Rocket Gunbunny
Roleplaying Log: Rocket Gunbunny
IC Details

One illegal arms deal. One Japanese tuner. One albino with a ton of guns. And one fuzzy critter named Rocket.

Other Characters Referenced: Groot, Star-Lord, Gamora, Warlock
IC Date: June 11, 2019
IC Location: Gotham
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 12 Jun 2019 02:37
Rating & Warnings: R for violence, some language
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

It's another one of those nights in Gotham. It's been fairly quiet, all things considered. The clouds hang thick in the air, retaining much of the heat of the day. The conditions seem perfect for something to go sideways in a big way.

A run-down warehouse has been given a bit more life in the occasional shady dealings such as the one currently underway. Three different vehicles form a line on one end, a two SUVs with doors kept open and a single van complete with a myriad of weaponry left on display in the back. On the other end is a single silver Mitsubishi Lancer with only one soul on board. Headlights are left on, providing the only source of illumination in the area. Eight people on the selling end in total.

One of the eight steps forward, a man with very dark skin and dredlocks which fall past his shoulders. Despite the warmth he wears a long coat but nothing underneath, showing a strip of his stomach and chest which clearly shows that the guy is ripped as hell. His arms come out to the sides slightly as a large, toothy grin lights up his face. "Aah..there she is," he speaks with a thick Afrikaan accent. "We have been waiting for you, Domino."

The lady in question is dressed all in black with only her face and fingertips showing, both similarly detailed in black but with skin as white as a sheet. "Little Jacob. If I knew this was going to be a party I would have dressed up a little."

Jacob somehow grins bigger. "We are good with casual." Then he motions forward with both hands. "Come."

There are, in fact, many weapons here to see.


This isn't a party one simply receives an invitation to, clearly. You had to know people. Or know people who knew people. Or be near people who knew people, and failing that, rough 'em up a bit until they happened to babble some interesting information.

Rocket lowers his macrobinoculars with a thoughtful hum and a toothy grin on his face. Perched on some old cargo crates, he'd been eyeballing the goods and the small group of people present as he considered his options. Usually things were hit or miss when he waltzed in looking for a deal, enough that by now he was somewhat renowned, if not in name, then definitely by face and reputation.

And if he couldn't score some sweet artillery, that silver car right there would be a nice consolation prize.

It's not long after Domino's gestured over to further inspect the goods that a smaller figure makes his approach, his silhouette strange for the rectangular bundle slung over his shoulder and the hooded jacket he wears. There's no mistaking that he's not human, not with the ringed tail and the gleam of his eyes in the depths of that hood.


The smaller hooded figure is free to take his time on the approach. With the fixed positioning of the cars and their headlights there are plenty of shadows which are not in any danger of changing without warning. Half of the dealers are spread out, one to a 'corner' to keep guard while the other four stay up close to deal with the ghost lady.

'Little Jacob' had made an attempt to seem open and welcoming but there is a definite tension in the air. It's that sort of feeling of people who haven't interacted with one another enough for there to be any sense of trust. Or perhaps there's something more to it…

As Domino starts to look at the goods there's a motion from Jacob, bringing out a polished gold 1911 from beneath his coat and aiming it at the base of the woman's skull. As soon as the safety is flicked off the energy changes like a giant net being snared shut.

The goth looking chick goes very, very still with a "Jacob, what the -actual fuck?-"

"You be a hard woman to find, Miss Domino, but Obesandjo be sendin' his regards."

The timing couldn't be any more perfect. One of the 'quarter' guards suddenly barks out a word in another language and brings his submachine gun up. The others quickly follow. It would appear that they have an uninvited guest.

A very..very -short- uninvited guest. One with something odd looking riding upon his shoulder.

One guard yells "Stay where you are!"

Jacob turns back to Dom with a brow raised. "You have brought backup?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, asshole," the albino replies.


"Huh. Funny way'ta handle business," notes the small intruder. To be fair, he does stop. No one told him to shut up though. "Unless of course this is a demonstration of the goods, in which case it kinda seems pointless if yer doin' it to a potential buyer."

