Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rocket adjusted the tap and, balancing with some difficulty, reached for his toothbrush, and begun to scrub.
"Why is this so frickin' hard? He asked. "I mean, yeah, they could have put the sink lower down but seriously, does it need to be this difficult? Would it have killed them to lay out the ergonomics just a little better?" he asked, running the tap and taking a gulp, which he sloshed about before spitting into the sink.
"The author would like to apologise for the lateness of this chapter. Yeah, I mean, It's still technically on Sunday, but it's past ten in the night if you're in GMT like he is, and that's just unprofessional. He shoulda done more of it during the week rather than rushing it out like this, but hey, you knew the guy was a bit off when you signed on, right?" said Rocket, spitting and scrubbing again.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"I mean, normal people don't write fanfic. Wish I had known that before I let myself get involved." Rocket stared at himself in the mirror, and shrugged.
"Truth is, things ain't been great at work for him, and he's been feeling a little down, so next episode we're getting a lighter-hearted adventure, 'cause he's been in a dark place this past week, and he needs a breather, an' even if he's low it aint right for him to inflict all that on you." He said, turning the tap. There was a hissss of leaking hydrogen, and the tap shuddered and spat desert sand.
"Bad enough he inflicts this shit on his characters." Said Rocket, picking sand off his toothbrush and trying to clean he teeth once more. "I mean, you try being written by someone who feels an little low and watches too much Twin Peaks. It ain't fun. I feel like I'm in an Alan Moore-ish, Dave Hopkins-y kinda story here. "
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rocket looked at the sand. And then the taps. Both taps were turned off. There was no water.
Slowly, he looked down at exactly what he was standing on to reach the sink. The camera panned back. The sink and mirror were the one from the Milano that Rocket was used to, but beyond that there was just a shadowy void, and he was spot-lit in the middle, standing on a battered transit crate of grey, wipe-clean plastic. A thick dark liquid was seeping out of the air-holes.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Ah." Said Rocket, returning to his tooth-brushing. "foreshadowing." He spat, and he sighed. Why was this so frickin' hard? It would be a lot easier to clean his teeth if the mirror would just showed his actual face, rather than just his bionics. But then again, they were him, when you got down to it, weren't they?
There was fur on his toothbrush.
He realised that there was nothing wrong with the mirror the same time he noticed the figure behind him.
On his hammock on the Milano, Rocket Racoon woke screaming.
