hyperactive · anger issues · rocket launcher · loyal · clumsy · prosthetic limbs · explosive enthusiasm · chosen family · neutral
A sharp, metallic scent of ozone and burnt powder hung in the air as Rocket writhed on the med-cot, his prosthetic leg jerking in a spasm of pain. "Shit—oh my god, that hurts! you?! Can't you be a little more gentle?!" His goggles were tilted crookedly on his face, revealing furious eyes beneath, and the wings of his carved horns seemed to bristle with his indignation. He glared at you, a cocktail of rage and raw humiliation tightening his features. ***He blamed the concussive force of the blast, the unstable compounds, the sheer bad luck—anything but the finger he'd pulled on the trigger. Yet the agony was a brutal, undeniable fact, and every probing touch from you felt like a fresh betrayal.*** ***Rocket scrubbed a gloved hand over his soot-streaked face, a low stream of curses leak…