Rocket glances around, sizing up the men guarding the perimeter, and then as though dismissing them he looks right over where Jacob and Domino stand. "Oh, don't mind me. I was just browsin'. Didn't wanna get my hopes up, I mean come on, Terran weapons are kinda nice in this rustic sorta way but they ain't got nothin' on a Darflekian Neutralizer. Ohoho…those're fun," he says as he waves a hand, moving to inspect the goods.

Which of course means he's no longer standing where he'd been ordered to, because pfft, he don't take orders from these people!


The short figure is able to get away with an alarming amount on account of everyone being so freaking dumbstruck at what they're all seeing. -And- hearing! They're all hearing quite a lot which doesn't seem to make any sense. Once he starts to move all -seven- of Jacob's men raise their weapons and bark a word of warning or some such at the intruder, though funny enough? No one seems to be trying to stop him.

Jacob and Domino are similarly perplexed. 'Terran weapons?' 'Darflekian Neutralizer?' Say -what?-

The albino speaks first. "Sooo..does that mean you've got something better to offer?"

Jacob's arm goes rigid in holding the blinged out sidearm at her. "Silence, woman!"

Dom lightly shrugs. "It's a legitimate question! I mean, if this guy's got leads on some better tech then why am I wasting my time on you idiots?"

The offerings here are so completely Terran. Basic small arms, a lone single shot grenade launcher which was probably picked up out of the dirt in Vietnam. Some pipe bombs these guys must have cobbled together, which look ..serviceable. They don't need to be pretty.

Jacob's gettin' mad now. "Your business here is over! You are coming with us!"

"Which means you aren't going to kill me," the pale woman concludes with a rolling of eyes. "Thanks for the heads up."

If Rocket tries to touch any of their hardware then the situation is going to take another sharp detour. Messing with the merchandise is grounds for immediately being grabbed for with the intention of tossing him to the ground in order to shoot without damaging their own supplies. They're kind of possessive like that.


That grin. It's sharp and for those that aren't familiar with it, potentially dangerous. Rocket glances back over his shoulder towards Domino. "Babe, I got waaaay better than this crap. Present company included." Yeah, guess there'll be no business done tonight. "That ain't no way to make a sale, big guy. Or a date. Can't help it if the lady's got taste!"

He lets that insult soak in a few as he eyes the grenade launcher, hands slipping from his pockets, slender, clawed fingers, flexing eagerly with every intention of touching the thing. With the way these guys are eyeballing him he's sure they won't let him get away with much.

But oh does he love to push buttons! Both figurative and literal.


There is -so much that is wrong- with how this is unfolding. The boldness of the curious little creature, complete with a ringed freaking tail and small clawed fingers and a complete disregard for his own continued survival which rivals Domino's own Devil may care attitude…

He's gearing up to get himself shot.

Neena recognizes a window when she sees one.

The motion is sudden and violent as she ducks, spins about, and snares Jacob's outstretched arm within her own. The problem with those tricked out 1911's? They're known for hair triggers. For a guy with more money than sense his trigger discipline a word..atrocious. Suddenly having his arm shoved out of the way he doesn't know what else to do but yelp in surprise.

And bump that hair trigger.

The guard nearest to Rocket takes a .45 hollow-point clean through the side of his head, almost comically flopping onto his side as severed nerves leave the rest of him twitching as if he got hit by a taser.

Suddenly that gold pistol is in the albino's hand. Jacob is looking very, very confused. In a single heartbeat it's like everyone suddenly forgot all about the peculiar hooded raccoon in favor of 'oh shit start shooting!'


Huh! Things going off and here he hasn't even grabbed a weapon yet!

Rocket's hands hover centimeters from the grenade launcher, but at the sound of the shot going off he goes rigid, head ducking out of reflex, turning to watch as the nearby guard topples right over. Oh. Well then.

As chaos erupts all around, which the little Guardian probably counted on happening sooner or later, he turns, fuzzy brows lifting as Domino's turned the tables on Jacob. "Now this is a party," he says appreciatively. With everyone whipping out their weapons and looking twitchy, he hardly wants to be left out. He tugs the covering off of the odd bulk he'd been hauling behind him, swinging the thing over his shoulder.

