, looking back to Rocket, "We're not saints or anything man, but cargo boundaries, man. Cargo boundaries!"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket shakes his head, "No, Quill. Therium Razor rounds. /Thermium/. they hit their target then shatter and turn the target to goo. That. That is why I want them. And why I got them." He looks at Quill. "Yah.. not acidic... that's...that's good.." He fails his poker face. "But I DID store my cargo safely. Someone else stored it dangerously!" He looks at the hole. "Hadda be Drax. Groot knows better. Gamora... just wouldn't care. Drax's the culprit. Go yell at him!"

Star-Lord has posed:
"Turn the target to goo." Peter looks at the hole... gooey itself. "And just so happens to go off next to my booze." Peter sighs, "Now I'm going to have to go back to Knowhere and hope the dealer is still there." Peter turns to look back to Rocket, "I had it all right here, out of the way... and then this happens." Peter starts to walk off, "This is coming out of someones paycheck." Peter grates as he heads for the cockpit.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket shrugs, "What's the big deal, Quill? You got so much booze on this boat we could practically float through space!" He fires back, "paycheck? You still haven't paid us for the LAST four jobs we did!" He then retorts, "Hey. Hey.. this is Drax's doin! You should totally be fining him! I'd have used those rounds to keep badguys offa you. Now what am I gonna use??"

Star-Lord has posed:
"I can get the cheap stuff anywhere, Rocket." Peter notes, "This was /specialty/. That stuff isn't exactly floating around in Burnout." Peter heads for the ladder, "We'll find you something on Knowhere." Peter gives in reply, before he starts to head up.