7446/Long Ears & Bandit

Long Ears & Bandit
Date of Scene:	09 May 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Rocket Raccoon, 7665

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Rocket Raccoon has posed:
It's not the Milano, but Rocket manages to borrow one of the smaller escape crafts which is plenty big enough to smuggle himself and Blackjack down to Terra for a jaunt through the woods looking for pure breed rabbits. It's actually better suited for it, point of fact, because it's kind of small anyways. So that worked out. "We'll touch down in jus a few minutes here. Get your seatbelt on an' try not to stick your arms, legs or ears out of the vehicle while it's in motion."

The spherical shuttle breaks atmo under Rocket's expert hand and settles into a wooded area on the outskirts of Georgia that doesn't appear to have anything even remotely like civilization for miles. The post flight check is quick, mostly just switching off consoles and whatever, "Alright. Here we are, if you run into any hummies with big fat beer guts and long sticks, those are Rednecks and they'll definitely shoot us."

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    Blackjack's got more than a few hot combat drops under his belt, so yeah in comparison this is all pretty chill. Casually tugging his gloves on, and rolling those cuffs foreward. "Far as I'm concerned, like force is plenty fair. They shoot at me, I plan on shooting back."Chin lifting as he snaps his jacket's collar shut, and well those occulars flare to life with a faint red glow. For the record by the way, Quill didn't get those red glasses until way after Blackjack did. So yes everyone, Quill is just a big copycat.

    "Hey, put this in your ear just in case."And well, it's a fairly generic little ear piece all things considered. "I'll check our LZ, you get the ship square."And off he goes, just like that. Touching down and, well he takes a moment to take everything in. Not every day you get to visit the homeland of your genetic ancestors, right?

    Casually slinging that brilliant engraved gold and chrome bullpup over shoulder, before lifting a glove to wave at the virtual interface. Tagging the earpiece he'd tossed to rocket, before patching it into this decidedly small scale neural network. "I expected, I dunno." Occulars sweeping the LZ as he searches for life signs.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"You look like Quill with those things on." Rocket observes of Blackjack's goggles even though he was familiar with Blackjack long before he ever took that bounty on Star-Lord. So he's probably just taking the piss, what with his fangy grin as he finishes up the post flight checkoff of systems and grabs his own massive cannon on the way down the small exit ramp into the noise, hot as balls, kinda swampy woods of South East Georgia.

"It feels like a boggy ass out here." Adjusting the strap of his rifle, which he's carrying at a ready position once he's incert the earbud into one canal so that they can stay connected. "I fully expect yer gonna find all kinds of yer people trollin' about in this wonderland of refuge." Two clawed fingers tap his scanner lense down over his right eye and then he's ready to progress away from the ship. It's got security enough to handle any over enthusiastic rednecks might be out here hunting.

"How many times ya been to Terra?"

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    "You mean Quill ripped off my look, let me guess he wears a colored leather jacket and everything else too?"Red or purple, well ok Blackjack sort've rocks the purple. "Well, I don't really know. We know the "first batch" was created here, and then cloned and matured over on half world. Just don't know how many were in a batch, I mean 21 is a pretty low number. So I might have been created here, maybe?"

    Theres a shrug there, before casually unslinging that sleek subgun and, well off he goes. Scanners sweeping left and right methodically, looking for...well bunnies primarily of course. "So far it seems, I dunno fine? I mean I've done stints on legit garbage planets. Tandi-nau 63, bio-waste disposal moon, you can imagine the smell there right?"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket laughs heartily and wipes at his left eye with the knuckle of his left hand, "Yeah, Quill has exactly zero fashion sense." It's one of his favorite passtimes: Making fun of his Captain. Even once the moment has passed his harking giggles are still quietly sounding into the communicator as he takes his own path through the woods in search of bunnies.

"I don't see why ya gotta stop at twenty one this trip... unless we don't find none. I guess that's possible, I kinda guessed on where to land anyways." The muzzle of his rifle makes a superb stick for pushing around bushes to see if anything hides within. "Or Trumbi 4. Everyone always thinks them cities of gold are so chique, but it's built on a literal mound of rottin' corpses. Thats a frakin' smell!"

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    "Every city of gold anywhere, sucks. They're all full of self important idiots, they smell bad, the food sucks and the pay is shit. They've got to be the absolute worst of any client, always trying to squirm out of paying out the contract to boot. It's infuriating, and then they're trying to tell offer me all this free advise on how my gear should be gold instead of chrome."Hey, Blackjack speaking from the head over here. Important note of course, he's not speaking at all. No it's coming right into Rocket's ear piece, and well hey neural network so...yeah unfiltered Rabbit honesty.

