3910/A WHAT walked into the bar

A WHAT walked into the bar
Date of Scene:	10 February 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Zinda meets a space raccoon in a bar. No, really.
Cast of Characters:	Lady Blackhawk, Rocket Raccoon

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Lady Blackhawk has posed:
It's been a really long week for Zinda Blake. With the Rising Tide crisis, she rounded up all of her air show buddies to keep medical supplies running in antiquated, analog aircraft. And that's pretty much all she's been doing, day in and day out.

Zinda walks into a bar at some airport on the Eastern seaboard. She doesn't even remember what city she's in anymore. That's on her flight plan, and that's back in the plane. It's night, and she knows she's tired, and she could REALLY use a drink right about now. Wearing a WWII vintage flight suit with a leather bomber jacket over it, complete with Blackhawks squadron patches, the blonde saunters into the near-empty bar. By her standards she looks like hell. By most other standards, the blonde is still quite a knock-out. Just a bit frazzled around the edges.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket hadn't been running supplies. In fact he had not even been on Earth for most of the last how-many-weeks as the Guardians tracked down exactly which slave ring had kidnapped Quill and then, against all better judgment, proceeded to break him out. But then if it hadn't been for that, Rocket would not have finally come to the realization that Earth music is best after all. it's the reason he's actually back on the blue planet once more. With the Interwebs down, how was he gonna Bit Deluge all those albums? He wasn't! And that was simply a crime.


So back to Earth Rocket had gone. And he discovered an amazing thing. Peter Quill's still valid library card.

The door to the bar opens and in walks a four-something-foot tall raccoon carrying a blaster strapped to his right hip and a large satchel slung over his shoulder. He ambles up to the bar, hopping up on a stool. "Yo! Bar Keep! Gimme the best ****in' thing y'got on tap - Other than that swill y'call water I mean." He shakes his head, "Humans don't know nuthin' 'bout good liquour." It truly is sad. He settles there and drops the satchel on the bartop with a thump and clatter of plastic.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake is just settling into her first round, the beer slid across the bar to her. The blonde has just taken a sip when she hears the loud, raucous voice. And the mention of 'humans'... Okay. Zinda turns to look and then she blinks. Addressing the bartender, she drawls. "Sugah, what'd you PUT in this? Ah asked for a beer."

