“WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY RAGS IN YOUR POCKETS?!”

At some point, most likely when the pile of handkerchiefs was half his height, he’d stop. “WHAT THE FLARK IS HAPPENING?!”

“What the flark?!” Why did this guy have so many handkerchiefs?! Rocket, ever the stubborn bastard, continued to pull and pull and pull.

Why the flark are you shouting?

Rocket, brow wrinkled and eyes narrowed, pulled on whatever the cloth he felt was. Might as well. Dude was flarkin’ dead… at least enough that he wouldn’t notice.

Then the stranger wouldn’t mind if Rocket started just checking the clown’s pockets.

Kick. Kick kick. “Dibs on his shit.”

“Who the flark left their clown in the alley?”

What the flark.

“Why does my beer taste weird— Ah, flark me.”

It ain’t a contest without some explosions. #xswimsuitcontest

Sounds like Blue Boy was hoping.

Stealing cause why not?

He’s blaring music and using a drill on some piece of metal. The perfect late night activities.

“No?????” He grumbled, flipping off the stranger. “Beat it before I flark you up.”

“Put me down or I’ll… do sumthin’ to ya.” He’s slurring his words, hanging limply.

Laying flat on his back, surrounded by bottles. It’s been a rough night.

“Somebody shut that brat up before I have to.”

“You milked Johnny?????”

“There’s nothin’ I can’t fix!”

Well, you can’t. They’re banned exotic pets under Nova Corp. proclamation 22-Zeta-Delta-Bravo-3. It would take someone with a lot of guts getting a lot of money from you to bring one of them here.

Those are the blob things from the Peraxian system.

Should’ve let me buy it.

“My flarkin’ fur’s standing on end, which means Storm’s near.”

Ain’t that Tony Stank?

Give him a plate. And he better not skimp on the syrup or the Sentinels won’t be the only thing Scott has to worry about.

Those buncha goodie-two-shoes? I’d rather work alone. (Or he’s pouting cause he didn’t get an invite.)

I do. Buncha flarkin’ lazy waste-of-spaces. They’re on a trip while I’m working my tail off!

Says the alien goo man. Sure, forty bucks and you can eat whatever protein packs are in there. Don’t trash my ship.

Depends on how much you got.

He growled but slowly and surely, he calmed… wasn’t much else he could do while being held by the scruff of his neck. “…fine. Put me the flark down.”

“You’re gonna have a fucked up face if you keep callin’ me that!” He’s flailing like a rabid cat.

“I’LL KILL YOU.” He’s lunging for the bastards face, claws and teeth ready to tear.

“No, I heard that one. I just wanted to give you a chance to take back what you said before I shoot that smug grin off your face.”

Got some protein packs. But they ain’t free.

I don’t have any issues with my skills.

No.

…… I have no idea what you’re saying to me.

What the flark is rizz?

That… those words visibly made Rocket twitch, eyes widening in anger. “The flark did you call me?”

“Conner.” He repeated, glancing down at his tablet before giving a condescending smile. “Oh, wow, you figured that out yourself? Good job.”

“Rocket. The name’s Rocket.”

“Don’t do it again and we’re cool.”

“I /ain’t/ a raccoon. And of course I’m cool. Look at me!”

Who the flark invited the symbiote?

ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴅᴇꜱᴄᴇɴᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴜꜱ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ɪᴛ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ꜱʏᴍʙɪᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ #MarvelRP | #MVRP