7451/War of Light: Between Sorties

War of Light: Between Sorties
Date of Scene:	09 May 2019
Location:	Milano
Synopsis:	Star-Lord and Rocket talk on the Milano between runs down to Takron-Galtos handling prisoner containment
Cast of Characters:	Star-Lord, Rocket Raccoon
Tinyplot:	War of Light

---

Star-Lord has posed:
The riot/war on the planet Takron-Galtos has been in full swing for a while now. Being an entire /planet/ of the worst of the worst, things are -understandably- 'a gigantic clusterfrak' in the words of Star-Lord.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had been there at the beginning, and despite numerous detours to handle other business, the bulk of their time lately has been spent helping to contain the situation.

Of course, the ridiculous amounts of steady pay to simply do what the Guardians do best isn't hurting at all... but days upon days of constant fighting down below takes it's toll, and now the Milano is in orbit, allowing the Guardians a day off before they dive back into the thick of it.

Star-Lord has been working on doing some maintenance on his element guns sitting at the weapon bench in the cargo hold, alongside the blaster cannon he's taking to using for the big brutes he's come across. He's even had to change out the power cells on his Jetboot Attachments at least twice this week; something that only happens in /extremely/ taxing situations.

But then, constant warfare tends to do that. Luckily, there are plenty of other forces in-system to pick up the slack, including the Guardians of the Universe's Green Lantern Corps.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
To say that Rocket has been whole-heartedly enjoying himself during this constant state of fighting is quite an understatement. He's got a few scorch marks on the fur of his face, but the usually bristly bounty hunter has been surprisingly happy since they took this job. "Hey a-hole, ya wants some of this egg substitute stuff?" Motioning at a little cooking pan in which he's scrambling yellow protein that they call eggs.

Regardless of the answer he's maked his way over to the same table where Peter is working to do a systems check of his jet pack and rocket pods, shoving whole spoonfuls of the protein in his fangy mouth while he works. "Ya know what the best part of fightin' the worst people in the galaxy is? Nobody cares if one or two of them fall down a well riding an explosive tipped missile."

Star-Lord has posed:
"There's a lot to like about it." Peter agrees with Rockets assessment, "not often you get long term-yet-simple jobs like these. I'm definitely getting plenty of flying practice." Peter quips, before he replaces a second cell in his Jetboots, the telltale thrumm of the power grid inside of them can be heard, before he replaces the casing. "I already had my ration for today." Peter replies about the egg substitute.

Then, he looks at the meal with a critical eye, "after we're done here, I'm gonna take us to a nice farming planet and get some real food. We can afford a better stasis unit now." Peter gripes, before he puts the attachments on the bench, and gets to work on the blaster cannon, "I would have thought you'd be using neutron weaponry. They'd like captures, but they can't watch the whole planet." Peter points out, "so it'd be easy to just atomize them."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"Oh, tha' reminds me." Rocket scrapes the eggs into his open mouth and heads off to drop the cooking plate somewhere, when he comes back he's got a Dr Pepper held out in a clawed hand, "I was on Terra doin' some genetic crap with Blackjack O'Hare. If you tell anyone I brought ya this, I'll probably do somethin' really horrible to your bunk."

As for weaponry, "Yeah, I don't want to limit my options..." Hands held out as he glances back and forth at the wide array of implementations of destruction laid upon the small little bench where he usually sits working on bombs. "I got somethin' new Imma try next sortee.. I think yer gonna like it, but I know I am." His grin is all fangs, eyes literally sparkling with the promise of wonton death and carnage.

Star-Lord has posed:
Peter just sort of stares at Rocket, his eyes going over the numerous options of destruction he's working on, and then back to him. "Does the phrase 'overkill' mean anything to you?"

Then, he realizes Rocket has something called a Doctor Pepper, and it looks like an Earth based drinking bottle. "I haven't had much time to look at stuff on Terra. What's this?" Peter takes the bottle, undoes the cap, and sniffs. Sniff. Sniff.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"I'm goin' for maximum amounts of killin', so going over the normal amount is precisely where I'm headed anyways..." Rocket picks up a rifle as big as he is and hefts it up on his shoulder easily, "When in doubt, shoot at things with stuff that explodes until that thing what you were shootin' at doesn't exist anymore." He nods affimation and sets the weapond own.

"I don't know, it was in the sleepin camp of low intellect hummies drinkin' somethin called Coors lite with weapons that threw rocks. I'll never understand how terra hasn't been destroyed yet. Their weapons are so...." Thinking with his hand, "Useless."

The same hand points a claw at Peter and the bottle, "It's a soda. They had a cooler full of them an beer. I took the cooler."

Star-Lord has posed:
"One thing I did pay attention to are their guns. Most of Terra uses slugthrowers, and they're actually pretty decent at it. A few use energy based stuff, and a minority of the people there use all kinds of weird stuff. There's this one guy there that claims to be pure energy. Can you imagine?" Peter shakes his head, "could power entire systems with that."