No shame, Zinda turns more towards the talking raccoon and smirks. She takes another sip, even if it probably IS laced with acid or something. "An' who you callin' human, critter?" Yeah, good comeback, Zinda.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket turns to the blonde and studies her for a moment. "Well obviously I wasn't talkin' t' you, angel." He siddles across the barstools toward Zinda's location, offering a toothy grin. "What's a pretty thing like you doin' in a place like this, anyway? You know drinkin' this stuff'll kill ya."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake lets her bar stool swivel so that she's facing him more directly. She flashes him a poster-worthy smile... dark circles not withstanding. "Right now Ah've got a real serious job t'do, and that's makin' sure this stool don't get up and walk out all by itself." she declares. "An' this stuff ain't killed me yet." She raises the glass, draining about half of it in a casual swig. "You for real? 'Cause back home we'd shoot your kind b'fore you get that big. No offense."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket stops when he's on the stool next to Zinda, "Pretty sure it won't be the stool havin' trouble walkin' out." He looks to the bartender who brings him.. whatever it was that was best on tap. At least it's in a glass mug. Rocket nods< "Thanks my good man!" with a half hearted English accent as he tips it back for a swallow. "My kind? Angel, my kind may look like the little guys runnin' around on this planet, but I can assure you - whereever it is that I'm from? It ain't this rock. At least I'm pretty sure it ain't. I sure ****in' hope it ain't. That'd almost make me an' Quill cousins 'er somethin'...." he shudders at that thought.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake leans one elbow on the bar, the other one firmly holding the beer mug as she grins crookedly at him. And yeah, the flight suit's unzipped at the top. Not indecently so, but definitely lower than regulation. If only he were taller. "An' Ah'm pretty sure Ah don't wanna know where that is, neither." She takes another pull from the glass, licking foam from her upper lip. She squints at him. "Y'know, a few more of these and you'd almost be cute."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket is scruffy under the best of circumstances. Cybernetics notwithstanding, he is rather cute in a trashy sorta way. But he sucks in a breath to sit up straight and tall (for Rocket). "well, you know... I'm the only one'a my kind. So yer kinda in the company of celebrity. And I'm also a member of the Guardians of the Galaxy" he says proudly.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake drains her glass, setting it heavily onto the bar for a refill. "The -Who- of the -What-...?" she drawls in reply. She leans in for a closer look while waiting on a refill. The view is more than a bit distracting. "Celebrity, huh? Well ah ain't heard THAT one in a real long time. What's your name, critter?"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket grins toothily and isn't above enjoying a good view. Particularly first hand and up close. "Guardians of the Galaxy, angel. We keep th' galaxy safe. 'cause no one else is. Quill. Peter Quill. Star Lord. He's from this rock. Then there's Gamora. She's... probably not from anywhere. But she'll kick yer ass if ya say so. Then there's Drax. He's from everywhere. Usually because they're tryin' t' kill 'im after he's been there. An' then there's Groot - think big, tall talkin' oak tree. With a heart'a gold an' only ever sayin' "I am Groot" - but with more tone an' inflection than most'a ya humans ever could. And me." he thumps his flightsuit covered chest. "They call /me/ - Rocket Raccoon!" The fireworks exploding over head while a choir of angelic voices oooooAAAAAA can almost be heard as he proclaims his celebrity.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake listens almost with disbelief as he talks about the team, such as it is. "Sugah, don't take it wrong if Ah only understand about every fourth word you're sayin'." She accepts the beer refill and takes a deep swig. "I'm Zinda Blake, by the way. Lady Blakehawk to most. Got mah pilot's license in the 30's under an assumed name, because they didn't want *women* flyin' back then. Been flyin' ever since. Except for a short time skip."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket grins, "That's okay. I barely understand English myself. Miracle I can even talk." He shrugs. "I blame it all on the people who caught me and experimented on me." He looks at her, "A pilot? That's great. It's always good to do somethin' th' government doesn't want ya to." He swigs at his drink again.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake chuckles at that, nodding and taking another swig. "Well they sorta relaxed about things in time. Took about a week for me to make Ace. But yeah, Ah've been captured by the Germans, drunk 'em all under the table, stole a BF-109, an' then joined the Blackawks. We were sorta 'Guardians of the Atlantic'." She raises her beer to him, then.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket lifts his beer as well. "Sounds like a girl who knows how t' have a good time. my favorite kind." He grins and tips his glass back. "Guardians of the Atlantic eh? I like that. It's catchy."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
Zinda Blake shrugs at that, pointing towards the bartender. "Put 'im on my tab, will ya'?" She settles back again, shifting the view. Unfortunately. One leg crosses over the other, but even with the comfortably-tight flight suit there's no comparison to her more usual pleated skirt. "Well they called it Blackhawk Squadron first, otherwise it might've caught on. Helps that the Skipper's name was Blackhawk. So, Rocket. You just down here slummin', or is there somethin comin' that we need savin' from?"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket grins, "I knew ya were an angel!" he remarks as his drinks are covered. "maybe even a saint. That's what they call 'em, right?" He then slaps the sacket. "Music. You Earthers are quaint with your compant discs. But you make some FINE soundin' music. I can't get enough of it. My friend - and boss (sorta), Quill - well he's from earth and always listenin' to this crappy ghetto stuff. But I tried to listen to what else is out there and damned if I didn't find some amazin' stuff after all! You know - Psy? Gangnam style? Barry Manilow? that brilliant guy - William Hung? Amazin'.."