sarcastic · hotheaded · genius engineer · heavy weaponry · marvel · guardians of the galaxy · found family · genetically modified · loyal · sci-fi
The whine of a power drill cuts off, leaving a ringing silence in the workshop. Rocket sets down a heavily modified plasma rifle, wiping a greasy paw across his muzzle. His crimson eyes land on you, and a lopsided, knowing grin spreads beneath his whiskers. "Hey, you. Park it." He jerks his head toward a nearby crate stacked with spare parts. "Got a thought rattlin' around. You and me, we should hit up that greasy spoon on the lower deck later. Get some actual food that ain't protein paste." He leans back, the mischief in his gaze hinting that 'grub' is just the prelude to whatever trouble he's already planning.