[OPEN] ever come this far, just to let this go...

[beatupgrass]

Who: Rocket (beatupgrass) & OPEN
What: Rocket tries to track down the Shady Man and avoid being caught by the authorities. Also he's infected with the virus.
When: Early October
Where: All around Olympia
Warning(s): Rocket's mouth, a sad animal with the flu
Notes: I will be on vacation from the 8th to the 15th, so responses might be a bit delayed after a point.




a. SAY HELLO TO THE PAIN | HUNTING FOR CLUES IN THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT

[Rocket's had numerous bounties on his head before, so this should be easy to deal with. The problem is he's been framed this time, and he's in a situation where he isn't sure that he'll be treated with the respect a sentient being deserves. After all, that didn't always happen in various legal systems across the galaxy.

His prison escape track record might be good, but where the hell is he gonna go afterwards? No. Best to avoid being caught entirely.

But he can't just sit in a hidey-hole and ride it out. Donning a cloak, he tries to hunt for any sign of the Shady Man, so he can give him hell. The Red Light District seems to be a good place to start since that's where Peter met him, even if he hates that place. All that weird fucking perfume in the air drives his sensitive nose crazy.

Weirdly enough... Today he can't even smell it. His nose is all stopped up for some reason. Weird, but not important. It might even be useful, even if most of the aphrodisiacs in the air don't really get to him, courtesy of his nonexistent sex drive (thanks science!). There's always a chance it could, and eugh. No thanks.

He goes into Shades Darker, against his better judgment, and questions the patrons as well as some of the workers, which has a tendency to backfire, as most of them don't particularly want to answer questions of a customer who isn't paying for something more substantial than drinks. A few of them keep trying to see under his cloak, cooing about why anyone would hide their face in a place like this. Needless to say, Rocket does not stay long here.

The street doesn't give him much more to go on, and there's always a chance of running into one of the guard- even if he knows people who work for Ashti, he doesn't trust anyone to put him before their job. Whenever he sees someone bearing the uniform of the guard, he subtlety tries to find somewhere else to be with a flash of cloak. Sometimes, in his haste, he runs into someone, which is a bit weird for him, because normally he's quite dexterous. His head is spinning a little bit. It's fine.


b. BLEED THE LIFE FROM ME | THE MARKET DISTRICT

[Everything is going to hell in a handbasket around here, and what started as some dizziness and congestion that he brushed off has turned into something a lot worse. His immune system fought it off for awhile, so he's less sick than some of the other people who were around when the stupid bomb went off, but it's getting to be a problem, because on top of being a fugitive, he's a sickly, weak fugitive- he won't stand a chance if he's caught.

But he's not used to relying on people and he's tried to avoid letting anyone know he's ill- which has been really hard with Peter around. Luckily, he's normally brusque, and this whole situation is such shit, that Rocket's general malaise probably hasn't been a concern for him. Not telling anyone, however, is only part of the grand scheme to avoid anyone finding out he's sick and using it to their advantage. He has to maintain an illusion of normalcy too!

So he shops in the market while wearing his cloak, stocking up on fruit, and tries to keep an ear to the ground for any information he can find, but a simple task is much more difficult than it looks when you feel this bad.

He drops a fruit while inspecting it and a harried merchant snatches his hand away from picking it up, accusing him of trying to steal, which leads to Rocket, in his smart-mouthed glory, that if he were trying to steal, he'd be a lot more subtle than that, which is likely to prompt a scene.

He ducks into an alley to catch his breath and lean against the wall as the aches and pains hit him and make him want to just curl up and sleep somewhere.

He gets disoriented trying to navigate the market and ends up staring at the stalls in confusion, holding his basket of wares, trying to figure out which way leads back home.

He's not having a great time.

c. WILDCARD | CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

Comments

b.

[illuminating]

[It's probably lucky she is who she is, and that he's on her permanent good side, because it doesn't take anything to find him when she needs to. His scent is rooted with her, by now.