Uncovered, it's clearly a weapon, a rifle judging from the grip and trigger, and the extension of a barrel under a decidedly sharklike facade. With a roll of his shoulder and a nice crisp click, the thing extends to a length nearly as long as the raccoonoid is tall. He swings it around, takes aim at one of the two SUVs and with a pull of the trigger blows a sizzling hole through one of its open doors.


Remember that moment of confusion when the small figure had first been noticed?

That's happening a second time as he hauls out some manner of rifle which is on a whole different playing field from what -everyone else has- and puts a hole into one of the SUVs. It may not be the shot heard around the world but for the eight other people left in this warehouse, they all heard it pretty damn clearly.

A party, indeed.

And now the little guy has officially made himself an active shooter. Which means, he's also a target.

The three remaining guards further outside of the pack all focus on Rocket, wary of hitting their own people and their own goods but a lot more willing to lay on the triggers of their SMGs.

Jacob winds up getting pistol-whipped by his own gun and is left curled up on the floor.

Domino is -also- on the floor but with only her head and shoulders touching. She somehow got her feet locked around one of the closer guy's necks long enough to be able to shoot him up through the bottom of the jaw.

Two down and one stunned. Five more to go. All that's missing is the edgy techno and flashing lights.


Well, the day just doesn't feel complete without someone shooting at him. Rocket jerks to the side when the first of those shots trained in his direction come flying. "An' here I thought I'd be nice by throwing a warning shot! Well don't blame me if you guys're the ones who wanna do things the hard way!" he shouts, swinging his rifle around to take aim. His hand dances over a few of the knobs and switches on the side, sliding the thing into another mode with practiced ease. When his finger depresses the trigger the shots come out in short bursts. He didn't particularly get any jollies killing anyone but hey, if these guys aren't holding back then why should he?

As he fires he dashes off towards his original target of interest: that Lancer!


Before tonight Domino never understood the 'pew pew' meme that seems to be flooding the gun community. Now it's all starting to make a bit more sense…

Conditions aren't fantastic for the dealer crew. They can't seem to hit their marks when they're lucky enough to see them. The two 'customers' don't have any of these concerns. Domino has the forethought to keep low while the shortest person here points that scary big AMAZING rifle up high.

The dealers don't stand a friggin' chance. In short order they're all put down. Jacob is left with a concussion. Domino is left with an empty gun aimed down at the guy. "You lucky sonuvabitch." Rocket is—

He's going for Neena's car.

Pale blue eyes snap wide open with a hissed "Mother—" The gaudy 1911 is flung aside as she goes -sprinting- for the Lancer. At least the raised rally spoiler gives her something to hang onto because that's exactly what she's diving for!

So much for scoring some extra firepower tonight. It pains her to no end to walk away from that pile of what SHOULD have been free after dealing with Jacob and his stupid antics.

What they have pales to what she's got in the trunk of that Lancer.


Hey, it's a shiny car. How can he resist?

Rocket slides into the thing easily, setting the rifle down and slinging a pack off his shoulder to rummage around. He pulls something boxlike in beaten chrome, hitting a button as he slides it under him before grabbing hold of the wheel. Metal appendages of a sort unfold and hover over the pedals, the rest of the encasing acting as a booster seat to compensate for his slight stature.

He rams a foot on a metal pedal that in turn hits the corresponding one to the car as he shifts into reverse and wheels the vehicle about sharply. Then he guns it, unaware of any extra passengers- at least until he reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror. Eyes narrow, but accompanying it, a smirk. He's not entirely sure why the lady's hitched a ride but he figures either she's looking for a quick get-away, she really wants to talk shop with him or… oh flark. This thing her's? Well, he did say she had taste.


How is that short critter reaching the pedals?! Domino can't see the fancy piece of tech being employed on the inside. All she knows is that toothy little raccoonish grin is sitting behind the wheel and backing away from her at a very brisk pace.

As soon as he spins it around and shifts into first she has her chance. The albino latches onto the wing in the same moment that the Lancer launches itself forward, prompting a startled yelp from the clinger-on as her feet are swept out from under her!

The next couple of seconds are one hell of a trip. Leaving the warehouse involves a quick drop, a couple of sharp turns, traversing some heavily worn pavement complete with lots of bumps, nothing that a car with some rally heritage can't handle.