    "Well god who knows when it comes to terran rabbits, I just don't know too much I'm afraid. I mean if it were me, I'd want to chill next to a good book store."And a huff, as Blackjack surveys the swamp. "Not a lot of book stores out here, is there."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"How ya think they got them cities made of gold? Wasn't by payin' out on jobs, tha's for frakin sure." Rocket adds ontop of what Blackjack has already said, moving a little further from the ship after hearing something rustling in one of the cusps of bushes. "Think I got one over here." The rifle is reslung infavor of the scanner gun the Hare gave him, creeping forward with side steps to make less noise.

"Readin' aint top priority for these idiots." Said matter of factly, "All hummies are like that, though. Stupid a-holes who couldn't smartify their way out of a box of batteries." Blaster pointed forward, Rocket pushes tall grass aside to reveal....

A raccoon. "Ugh, you..."

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    "On my way."And well Blackjack may be most mostly from exotic metalurgy these days, but that doesn't mean he isn't quiet when he wants to be. Indeed it's a few bounding hops, before he comes to a sliding halt. Scan gun in one gloved hand as..."Oh hey, it's a less obnoxious version of you."Cue the bucktooth grin, har har.

    "Go ahead and scan them if you want, I'm happy to make you a copy of your own genetics."Free hand coming back to park that SMG against his hip ever so casually. "I mean shit Rocket it occurs to me, I've never seen another Raccoon out there. I mean I remember a few, otter things I think, and something with big long fangs(Walrus) but..."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
If looks could kill, this smaller, less talkative version of Rocket would definitely be dead. Maybe looks can kill though, what with him having replaced the scanner gun with the big rifle which he is just now pointing down at the curious little bugger sniffing at Rocket with his hands rubbing together like some grubby thief.

"I'll get all the genetic material I need when I scrap it off the tree." Said threateningly down at his terran ancestor? But he doesn't shoot the creature, nor does he scan it, "I'm good. I'm the only one of me and tha's fine by me." That is a whole lie, but he says it straight-faced, stepping around the raccoon to keep searching through the bushes.

"Weren't there a couple of them yellow beak't ones too?" (duck).

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    Blackjack watches, but well it's pretty hard to read his expression beyond the glow of those occulars. He does stop short and watch, all but frowning just a touch. "The universe sucks, it's mean for no reason and it's generally a terrible place. There's no reason to go making it even worse, when we all gotta share it."Philosophy with Blackjack.

    "If you wanted us to, you know you just have to ask. With enough diverse genetic profiles, we could grow some more like you."Theres a shrug there as he slips off after Rocket, eyes scanning the brush as he goes. "Hell you know you're welcome in the fleet if you ever wanted to come over and take a break from carrying the Guardians of the galaxy all by yourself, give yourself a breather amongst people who don't see you as being different."

    No shit, Blackjack has been publically linked to the death of thousands. He's the sort've Mercenary they build whole graveyards for, only he isn't right? He does dip his head into his cupped gloves, lighting a pair of cigars and getting them going before offering one over to rocket. "Oh yeah, I guess. Remember I had a chip in my head telling me what to do back then, I don't remember an awful lot if we're being honest."Theres a little shrug there, as he puffs after that cigar. "Best I don't remember anyway, considering what we were doing to folks."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"Nah." Rocket grows more reclusive the more they talk about his solidarity in the galaxy and how those whom he considers friends or family regard him as such. The woods offer plenty of ways to keep himself out of direct view while collecting himself and then he comes around a tree just as Blackjack is lighting two cigars, then only long enough to pluck up the one offered him and put it between his teeth. Once more he's off in search of Hares, "Prolly best there aint nothin' like me, but me." Wisdom of the Raccoon.

"Yeah, I remember." He remembers having done some pretty horrible shit himself, still does periodically, but he's largely gone goody for the most part. "I've half a mind to find them jack asses an' put a few blaster bolts in their face." Can't be as all of the halfworld engineers are dead, right?

Smoke bellows out through his nostrils as he stomps through underbrush pushing tall grass aside with his rifle. "So what're ya gonna do with all this genetical stuff? Smart people shit? Clone more'a ya?"

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    "They're mostly dead Rocket, I know for a fact that the one running the joint we're from is dead. Me'n my sister got him bad when things first went sideways, she took a vibro-knife to him in a bad way."No regrets there, for sure. "We didn't leave many alive, I mean we were on something of a frenzy for a few days. Until the chips burned themselves most of the way out."

    "You wanna be the only one, then you can be the only one. I ain't here to tell you what to do, but it's important to me that you know what options you got on the table alright? Where you go from there, totally your call."And well, Blackjack lets that one fall where it may. "Well we wanna be a species, be able to make our own way in the galaxy. We got a few hundred thousand of us now, hell I got about twenty clones running around myself. Problem is that even with the best sort've science you can buy out there, there's only so much genetic variation they can figure out. So we need a deeper gene pool, make sure the hares that come after me are healthier. I mean Rocket about the only original part of me left is my brain, everything else is mechanical."Theres a little shrug there as Blackjack pauses, swinging that scan gun out to aim through the brushes at..oh hey a bunny! "Wasn't strong enough to make it any other way, so you do what you got to for your people right?"