While he stands with his unfocused eyes, she steps toward him unhurried, drawing no attention to herself or him. They've been here for the same duration of time. Everyone thinks she's the friendly neighborhood dog, and for all they know, she's greeting a small man or child of some alien line.

In moments, she's leaning against him. Not a pushing weight, only a firm, warm presence, a mass of white fur keeping him from toppling. This is all she does to greet him. None of her dopey smiling, or tail wagging, although she's still glad to see him. She merely stands against him, quietly keeping her ears pricked, scanning the area, the crowd, with eyes and ears alike. She won't budge until she feels his own shifting, ready to guide him as he needs.

She spares him his dignity, for now, by not grabbing for his basket, and she doesn't urge him to climb onto her back. She just stays there until he's ready to walk, a thing he hold onto if he feels he might fall over.]

[beatupgrass]

Heeey, Ammy. [There's a mildly delirious tone to his voice, as he pauses to cough. He's gone past the anger portion of the sickness and just settled (un)comfortably into the zone where he's too exhausted to do much of anything except muster on through sheer stubbornness. If he can get home, eat a fruit, and pass out, he will have considered himself accomplished for the day.

But doing any of those things is hard and she's a welcome presence. He buries his face in her fur, trying to collect himself, and then all but shoves the basket at her.] If you take that for me, I'll share...

[He has no idea if she'll eat fruit. From the way she ate at the beach party, he's pretty sure she'll eat anything.]

[illuminating]

[Ah... He witnessed her gluttony.

For once, maybe, she's more on edge than him, and only because he's steeped in this sickness. Her gaze trying to only slowly shift to certain sounds, new foot falls, or voices that haven't already been present, and not whip her head in the direction of them. She stands tense and tall and is already collect scents in the air, intently listening, to determine the best way out for him.

It startles and surprises her to have the basket pushed at her, but if he's sure...

She lowers her muzzle to it and takes the handle by the teeth. Especially, now that he's like this, he needs it more than her; she won't be taking any. And she doesn't like him thinking he has to compensate her caring about him, or even if it was only an act of decency.

His coughing and lack of usual insistence that he can handle himself does nothing to put her own concerns to bed, and so sorry, Rocket, but she's crouching next to get her back low enough, nudging into him as a demand to get on.

And, yes. If he finds it in him to dispute this, he'll get a nasty, prickly growl in the inflection of them not having time for it. Should he need to get away in a hurry, this will be much faster, and he can rest while she carries him, besides.]

[beatupgrass]

[He resists for a second, because as much as the basket can be brushed off as a "I'll do you a favor if you do me one" sort of give and take (he doesn't need to do it with her, but he's not thinking clearly right now), the ride is something completely different.

The growl changes things, however. For all the ways he doesn't remember his own mother, he instinctively knows the warning noises of an impatient mom. It doesn't really help that nestled in his animal hindbrain is the reminder that his mother ate her babies when they showed flu symptoms much less severe than this.

There's a nice bit of trauma added onto everything else.] Okay, okay. I get the point.

[Weakly, he clambers up onto her back, but rather than sit astride her as one would ride a horse, he flops ontp his stomach and clings tightly to the fur on the back of her neck.] Don't take me home. S'not safe there, probably. You know where to take me.

[What better place to lay low and rest for awhile, then a place no one knows about.]

[illuminating]

[She waits until he has a good grip, and she feels flooded with guilt. That place, yes, was shown to him if he ever felt he needed it, but at the time, she thought he would be choosing to go there, would find it again himself. Not that he would feel desperately driven there by all that's happened suddenly. She knows it's not the most ideal or comfortable place to be either, for anyone that isn't her.

It's true though that it would be in his best interest to go somewhere no one else knows about, and so with a steady, fluid pace, she trots with him holding onto her out of the market, for now, avoiding suspicious routes to not draw any attention to them. He might feel her going still at points during their journey, listening or watching or maybe staring someone down, but it never takes long.

