4155/Opening Salvo

Opening Salvo
Date of Scene:	17 November 2020
Location:	Crew Bunks - Milano
Synopsis:	Rocket plays a practical joke on Drax. Drax tries on a bikini top and sees what life with a goatee might be like. Drax laughs, and Rocket stops laughing.
Cast of Characters:	Drax, Rocket

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Drax has posed:
Drax never seems to change his pants, he had no luggage (not like any of them had a chance to grab a go-bag before they split that crazy rock), no deodorant, toiletries.  It's a wonder when he actually washes his pants, if he washes his pants.

In other words, he's wearing his pants.  His daggers and sheathes.  If a pirate busted a hole in the hull, he'd probably attack from a prone position.

Drax was given one of the top bunks and has to curl up on his side just so his head isn't using the bunk frame as a pillow.  At the moment, he looks as still as a stone.  Not a peep save for their three eyed kitty thing.  It hasn't /grown/ since they picked it up.

Rocket has posed:
The stop on Ellex, which the Guardians have probably already been banned from, was a fruitful one. Drax got his 'kitten,' they all got some food, and Rocket nicked something nobody else saw: a canister of shaving cream. Why? Surely not for himself. Nobody needs to see him shaved, partially or otherwise.

No, there was another reason for the stuff. He could get Gamora, but she might try to kill him. Quill wouldn't be too hard. He probably already had his own shaving cream, too. Mantis, he doubted she'd even understand it. Groot would be amusing, but a part of Rocket couldn't do it. Nebula..just, no.

That left Drax, for better or worse. He enjoyed laughing, so at least there was a /chance/ of it working, but precautions were going to be in order. This meant rearranging a few mattresses in a calculated spot based on a possible, potential trajectory. He just had to wait for Drax to end up in the right position, with a hand exposed.

Rocket could be patient when it was worth it. He'd busted out of twenty two (or more) prisons, after all.

Drax has posed:
Nobody /needs/ to see Rocket shaved until they've actually seen it, and then they know they needed it all along.  We'll never know will we?

The stakeout better be worth the wait, because Drax just doesn't move.  It continues this way for 3 hours and 7 minutes.  Then he rolls over onto his belly, arm falling down, his legs stretching out over the end of the bed, just propped up on the frame where they land.  It can't be comfortable.  About 20 minutes later, give or take, if he's held out this long, Rocket is rewarded.

Drax rolls over onto his back, hand right there like it was ordained by someone's god.  Course, Rocket will have to get to it.

Rocket has posed:
"Really?" It takes about fifteen minutes for Rocket to utter that word under his breath.

"Seriously?" Another thirty or so.

"Oh, come on." An hour.

"You gotta be kiddin' me." About an hour and a half.

"This guy could probably sleep through an alert right now." Two hours.

"Screw it. I'm gonna..wait, did he just move?" Three hours and almost seven minutes.

"Yeah, he..no, not on your stomach, you big idiot..." Three hours and seven minutes.

After pacing back and forth, his patience really, /really/ tested - and it's a minor miracle nobody else came in here during that time - Rocket finally sees his opening. Immediately, he scampers up the side of the wall, grabbing a bar to steady himself with his little feet against the vertical face, and the hand is so close. He ever so carefully pries the fingers open just enough to fill the entire palm with the shaving cream, quiet as can be, then he tosses it onto the bedding below so it doesn't go rattling and rolling off somewhere.

Now, the coup de grâce. A long feather taken from a pouch, shaken out a bit, and extended so the tip just starts to tickle Drax's nose. He's tense, ready to spring away at a moment's notice.

Drax has posed:
But...Drax doesn't move...again.  He does, however, reach up to rub his shaving creamed hand across his chest.  Rocket can thank a draft tickling across sensitive areas he's probably unaware of yet.  The shaving cream smears across one peck like a lonely coconut.

Dead to the world.

Rocket has posed:
The feather pauses in place, then shifts inches away from Drax's nose as Rocket draws back when the hand starts to move. Here it is, the moment of truth, of triumph, of...

