7511/Glorious Laughter

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Glorious Laughter
Date of Scene: 16 May 2019
Location: Milano
Synopsis: Rocket and Drax deal with a sudden life and death situation on the Milano.
Cast of Characters: Drax, Rocket Raccoon

Drax has posed:
The area just outside of the bunks looks like a meteor hit it. Or someone who was piloting didn't realize many objects were not tied down or the doors closed in the zone of the bunks.

Doing nothing about the problem, nothing at all, is Drax, located roughly in the center of the doorway to his own bunk, with hands resting at the sides of his belt, as he surveys the array of personal items with a sort of bemused, thoughtful separation.

The other crew members have a great deal of personal items; Drax has always had very few, overall. The percentage of upset belongings that actually belong to Drax is low. "Everyone owns a lot of shoes," Drax remarks of the pile.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket, by comparison, owns a great many personal items. Most of these items only belong to him in the sense that they are now in his posession and have very little to do with traditional market ownership, such as the bodx full of cybernetic eyes that has topled over and roll around like marbles with no rational dictation as to course or care for where they end up. Some of those items are very dangerous, grenades both manufactured by arms industries and created right here on the Milano out of crap that was laying around.

All of them have no problem with exploding.

Or, as it turns out, rolling around and bumping against things.

"What the actual hell happened!" The Raccoon shouts as he crawls from beneath his over turned bunk, unaware of the catalyst for this catatrophy, "Is this Quill's fault? This has to be Quill's fault..." Now chasing a neutron grenade doing its very best to strike the primary switch against a table leg. It don't care, it kills indiscriminately.

Drax has posed:
"For what reason do you possess so many eyes? Is it a collection?" Drax wants to know, ignoring Rocket's demand at first, and focused more on the things in front of him. He waits for Rocket to scoot past him, chasing the death bomb, before carefully stepping over something black and leather that he'd guess to be Gamora's. It is fairly badass and does not belong to him: so, Gamora's.

"If I needed to see behind me or I were very paranoid, I would own extra eyes," Drax shares. "The ship rotated unexpectedly." That's the information Drax is aware of. "Were my skull not so hard, I might have been killed."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"What?" Rocket dives ontop of the grenade to keep it from rolling any further and tucks it up against his chest with both clawed hands, "Why wouldn't I have a box of eyes?" Why does the sun rise and set, he wondered. Sitting on his butt on the deck, Rocket twists the top of the grenade and then tosses it over his shoulder like it's harmless... there are so many things on the ground to worry about, no sense wasting anymore time being concerned about a disarmed weapon.

"Rotated unexpectedly? We're suppose to be in orbit over (incert name of prison world here)..." The tiny mercenary bounces to his feet and looks in the direction of the cockpit, but rather than head that way, slaps his hand against the intercom after standing up on a box to reach it. "Who's in the cockpit?" No answer, right. Back to Drax, "Yeah, yer hard headed, we're all very lucky you pulled through, help me get the ship online. I think Quill parked us in a frakin astroid belt."

Drax has posed:
"It was not luck." Drax considers the suggestion. "That would be a very idiotic place to stop," Drax says, headpan, exposition coming easy to him. "It must have been Quill," Drax agrees, and then, with an over-large and cautious step, leans to climb over an unknown box of something he's suspicious might also explode, to head towards the cockpit.

Another object impacts the port side of the hull, sending everything to lurch to the side; Drax throws a hand upwards to grasp onto a hold at the ceiling, but the leather clothes tumble against his legs. "Perhaps Quill is driving but is drunk. Or asleep. I will awaken him, if so," Drax states, climbing towards the cockpit.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket wordlessly snap points at Drax's correction and hops down from the box to follow a few steps behind and several feet lower than his companion. Usually pretty sure of foot, he still almost tumbles over his own feet when the ship rocks against another object in space and grabs hold of the ladder leding up to the cockpit with one hand to stablize himself. "Yeah, if he's asleep at the controls again, he better hope it's a good dream because it's definitely his last dream."

Climbing upwards, elaborating for Drax, "Cus Imma kill him. So he wont dream no more." One hand lays against the bulkhead to keep him upright as the ship continues stuttering against its own stablizing thrusters, "Quill! Wake up you big stupid idiot! Yer sleep flyin' again!"

Drax has posed:
"A dead man would drive better than this," Drax attests, "for he would not move the ship into asteroids." Drax climbs up towards the cockpit and then automatically reaches backwards and down into the ladder, intending to try to simply physically grab Rocket's backpack and haul him up and through. He has no intention to carry Rocket, just pull him through the area where it's dangerous for the smaller Guardian.

