7517/Pub Crawl

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Pub Crawl
Date of Scene: 17 May 2019
Location: Burnout Pub, Garnet (Knowhere)
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Lobo, Drax, Rocket Raccoon

Lobo has posed:
    The glitz and glamor of the main booths may have attracted some, but for the gruff Czarnian, he wasn't in the partying mood tonight. Instead he was sat at one of the back booths, mostly obscured in shadow save for the glowing ember of a cigar, and his blood-red eyes gleaming outward dangerously.

    Of course there were reasons, he'd just been on a massive hunt prior to this, a chase after a deadbeat dad that turned into a war of attrition against an entire planetwide cult. Wearing their faces and asses around his ankles was a good bit of fun, and in the end he'd gotten the mangled corpse of his bounty for a nice bit of scratch, but now he was mellowing, coming down from the high he'd been riding.

    Besides, a bit of relaxation never hurt, right?

Drax has posed:
    "I do not think they were Gamora's underthings," Drax is saying to Rocket with a firm decisiveness. "Or she would seem quite bulky. Gamora is not bulky, but sleek and deadly." Drax is merely walking, with his even strides, though he does keep expectantly stopping, instead of requiring Rocket keep up with his breakneck long-strided speed. They are having a conversation, after all.

    "Perhaps they were Quill's underthings. I would not bet against such an idea," Drax adds, while actually slowing to look around, and re-establish exactly where they have ended up. If Rocket has a drink or area preference, there's good time to voice it, before Drax gets something else into his head.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
Rocket got the Milano flying, but just enough to limp into Knowhere to get replacement parts for the damage the astroids laid upon the battered ship. While here, however, he needs a drink so while they're here it's off to the burnout for some really cheap, highly toxic alcoholic beverages. "HAH yeah, yer prolly right. I was pretty sure there was a poop stain. I didn't wanna think Gamora had sharted, but..." Big shrug of his tiny shoulders as he strolls in beside Drax as if he's a dozen feet taller than he actually is. "I hate assumin' anything when it comes to her."

Lobo has posed:
    Lobo had really been planning on just keeping to himself, maybe a few barrels of booze in he'd make his way over to Contraxia a few planets over. Or maybe he'd just pass out in some rathole somewhere and fade into darkness for a few hours. Instead, he saw an interesting sight that caused a sneer to form upon his gruff, ghost-white face.

    "Hey boys, looks like itza small worlds after all!"

    He spoke as he was already walking up behind them, slinging an arm over Drax's shoulder was ruffling the top of Rocket's head in a way he knew the little mongrel would hate. For a guy like Lobo, antagonism was a form of camraderie. Unless it was being used as a form of antagonism. He was a complicated guy that way.

    "Whats' a guys like you doin' here, Clyde? Figured you guyz would be off savin' hawk-princes from snarebeasts or sumthin'."

Drax has posed:
"You must have a very perceptive ability to determine poop, furry one. Myself, I did not notice if there was a stain upon the pants, for there was much to look at of far greater engagement," Drax says, perking up and smiling broadly at the memory of his job, which included a large explosion in space. Heroism and explosions!

"I do not think hawk-princes give good bounty," Drax replies, straight, but doesn't fight or disrupt the 'friendly' approach or touch to his shoulder, beyond to slightly lift the shoulderblade to dislodge Lobo from lingering there. "But we did have a most heroic day," Drax proclaims importantly.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"They slid across the viewport.. It was right there in my face." Rocket protests with a fangy frown, motoining out ahead of him to indicate relative distance from which he was able to observe poop shorts, Quill poop shorts, maybe. Possibly Gamora's though. "I don't have extraturdrestrial powers or nuthin', bu-"

Ruffling of his head by a big hand.

Rocket goes into flail mode and shakes himself loose of this friendly petting, "I'll bite yeah and I aint had my shots this year! I'll tear ya limb from limb and eat yer in- oh, hey Lobo." Surprisingly calm for having had mostly antagonistically comradery from the bigger bounty hunter. "He's right." Thumbing towards Drax, "We beat the frak outta some astroids. Quill's fault. Completely."

Lobo has posed:
    Lobo wasn't too deterred by the Atlas Shrug from Drax, and kept his grin when Rocket turned feral. It was something he liked to see, someone's strength or their savagery. He liked to see who someone really was underneath all them words and book schooling. As he trailed behind the two, halos of dark smoke billowed into the sky between them courtesy of the Main Man's smoking habits, between that and the open frosted glass bottle of something heavy and strong in his other hand, it was clear that he'd been enjoying himself already.

    "Hey, whaddaya boys say ya join me over at my booth an' get some drinks an' some floozies or snake dancers, whichever ya prefer, it's on me. I gots a...proposition that I think a pair'a business dweebs like yerself might be interested in. Lotsa danger, lotsa money, lotsa fun."

    He looked between the two, his glance and glare changing between them. Rocket being appraised as a possible business venture, while Drax was appraised as a possible threat. Their last fight had nearly reduced this entire station to rubble, to the point where these two being in the same room was probably a source of tension for many of the flimsier, less hardy patrons.

Drax has posed:
"Neither of us are 'dweebs'," Drax asserts, in a firm deadpan, in a way that most would find dangerous, but is really just Drax being informative about facts. It isn't him threatening, even if it sounds a lot like an angry threat.

"I will hear you. Show us where the drinks and other entertainment is," Drax declares, expectant that Rocket will come to. Or not; Rocket can go with his own choices, Drax doesn't usually check with anyone before he decides to do things. Ever.

In fact, he's already walking towards where Lobo indicated.

Rocket Raccoon has posed:
"Lotsa dangers and lotsa money..." Rocket's ears roll back at the mention of these two things, but it could just as easily be the promise of booze and fluzzies. He has no use for one of those things, but the booze are right up his alley, "Alright, big guy, ya got our attention." Scratching at the back of one ear as he moves along with the pair, flicking his claws through the fur just at the base of said ear.

"Now..." climbing up on a seat. Some might think it makes him less intimidating to require climbing into a regular person sized seat, but he is not flustered by such people and their poor choices in targets. "What kinna units for what kinna danger is we talkin'?"