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"I'm good with who I am and where I sit in the galaxy." Rocket lies, but he's good at lying. Lying to everyone including himself. A few ashes tap off the end of his cigar then it's replaced in his mouth, "I know where I can go if'n I start feelin' lonely though. Head on over to the Hare brigade for some R&R, maybe spread a little genetic variation, quote unquote-" Since he'd usually finger quote, but is out of sight and speaking over comms, "-an then go back to bein' unique."

The bush is starting to get high as the mud gets deeper, so Rocket climbs a tree after slipping his rifle on his back. "Hey, foun' somethin." Magnifying with a few taps of his scanner lense, "Aint a rabbit, but they sure do look like they've been huntin some. Several of yer people are hangin' up with their hides cut off.. Some of them redneck a-holes I mention't earlier."

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    -BEEP-, and well Blackjack swings his attention yonder before he's off. "Hey man if they're into lower life forms, go for it bro. I don't judge ya'know, right?"A jest indeed, as he lands next to Rocket. He's awfully quiet for a big cybernetic killbun, like legit.

    "Yeah well, these yokels know you? I mean if you wander up there and introduce yourself, they gonna shoot?"Those occulars blink once, before going dark. That chrome he's so fond of flashes neat matte black, and his coat gradually loses it's color until it fades into a dark grey. He slips foreward through the underbrush, he's not exactly offended mind. No he just wants to get close enough to get his scan-gun in range, and well maybe liberate a keepsake or nine. He is running with Rocket tonight, not like anyone could blame him right?

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"I'm not picky." Rocket says off handedly yet watching the rednecks go about their redneck stuff, "I doubt it. Prolly take a shot, miss, piss me off, and get themselves properly deadified." Same as Blackjack, Rocket is awful quiet for all the equipment he carries. Near silent as he switches from his scanner to the scope on his big rifle, "Could get close without them noticin' though... could probably touch them without them noticin' by the amount of beer cans layin' around their little campsite."

Rocket slings his rifle then and runs across the limb he was perched upon. A few leaps later and he's closer, still up high above the target area, and holding easily with his clawed hands. "How close ya gotta get with tha' scanner gun? Or do ya wanna cut one'um down an bring it with us?"

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    Blackjack skulks like a proper rogue, vanishing amongst the underbrush. "I could've scanned them a ways back."He admits over the channel, because well he couldn't lie here if he wanted to. "Gonna steal some shit, hold on."Blackjack of all people, whatever is the Galaxy coming to right? Anywho he slips through brush, between tent and it's guy lines.

    His prize is simple enough, see Blackjack has a type. As if those engraved, gold inlayed PRDO blasters didn't tip you off already? So that neat dagger with it's pearl handle, and gold plated bolsters? Yeah, like a proper thief in the night he yoinks the thing from the top of it's cooler. Oh and, well a pair of beers before he slinks back the way he came.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket slips his rifle off and adjusts the scope to give him a better siteline on the camp while Blackjack skulks up on it like.... well, kinda like a raccoon. Meanwhile, the actual raccoon provides cover incase things go sideways, "I hope one'f them beers is for me... probably tastes like ass, bein' from terra, but I aint come all the way to this backwater world to leave without a buzz." It'll make the flight out more entertaining besides.

"Looks like yer good all the way back the way ya came." Scanning across the camp with a sweep of his rifle, careful to keep Blackjack at least partially in view until the Hare is free of the danger zone, for lack of a better word for it. Neither of them would be in any danger with these drunkin idiots, afterall.

Blackjack O'hare (7665) has posed:
    Those occulars flicker back on, and the color returns to his kit gradually. Still Blackjack tosses one of those, ewww Miller Lites over towards rocket all the same. "Free is my favorite flavor, terran or otherwise."He's more of a tea drinker if we're being honest, but well he cracks a can open to imbibe all the same. Wincing a bit, before eyeing that can suspiciously. "Anyway look them Rabbits ain't none of my kin, so I ain't gonna get too bent. Long as they pay for it, yeah?"Dagger waved about, before he shoves it into his coat where presumably he already has a pocket for such things.

    "So legit, why are all these humans staying on just one planet anyway?"And casually, beer in one hand and scanner in the other he zaps the hanging bunnies. Cigar rescued from the log he'd set it on, before he puffs the cherry back to life. Chilling with Blackjack isn't so bad, right? Stolen booze and cigars, how can any man complain.