Neena, on the other hand, is getting pretty battered. The first chance she gets a combat knife is driven into the back window, hitting it just right to shatter the safety glass and give her a chance to roll into the back seats. Roughly.

She's not sure whether to thank the critter for the assist or bitch him out for stealing her ride. So, she opts for Door 3: "Who the -hell- are you!"


"HEY!" For the offense the Guardian takes at the broken window one would think it's his car or something. He throws a look over his shoulder before focusing back on the road ahead. At least he's proving a pretty good driver, weaving his way to more public streets to put as much distance as he can between them and the weapons dealers. In hindsight he supposes he should've taken out their tires, but he'd been winging it.

"Name's Rocket," he replies conversationally, red-brown eyes flicking towards the rearview every now and then to glance at the pale-faced woman in the back. "Now if yer gonna kiss me wait 'till we're stopped, but if you wanna kill me then get in line." 'cuz it's a pretty long line.


All of that rapid lane changing is playing hell with the pale lady now residing within the very cramped back area. If there had been more legroom she would have been on the floor. There's a lot of thumping and clunking going on. Somewhere along the way the blade gets lost, slipping outside of easy reach.

At length she gets a death grip on the seats and brings her head up beween them both, turning a look to the driver..then slowly looking at the mechanical contraption which is allowing him to drive.


THAT was NOT there when she stepped out before! This is some serious Men in Black stuff, right here!

"Okay, first off—" she starts in before getting unceremoniously slammed into the side of the interior with another sharp lane change. "Dammit!" Okay. "The line starts -here- 'cause I'm the only one close enough to strangle you stupid. -Second-" her limbs dart out to brace her through another quick maneuver, "keep your foot down. Those chuckleheads probably have reinforcements."

After all, Jacob had known she was coming. That he had only brought seven enforcers was kind of insulting after what she did to Obesandjo!


Rocket's had plenty of time to work out things on Terra, Earth as it appeared to be officially called, neither name very imaginative so far as he was concerned. He'd been in the market for a nice ride to replace the worn out PT Cruiser he and Groot had claimed off the streets a long while back, and while it's annoying that these vehicles are made for people decidedly not of his height, it hasn't stopped him.

Case in point.

His ears flick back as Domino talks, and he laughs a bit with the warning she gives. "Lady, this is Gotham. If it's not those guys, it'll be somethin' else. But considerin' the guy seemed eager to haul you off, you seem'ta be a hot commidity for someone." The car veers down another street, picking up speed again the moment it's around the corner. "-so if someone starts shootin' at me, I'm blaming you." Because he's pretty sure he hasn't done anything to piss anyone off lately. Unless of course you count that Jacob guy and his men back there then yeah, that's probably fair.

"So you got a name or do I gotta make one up?"


The albino lady sighs and hangs her head. "I am -well- aware of that, thank you." Then "I don't think he's too happy with what I did to his former boss but he had it comi—Whoa!"


"Hey, if any fingers are gonna get pointed I've got first call. You tried to stealARE stealingmy damn car."

A car which she is suddenly very tempted to just give this guy if she has a chance to first get her gear out of and swap to something else. She had stolen it a couple of weeks ago and it's been involved in a couple of situations since then. Juuust a little hot. Plus it's missing a rear window.

The lady hastily brushes crumbs of safety glass away then wedges herself sideways between the back seats. Then a hand comes up to a fresh bump on her forehead. "Yeah. I'm Domino. Help me out here, Rocket. What am I missing." An upward flick of a hand is followed with "I'm being driven around by a talking raccoon on a booster seat that came straight out of one of A.I.M.'s LSD tests. And let's not forget the -gun- which is twice as tall as he is. That's kind of an important one. What's your deal?"


A cackle slips from him as Domino calls him on car theft. "Not like I knew it was your car! Then again I guess I shoulda- you were the only one back there that has taste." He feels this is important to mention.

"Okay Dom, first off- I ain't no raccoon!" This argument's more or less become reflex for him that he's managed to condense every bit of how much he hates it into those four words. "Ain't nothin' like me, but me," he continues with a snort, his focus on the road, keeping an eye out for any surprises.