Half an hour later, and they're outside of the place he's told her to bring him. She bends her legs to lower herself again so he can climb down, since there's no way she can slip inside with him atop her without crushing him. He'll have to go first. She isn't going to leave his back exposed like that, in the off chance they were followed.]

[beatupgrass]

[The ride is agonizing if only because he has to try not to just fall asleep and risk just slipping off. He's just so tired, and the steady rhythm is enough to want to put him to sleep, but he manages to force himself to stay upright, and when they arrive, he slides almost bonelessly to the ground, crawling into the hole on all fours, so he can drag himself to the comforting darkness. He's aware that this is all primal and illogical, and were he well, he'd be kicking himself for going to base instincts, but he has strong fear responses to being sickly- his mother eating her young when they got sick, the scientists discarding the experiments who weren't hale and hearty, and so on and so forth.

It's all weakness, and he hates being weak.

He finds himself a corner and sits upright on his knees in it, head lowered as he shivers from a chill only he can feel, murmuring pathetically under his breath, because he doesn't have the strength right not to yell and throw a fit.] This is bullshit.

[illuminating]

[She's quick to pursue him, pausing only after they've gotten into the den to let him choose a spot to settle, and then she goes to him, ears folding sympathetically at his words.

Not for the first time, she inches to lay herself beside him, and muzzle goes to dirt floor before instantly lifting only a second after to try and get it into his lap. It hasn't been taking with everyone, only some, but he isn't exempt from her sometimes futile healing attempts. Were he not congested, he might smell the flowers in the air, but as it is...

All of her pressing and nudging against him is more focused than usual, as if she's distracted, concentrating. Using one of those many abilities that's seem to have become flimsier since awaking on Thesa, but goodness, she has got to try. That it works some of the time is enough for her. But she can never tell until she's witness to the results, and so it may work, and it may not, and it may stick for but a short time before he's back to feeling wretchedly.

But at the barest minimum, a warmth pools away from her and around him. Rosy in some sense, loving. She tries to be very still as not to jostle him, and though she's fur to fur, she's so cautious of her weight, careful, applying none of it to him.]

a.

[lucubrare]

[ Someone cloaked has run into her, which is rare, and there's something...well, they're shorter than she is, which is unusual but not impossible, and they also are breathing a little funny and it's the Red Light District and most people think she's too young to be there, so this is probably not a child. ]

Sorry, [ she starts, but then the person in the guard's uniform comes somewhat in their direction and Cass spins away from them, hand on the wall, hip canted. She giggles, putting a finger over her lips in the universal shhh motion until they're gone.

She frowns at the other person. ] Think you're sick.

[beatupgrass]

[Rocket is too ill (in both senses of the word) to put up much of a protest and just quietly accepts the help with a little bit of a bristle underneath the cloak. Once the guards have passed, what politeness he dredged up to accept help ebbs away.]

No shit, princess. I'm trying to find the asshole responsible.

[lucubrare]

[ I'm not a princess says Cass's body language, but she's used to people having mixed reactions to 'help', so she bites her tongue. ]

You were set up. [ It's not a question. ] By a terrorist.

Do you really think he'd stay here?

[beatupgrass]

I think he's slick enough to think he don't have much to worry about.

[He just framed a shitload of people and basically kept his hands clean. Of course, he'd stay here.] He's probably hoping some idiot wanders too close so he can turn them in for the frickin' reward money, and get even more out of this.

[lucubrare]

Oh, he's one of those.[ Cass rolls her eyes a little, because folks like that are insufferable. Neener, neener, I got something to work in my favor and against yours. ] What does he look like?

[beatupgrass]

I never met 'em. Quill brokered the deal, not me. [Maybe he shouldn't throw Quill under the bus like that, but the bus is sitting on top of all of them. The local authorities don't care who made contact, only that some people were involved in the nonsense and they have to be stopped.

Of course, with that admittance comes the admittance that he doesn't know what the hell he's looking for and he growls.] Look, I figure someone around here knows who all the shady bastards are. After that, it's just process of elimination.