Then, he takes a chug of the Doctor Pepper... and three seconds later, he spits it out forceably over the wall, the bench, and a good portion of Rockets weapons.

Yep, Rockets collection is now decorated with Doctor Pepper.

"This stuff is nasty. How do they stay in business?" Peter asks, bewildered.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket was like the idea of hooking some captured power body guy to a generator to use his natural runoff as a super-charger for the Milano. In his head he's going through the math and technical aspect of just what he'd have to do to turn a terran brain into a conductor. Both sides of his muzzle twitch and his fingers wiggle like someone working a calculator while his eyes turn upwards to the left where, apparently, all the information is stored. With all the neural enhancements, that might not even be far off... "I could probably do that.. I'd need a who-"

Then Peter is spraying all his weapons and bombs and basically the collection of very sensitive, some homemade weapons of death with brown sugar water. "Ohhh..." A claw points from Peter, to the desk, and back to Peter, "Oh yer gonna pay for that..." Eyes narrowed, fangs barred. "Remember our rule on where I can and can't pee? Yeah, that's suspended for the foreseeable future, buddy. Wear your flipflops in the shower."

Star-Lord has posed:
"Ugh." Is all Peter replies, before he's walking off to one side of the cargo bay to the water crates, "Crossing Dr Pepper off my list of edible Terra products." Peter grunts as he takes put a water bottle and begins to chug.

A few moments later, "Man, I didn't expect to spit it out. You give me something new, and that might happen." Peters responds with a definite griping to his tone.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"What?" Rocket rushes over to dry and dry up some of the foamy soda spit from his more sensitive collection of weaponry, "Aw come on... it's gonna be all sticky now.. trigger assembly gonna lock up in the head of a fight..." The last part is grumbled to himself with harsh glares directed at Peter over his shoulder where the captain is sucking down water.

"Ya coulda TURNED YER HEAD!" Flailing, with a massive rifle in hand, "It's gonna feel like Groot dripped sap all over'em!" Whining quietly as he dries. "Flipflops, Quill.. I'd definitely wear'em. And I'd put on a mask while yer sleepin', cus I aint forgettin' this.." Motioning around with a rag.

Star-Lord has posed:
"You know there are solvents for that, right? You're the engineer on this boat, go and get the breakdown chems." Peter points out after he's finished with half the bottle, and starts to head over to the chemical crates, rummaging for said solvents, "Not that... definitely not that... That? Nah, too smelly... ah, there we go."

He pulls out a spray container of Nova Corps degreaser, and starts to head over to Rocket, "this is the stuff they use for their own messes, right? Should work." Peter helpfully hands it over.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"I KNOW THAT!" Rocket shouts unnecessarily, still manually drying off the weapons until Peter comes over with the solvent, "You think I don't know, but I knew. I put it there..." Just flustered for the sake of being flustered, at least he cannot have red cheeks with all that coarse fur.

When the solvent is in range he snatches for it and squinty glares, then goes to work making sure the soda doesn't get all sticky on the important part of the weapons. "It got actual Groot sap out of the power conduits when he was tryin' to be helpful huntin' bugs." Huddled over his weapons like a hen over her eggs, liberally spraying them with the solvent, "Where is the big idiot anyways?"

Star-Lord has posed:
Peter heads over to the weapons bench, takes his element guns, and holsters them. Another moment, and the Jetboot attachments are around his anklets again and setting themselves up for flight. "I have no idea. He didn't come up for the vacation day, so I assume he's dealing with something below." Peter clucks his tongue, "I'm sure he'll contact us if he's in trouble. He's a resourceful one."

Peter clicks the Jetboots on for a quick hover test, then clicks them off, before he starts to head up to the bridge, "I need to go get a status update on surface operations anyway. I'll check for you."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket grunts and up nods while still spraying liberal quantities of solvent on his biggest, most preciousest, rifle. "Probably pickin' frakin' flowers. World full of scum drek of the galaxy an' that idiot will find the only patch of green left." A few shakes of the can assures that it is quite empty and with a groan he turns to throw it at a trash bin, "We need more solvent." Off handed, but at least he doesn't sound furious anymore.

Quick to anger, quick to cool.

"Soon's I finish puttin' convertin' neutron grenades for my rifle launcher I'll be ready to go back down. Tell'em to leave me some people to capture-" Quote unquote with clawed fingers, "-If this war's over before I get to blow up more people, Imma be real sore."

With that out of the way, the engineer goes to check on Milano systems while he's got the time. Wouldn't do for the old bird to give them hell if they need to get off the world quickly. "Spittin' sugar water all over my guns. Rude." Under his breath as he gets to work in a tight crawl space.