"No idea what you're goin' off on with this A.I.M. business. But okay, sure. Quick version? I'm not from this dirtball planet. Me an' my crew got stuck here for a while 'cuz of stupid drunken Asgardian business, but we're all past that now." He waves a hand as though to underline that point. "Anyway, New York started being stupid so we moved operations out here."


When it's said once more that she has taste Domino gives a lax salute with the hand that was already holding her forehead.

To the first point, "Fair enough. I've never met one that could talk, anyway. But you have to admit there's a certain theme at play here." It wasn't all that long ago that she was fighting off a frog-dog demon ..thing.. that had jumped out of the screen of her phone. Dealing with whatever it is that Rocket might be, or not be, is total peanuts. Which is good because she's not quite prepared for the second point.

-Not from this dirtball planet.-

In a second she's grabbing onto the seatbacks again and bringing her head into view to stare at the critter which has chosen to possess her car. Maybe aliens are old news for a lot of the powered or mutant community, but for Neena this is first freaking contact.

No wait. Second. There was that guy that was some kind of techno-organic virus thingamajigger. That was just utterly bonkers. More of a living cartoon.

Mention of Asgardians has Whitey frowning in thought. She's heard that word before, hasn't she..? Whatever, it's not important. "I don't think my insurance covers extraterrestrial carjacking."

Psh, like she even HAS insurance.

Despite the situation she's bobbing her head in agreement. "The Big Apple's really fallen far from the tree lately." A slight pause, then "Sssoooooo…" What the heck does someone say to an alien? Let alone an adorable little monster like Rocket?

"There's more of you." Another idle bobbing of her head. "And you're living in the east coast armpit. My condolences. Though more importantly…"

Here the ghost girl in the back seat starts to grin.

"We like the same parties. Is your rifle seeing anyone right now?"


His eyes flick towards the mirror again, meeting her's as she stares at the back of his head. He gives a shrug. "More or less. Well, Star-Lord's from Terra originally but I guess it'd be easy'ta figure that out if you met everyone." Between the green-skinned chick, the raccoon and the tree? Yeah. It's sad when Peter Quill is the most normal-looking.

Rocket chuckles, likely agreeing with Domino's description of their current location. Even comparing the place to other cities he's been to in the galaxy, Gotham's just a sad mess. "Eh. I've been to worse places. …can't think of any off the top of my head but I'm sure I've been to worse."

At least it seems like Domino's easing up back there. He'd really hate to have to shoot her. He grins crookedly at her question.

"She's seein' me and if you touch her I'll chew your arm off," he casually replies. It'd been his favorite rifle even before the free Shark-people upgrade.

"This party was kinda on the lame side though, don't you agree?"


"Okay..what the heck is a 'Star-Lord?' Y'know what, nevermind. Forget I asked," Neena holds up a hand and quickly shakes her head. Having come from Earth and winding up with a name like that, she -really- doesn't need to know.

Been to places worse than Gotham? "I pity the life you've led. If you're ever on the other side of the globe you should check out Hightown in Madripoor. Way nicer than Lowtown, as to be expected."

At the warning Domino smirks. "Not to discount your threat or anything but that's pretty adorable."

Another thoughtful nod follows with Rocket's next question. "It was until we happened." Then it got to be some kind of interesting!

Another quick shift in the back has her steepling fingertips together along the contours of her nose, the missing rear window whipping her messy pile of ebony locks around. "You like this car, don't you." It comes across as more of a statement than a question. It's been pretty obvious for a while now. "Four blocks down on your right is an underground parking garage. Take us there and give me ten minutes and you can keep it."

"'s the catch," she holds up both index fingers to help make her point. "I'd probably be kicking myself forever if I didn't say this, but we should keep in touch. I've just got a feeling. That, and I am -totally- gonna try and hit you up for some big badass alien guns."


"I'm sure he'd regale you in that story if you asked him but it's probably better not to," Rocket agrees. This is after all someone who makes fun of Quill's chosen title on a regular basis.

Quietly he files away those names that Domino drops. He's always up for a little sightseeing! And something tells him that coming from this gal, it'd be a place worth checking out if he ever gets the chance.

His nose wrinkles as he's not sure what to make of her reaction to his threat. It's not adorable, it's supposed to be vicious and off-putting. But then it's also a hot chick telling him this so he's kind of torn. Grumbling a little, he doesn't linger too long on it as it seems they're at least in agreement about the highlights of the 'party' tonight, and Rocket steals another look in the mirror, the corner of his mouth tweaking upwards again.

