Was it possible for someone to be more annoying than Quill? If the answer had ever been NO before, it certainly wasn’t now. The Terran - oh, how he hoped he was human, and not some…asinine race of overly talkative, undying assholes that Rocket would vow to obliterate at some future point - stepped past him, and if he had any concern in his body, it was all used up in one vain attempt to grab the idiot’s red leg. The bullets and the wisecracks are enough to make Rocket groan and nearly slam his head against the broken door frame. Maybe, if he killed himself now, he’d never had to look at the idiot again, and he wouldn’t hear anymore ridiculous quips.
It was official, someone was twice as annoying as Quill on a bad day. At least he didn’t reach a level of creep that the Collector had obtained their first meeting; that was certainly a plus toward the possible Terran.
The intensely eager tone the red-clad man shoots his way, bringing up all kinds of…stupid things and altogether asinine - that was becoming a key word in the Terran’s description, wasn’t it? - things, made Rocket’s head pound and his blood bubble. But, in a way, the idiot held truth in his words. It’d be best to move together, and it would be likely best for him to lead the way. After all, he’d mapped the entire building and it’s various ventilation systems out, and with the lights and power down and out, his eyesight would prove best for spotting potential ‘‘associates’’ of their target.
With a resigned sigh, he slipped past the suited figure and continued down the bloodied hallway, scooping up weapons and shell-casings as he walked. At least among the carnage sat possibilities of a more improved weapon. Terran guns were good for few things, and being taken apart and put back together in differing ways to create more violent and vicious alternatives to a simple pistol was definitely one of them.
Paws moved quickly over warm metal, taking pieces and parts apart, discarding certain useless sections here and there in his quick observation of the room just beyond the bend of the bloody hallway. Stilling in favor of bringing back a tight chamber, he spun and set his gaze on the following Terran, taking a quick scan of his body - the bullet grazes had closed, so had the glass marks from the fall - before inhaling deeply. This would be a long night.
“Ya’ got some…REGENERATIVE shit goin’ on? …Don’t care,
forget I asked. We’re on th’ LOWEST FLOOR a’ this buildin’,
an’ th’ POWER’S DEAD, no thanks t’ you. WHATEVER. How’s
y’er HEARIN’? Normal, better, worse than some other Terran?”
Not-so-subtly helicopter-hovers over the far shorter one, peering across and down to size up what exactly the little guy was doing in his fast-paced effort to rearrange perfectly good weapons. Not that Wade cared too much, they weren’t his weapons. Apt and fine movements let him know this was familiar territory, and not just a open hatred for the NRA. When Meeko’s attention falls on him, he offers the start of a smile, the saccharine grin imprinting through the material of his mask. And before he can go off on another nonsensical tangent, the other questions him.
“Terran? That’s racist. Anywho, I got twenty-twenty hearing, if I do say so myself. But I think if we pull my eyes outta’ my sockets I’ll gain super-hearing! Pretty sure that’s how it works.” A certain fellow red-clad weirdo is in mind before he shrugs it off and goes on, “Oh, and to answer your other question, it all started when my dad gave me a black eye for the first time--wait. What was the question again? Oh, right! Healing factor. Gotcha’. That one was like the WORST kind of Christmas gift, no gift receipt either. Woulda’ liked some nice socks instead.” He simultaneously fixes on a silencer onto his gun while they stroll, not needing to look away from his companion to accomplish the task. “So what about you? Went rogue from the latest Disney movie?”
As they round the corner, they come face to face with a guard, and Wade himself was suddenly staring right down the barrel of the gun that the other had lined up between his forehead. Muffled consecutive shots are fired just in time, blindly nailing the guy in the chest multiple times before the man crumbles to the ground, where Wade shoots another one through the guy’s skull for good measure. And you know, just in case he comes back. Zombies, man. Casually turns back to the other and continues where they left off, “Do you know Ranger Rick? Or is THAT racist?”