There is some rocking and bouncing around, but Drax can take his shoulder being slammed into a bulkhead, and protect Rocket from that. It isn't like Drax is a pilot, anyway; him steering the ship anywhere is only marginally better than a corpse.

"There was no one in the cockpit," Drax states from his higher vantage point.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket barely flails when he's hoisted up through the hatch and bounds after Drax on all fours towards the cockpit, "We keep hittin' astroids with the power down an we're gonna know a lot about the effectiveness of corpse flyin'. Cus we'll all be dead.. which I don't want to be." He keeps losing his footing and sliding across the floor, or having to bound up against the wall and jump off to keep from smacking flat into it. Drax's physical frame keeps him from the worst of it though.

"Ugh, of course not. That moron left us drifting on low power." Rocket leaps up and over Drax's shoulder, onto the pilot seat, and swings down into it while still grumbling as he takes the controls. "I don't even see the damn planet we were orbitin'." Just a bunch of multi-sized astroids smacking against the viewport. Quick hands brings the power back online and they're moving steadily out of the stream of passing space debries. "Stupid a-hole. When do we mutiny? That's my question."

Drax has posed:
Drax heads over to grab the back of the chair Rocket settles into, to steady himself, with one hand. The other hand lifts to the ceiling, to anchor there as well, his stance wide. He peers aggressively out of the window at the offending rocks.

There was no attempt to go for the pilot seat: not with Rocket there! "If I were out there, I would swat the rocks away," Drax says, frustrated that he's ineffective. He would do it, too. "I do not know about a mutiny schedule."

Drax turns his eyes from the main viewport to read the console of damage. "There is a fire in the cargo area. Continue to steer, I will go," Drax says. He'll probably be on communicator. Probably. He started to go, until another rock hit their fleeing backside, and Drax is flung off balance into one of the other chairs, tangled in a flight harness. "Let go of me, infernal safety mechanism," Drax demands of the belts.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"It's not too late to give that a go." Rocket says in a distracted, split attention sort of voice as he steers the ship with growing alacrity through the onslaught of varying sized rock missiles. He can't dodge all of them, though.. honestly he can't dodge many of them at all. They're moving very quickly and the width of the band is a lot wider than he'd initially suspected. "This aint an astroid belt." He observes outloud, just as they're struck in the rump by a bigger than usual astroid.

He glances to the side at Drax, caught in the grasp of the Doom Belt, then at the systems monitor, "That last hit took out one of our thrusters too.. one more like that an' we're gonna be stuck here." His brow furrows, "Move yer arm back o- no, you're makin' it wor- just cut the straps!" The desire to flail is growing, but that would mean releasing the controls.

Rocket routes more power to the remaining engine, "Remember that neutron grenade? Take one of the environmental suits and head into the cargo hold, seal the door behind you, and open the hatch. Then throw the grenade out there... it'll create a repulsive vortex we can fly into unti this thing passes or I can get the shields back online."

His head bobs from side to side, "That or blow us up."

Drax has posed:
Drax attempts to follow the instruction of moving his arm back, and the rest of it... "RUUUUGHHH," Drax finally roars, stepping forward. The whole seat pulls up and after him, stuck to his back and left arm. He's taking his safety on the road with him.

And then Rocket gives MORE detailed instructions. "I don't need a suit," Drax says, as if that were the only part of the information he retained, but he trots quickly towards the ladder, dragging the chair as a weird, mangled backpack. He doesn't, at least, get stuck in the ladder well, and disappears to the lower hallway.

On the comm a few moments later: "Which of these grenades is it? There is a large number of them. .... I will use the box."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket half watches this one sided combat with a seat and would usually find it all very amusing, frustratingly so since he'll have to fix that, but he's preoccupied with trying to avoid the large bits of rock hurtling at them with just the one active engine. "This is why we can't have nice things..." He does manage that much, snickering with all his fangs visible when he imagines how upset Peter is going to be over the damage to his precious Milano.

While he manages, barely, to avoid the big death rocks, the smaller ones in large enough quantity are just as dangerous. Pelting against the safety glass with nothing, but void space to keep them moving. "This looks like..." Murmuring, the thought is cut off when Drax asks which grenade, "No, not the whole box!" Almost certainly too late now that the Destroyers mind is made up. "It's the long one with the two blinkin' blue buttons on either end. It looks like it has liquid in it..." Adding to himself, "Ah who'm I kiddin', he's definitely using the whole box.. Brace for impact!"