"It's a nice ride, for a car," he concedes. Head tilting slightly, he however follows the directions given. Hey, if she's gonna let him keep the thing, who's he to argue?! Her addendum has him look over his shoulder again when they come to a stoplight, and he grins. "So yer askin' for my number, eh?" he winks. It seems like a very unnatural thing for him but he's been practicing.

"Okay, I can work with this. And for the right price, I can get you waaaay better than that junk those guys had."


Through all of this Domino can't help but watch Rocket's physical reactions to everything being said. Like many people she had it in mind that aliens were bizarre or freakish or creatures born of nightmares. Rocket here completely ruins the spread. He's -cute as hell!- Seriously, if he was a cartoon character when Domino was growing up in the Project this guy would have been the sort of character she would have grown up idolizing.

It is just -So.- -Weird.- And he's a good driver, too! It''s like a Weapon of Mass Destruction you can fit into a backpack and have a conversation with!

Yeah, she might be staring a little. But who could blame her?!

"Granted it isn't a spaceship but you'll get approximately half as many odd looks driving this around," she teases. It's time that she switched out her business vehicle, anyway. What's gonna happen if an alien not-raccoon is caught with a boosted car? Is GCPD going to try to arrest him?

Then comes the question, and the admission of "Yes. I am asking for your number. Do you even have a number?"

The right price. "If you accept Terran currency then I think this could be the beginning of a very interesting and profitable relationship."





Usually when he has people staring at him they're usually calling him awful names to boot. It'd be quite a turnaround if Rocket knew what Domino was thinking, although he'd still be a little torn. Well, sure, he can be cute. And deadly.

"True, nothin' beats a ship to get around but I guess once in a while bein' discreet's not a bad idea. And this baby's much nicer than the old thing we were usin' before." So shiny. Sure, he's got a window to fix and some upgrades to make, but it's a big step up!

"Do I have a number- yeah I got one, can't do anything around here without a phone. Terrans can't figure that they don't know how to walk with one either though, I dunno."

He grins again not long after. "I take all sorts of currency. Terran currency's always good, 'specially on Terra. Profitable relationship, two'a my favorite words, exclusively in that order."

Pulling the vehicle into the garage, Rocket makes sure they're still clear before he properly parks it. He'll provide Domino with his number and pop the trunk for her to get her things, which naturally he'll be curiously eyeballing.


Neena holds up her hands, "Well I didn't know! You came from another freaking planet, my ability to make any assumptions here is officially nil." This is followed with a chuckle. "You're right. People around here flip their shit if you take their phones away. I'd say cheesy something like 'welcome to Earth' but that might seem like an insult."

It's funny. By all counts tonight has been an absolute disaster, and yet Domino's got the biggest 'cat that got the canary' grin about her. This is easily the single strangest acquaintance which she's ever gotten, literally from worlds apart, and yet..they seem to get one another. Tonight's original plans may have gone to hell but she may have found something WAY better.

Then comes the swapping of vehicles.

Not everything is in the trunk.

Grenades and a spare burner phone from the glovebox.

Throwing knives from under the sun visors.

C4 from the center console.

A handgun from under the driver's seat.

A shotgun from beneath the rear bumper.

Two assault rifles from the trunk.

And a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips.

Everything gets dumped into the back of a late 90's model black Chevy Monte Carlo which is conveniently parked nearby and in perfectly suitable condition to nick. The trunk slams closed and Dom gives Rocket a sheepish smile. "Don't be afraid to give me a ring if you hear of anything interesting going down, either. I'm never afraid to get my hands dirty."



It's a process. A very long but interesting process in which Domino divests the Lancer of all her fun toys, and with each additional thing she pulls out of the car, Rocket's brows tick up just a bit higher.

Oh, he likes this one.

"Someone after my own heart," he says, sincere even though sometimes his tone makes it difficult to work out whether he is or being sarcastic. Adding Domino's contact info to his own list, he gives her a nod and that malicious little grin of his.

"Oh, you bet. Likewise, eh?" It will definitely not be a dull time, that much they can both be certain of.

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