"Shit."

Rocket's voice is barely above a whisper as the hand does not go where expected, but rather a little south of the intended location. Why would he be rubbing his chest? That's not even the area in question!

Grumbling under his breath, Rocket descends back to the floor, retrieves the canister, and climbs back up again to fill the hand once more. Then, it's take two on the nose with the feather. This time, it will work. Oh yes, it will.

Won't it?

Drax has posed:
Suddenly his non-shaving-creamed hand shoots up and slams into the ceiling.  It stays there for at least five seconds, a long five seconds.  As the arm drops down, the shaving cream hand moves to the other side of his chest as he adjusts to get comfortable, curling up onto his side.  His head tucks down, nearly nestled into some residual shaving cream.

Sniff...sniff.  "What is this smell?"  Drax's suddenly eyes open.  Upon seeing Rocket, a meaty arm darts out to try and grab Rocket.  By the scruff, by the neck, arm, tail.  It's a one-shot to try and grab him as he launches out of the bed into a ready stance, breathing heavily, one if not two knives already drawn, depending on his luck with his visitor.

Then he looks down.  Drax has ended up dressing himself in the equivalent of a shaving cream bikini top and a little goatee.  "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" he rages in alarm at the substance.

Rocket has posed:
"Oh!" Rocket shrinks back as Drax's hand impacts the ceiling overhead. He almost ducks out right then and there, but then more of the shaving cream is smeared over Drax's torso he starts to giggle. It's not where he intended it to go, but it's still funny as hell.

But, what now? Drax has turned again, so he creeps closer as if to figure out what to do next.

That's when Drax reacts, and Rocket turns to flee. He drops the canister, but that big mitt snags him by the back of the neck, where the collar of his suit meets the scruff of his neck, leaving him dangling as Drax departs the bed. Probably one blade is soon drawn, and Rocket's eyes go wide with a mixture of fear and surprise as he starts to squirm.

"NONONO DON'T EAT ME! I'M TOO YOUNG AND HANDSOME TO--D'ast, if you saw the way you look right now..!" He bursts into uncontrollable, uproarious laughter, but only as long as that blade isn't about to cut into him. The moment that happens, he's gonna shut up /real/ fast.

Drax has posed:
Drax's blade is held closer to his hip now that he has control, although it never really rose much more than that.  He lifts Rocket, turning him around as he squirms, a deep scowl lining his face.  He shakes his attacker-in-the-night like someone who should not be handling a baby or small furry creatures, at least not right now.  SLAM!  At least it sounds that way when Drax pins Rocket against the wall abruptly.  He leaves Rocket hanging from a hook while he tries to find a mirror.  "What is so funny?"

Rocket has posed:
Rocket's eyes remain laser-focused on the sharp, the /very/ sharp blade Drax wields, as long as it's not put back in its sheath. "No don't shake me my head gets all woobly when people shake me!"

Is 'woobly' even a word? If it wasn't, it is now.

(It totally is)

Little hands go up in self-defense, and a bit of breath is knocked out of him from the impact against the wall...which is not where he'd set the mattresses up. Rather than dropping to the floor when Drax lets go, Rocket looks momentarily confused as the back of his suit has become hooked on the...hook, and suddenly his arms and legs scrabble in place as he tries to gain enough purchase to free himself up, only for gravity to prevail and keep him there.

So, with a dejected expression on his face, his limbs and tail all dangle with the rest of him before he crosses his arms in as much a show of defiance as he can manage given the current predicament.

"Ain't you ever heard of a practical joke, you monster? And I want you to know, this is inhumane treatment."

Drax has posed:
"You are not a human and I am not laughing.  If it was funny, I would be laughing."  But Drax's nipples hurt and he's too curious about what Rocket thinks is so funny, even if his nipples are burning.  He ignores the odd arrangement of mattresses, just flipping them aside like pillows.  Finally he finds a mirror, a hand mirror.  He tries to hold it out as far as possible.  "This mirror is too tiny!"  It's all the mirror's fault.  "Who would make mirrors so tiny?"