Turning is slow, sluggish, and leaves the starboard flank open like a fighters rib-cage. It's gonna get interesting back in that cargo hold. Lots of heavy stuff not properly secured and all.

Drax has posed:
Drax is definitely using the box; mostly because he's not in an area where he can hear very well over the sound of the rock impacts and his own tunnel-vision heroism. He affixes himself safely in the cargo hold after pushing a rolling metal rack out of the way, and mostly follows the instructions he was given.


The vortex is about to be very large. The box also contained a pair of leather pants and two eyes, which, as the explosion starts to manifest, zing past the viewports. There's also the maniac sound of Drax's laughter, which must be very loud indeed into the comms, considering the other sounds going on.

Then, the chair, and the pieces of safety harness go by, tumbling.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
VERY large.

With a concussive whooop as one grenade ignites the next in a concophany of exlosions, astroid chunks are sent flying in oposite direction to their original and begin to collid with one another like huge marbles (A running theme apparently). The force of their motion is disrupted completely and a small space opens up around the explotion point where no astroids are yet redirected from their collition with one another.

Complete chaos creates serene calm and Rocket pilots the Milano around after righting it from a tumble created by the explosion. Things in the cargo hold hit the roof, then the port side hull, and then the floor again as he barrel rolls back and around. All to the sound of Drax's obnoxiously loud laughter bleeding through the comms like one of Quill's songs.

One Guardian's laughter is met with anothers when Rocket sees a torn and burn pair of Gamora's leather pants with a cybernetic leg half visible in the tattered edges strike the glass and slide backwards along with an eye and what looks suspiciously like a metalic mandible. "HAHA! Oh man, why is nobody else seein' this.." More laughter, endless and shrill as he brings the ship to a halt inside the safety zone. "Oh that's rich." Breathless, into comms, "I think we're good, but Gamora's under wear just floated by and she's gonna be so pissed..." EVEN. MORE. LAUGHTER.

Drax has posed:
"I am seeing this!!" Drax shouts needlessly through the communications, with how robust laughter still heavy. He's now in a pile of cargo and other problems from the explosion that blew him back inside the ship so strongly. While laughing, he's unearthing himself back there, but is close enough to the cargo controls to lean up to slam a hand on the closure.

"Gamora should have been here to protect her belongings," Drax decides evenly, as he gets to his feet, looking around the disarray of the cargo --- and simply turns his back on it, striding back to the hallway, headed towards the cockpit.

Drax is pitch black with explosion debris, aside from his eerie red eyes in the soot-covered face, and the areas of his hands where he has handled things and brushed off the grit. Most of his pants are intact: but not all.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket goes through a quick post-flight and brings them into a low power setting. Life support systems and enough backup that he can get the shields back online once he's fixed whatever brought them down in the first place. Then he unhooks from his seat and swings out with a little clank of his claws against the deckplates, still laughing when Drax joins him in the cockpit.

Mostly insane laughter of someone that's barely survived certain death, but it's still laughter.

"Maybe, but we need to get our story straight.." Wiping a tear from beneath his right eye, "So here's what happened.. Peter screwed something up and we fixed it." Chopping both hands so that it's contained within a neat, metaphorical, box. "If we're pressed to explain further, we fixed it very heroically."

Drax has posed:
"My story is very straight, with no bends!" Drax proclaims, still excited, a huge grin on his face displaying the white teeth in his dusty continence. "The ship required a large explosion to cause it to survive," Drax 'agrees'. "It does seem very apparent it is Quill's fault, for he is responsible for many things on the ship," Drax comments, willing to go along with everything, by the sound of it.

"Your pilot skill was quite heroic, furred creature," Drax says fondly to Rocket, and with absolute honesty. Drax does think exactly that. "I shall defend that fact should anyone disagree, for they were not here to see it."

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"The important thing is that Peter is stupid and we're not." Rocket's laughter is dying down, but it's not gone yet. There's a lot of work to do, fixing the shields and getting the other engine back online. For now they're safe in their little bubble of space. "See if you can't figure out where we are while I'm gettin' the broken stuff unbroke." He kicks a panel an opens the small hatch so he can crawl inside.

"We're gonna need cameras when Gamora gets back cus I definitely wanna see her face when she sees how dumb Quill is." This is absolutely the most important part for him. Everything else is secondary, at best.