Drax grunts and reaches out to grab Rocket by his jumpsuit or whatever he's wearing.  Drax would never be caught dead in one.  He gives Rocket a respectful landing, one not suited toward the infirmed or elderly, nor is it so high up as to give him trouble (or intend to).  The small drop just gives Rocket a chance to land on his own paws.

"How do practical jokes work?"  Drax must have some motivation for asking.  He sets the mirror aside (/someone's/ not going to like that when they can't find it later) and reaches for the nearest towel he can find.  A hand towel.  Whose?  He doesn't know.  He uses it to wipe his chest off gingerly.

Rocket has posed:
"You're damn right I ain't a humie," Rocket answers, as if that wasn't already obvious. Stuck there until Drax decides he's finished with the personal inspection, his mouth twitches as he does what he can to keep from laughing aloud again. It's /so/ difficult not to right now. It hasn't dawned upon him yet that he could just unzip the jumpsuit and slip out of it.

He mutters, "It ain't too big for normal-sized people." Then he's unhooked, and as soon as he lands, on all fours mind you, he scampers toward safety, doing so by also vaulting over one of the mattresses. Now he's got something between Drax and himself, in the form of some bedding.

Confusion in his eyes, his expression, ears going flat briefly. "You're askin' me to explain practical jokes to you? Oh boy..." he says, slapping a hand to his forehead. "It's like..okay, let me give you an example. Let's say you took one of Quill's tapes and recorded over all his music with, I dunno, just you saying random stuff like 'I am Drax. I am big and dumb and..' wait, forget I said that. You aren't dumb. Okay, let's say you said, 'I am Drax. I am big and strong and Quill is little and weak and if we arm wrestled I would beat him in less than a second because I am much bigger and stronger.' And you just kept saying things, so when he played the tape and thought he'd be hearing his music, he'd just hear you instead and that would be real funny."

Then, as long as he hasn't been chased from the room yet, he considers something as an ear twitches. "Just..don't actually do that to his tapes. I got a feeling he'd cry and you don't want to see a grown man cry."

Trying to bring it back around, he says, "A practical joke is pretty much something that's supposed to be harmless that everybody can laugh about after. You were supposed to scratch your nose with your hand and get shaving cream all over your face, but you didn't."

Drax has posed:
With his granite expression, Drax listens intently, putting away his knife and rubbing his chin.  "Oh there to," he mutters to himself, folding the towel to clean his chin too.

"And you think this is funny?"  Drax finally says after Rocket rattles through his lesson.  Then suddenly Drax slaps his knee and lets out a huge guffaw.  "You thought I didn't didn't know what a practical joke was!"  He points; he continues to laugh, kicking up again like he's just telling himself jokes.

"You should have seen your face."  Once Drax settles down-buckle up first because it was at least a solid 20 seconds of laughter-he says, "No.  I do not want to see him cry.  It would surely be disgusting!" over his shoulder as he walks out to the common room, to laugh some more.

Rocket has posed:
"Yeah, it--" Rocket is interrupted by the laughter, his fuzzy brows scrunching together as Drax /claims/ he knows what a practical joke is. Does he? Does he really?

About five seconds into the laughing that keeps going, Rocket opens his mouth and shuts it, clenching his jaw.

Ten seconds in, he starts in with a "Hey.."

Fifteen seconds in, he clears his throat. "Really?"

Then at twenty seconds, right around the time it's finally tapering off, he continues giving the expressions Drax was just highlighting, leading to him yelling, "OKAY YOU MADE YOUR POINT AND YOU CAN STOP LAUGHING NOW!"

It just ends with Drax leaving him alone. "Stupid Kylosians." He kicks the canister of shaving cream, having found it nearby, and you must know what happens next. It explodes on him, coating his entire front side enough that he yelps before slipping and falling over himself to wipe it away. "It burns! IT BURRRNNNS! WATER! WHERE IS THE WATER?!?"

Whoever finds the mess in here later is better off just not asking.