"We're gonna need a particle generator too," said Rocket, as the Guardians took what Quill called the 'scenic route' through the streets of Xandar. What this actually meant was that they had parked on the wrong side of the city and now had to make the trek across by foot.
The raccoon was unsurprised to find that he knew Xandar better than the rest of them. Before they'd saved the dast planet Quill and Gamora had only frequented it for work (and owing to the nature of their work, neither had ever stayed for very long), the first time Drax had set foot on Xandar was the day they had turned Ronan to dust and, as Cosmo delighted in informing them with the aid of her new collar, this was the spacedog's first time on the planet.
Where Rocket was concerned Xandar was a top contender for 'closest thing he had to a home-world'... not that he'd ever call it that.
Simply put he didn't like Xandar.
There was something about the polished marble walkways, the pristine buildings that shone with natural light and the miriad of fountains that made the small, ratty little thing that he was stand out like an Aaskavarian in a beauty contest. Except freakier, if that was possible.
Still, it was impossible to say the planet didn't matter to him when so much of his life had unfolded on Xandar. It was where he had become a Guardian of the Galaxy. It was where he'd met Quill and Gamora back when they'd all been gunning for the orb/Quill's bounty. It was where he'd first understood Groot…
"Yo, earth to Rocket!" Quill's voice snapped the raccoon out of his thoughts and back into reality.
"What?" he demanded, rubbing at his nose and doing his best to ignore the imaginary scent of burning wood.
"What do we need a particle generator for?"
"Well we still need to patch up the hull," said Rocket, as if it was obvious. Judging from the faces of his companions, it wasn't.
"I thought we already did that," said Drax.
Rocket gave him a look. "We did a quick fix because you were all in a big hurry to leave Corix. Leave it the way it is Quill, and I guarantee it'll pop open when we need it to hold. Either get a particle generator so I can fix it, or take it to a mechanic who has one." It never ceased to amaze him how after twenty years in space, the terran still had no idea how to maintain a ship of his own.
"Alright. Fair enough." Quill shrugged, adding 'particle generator' to the list of things they would have to get once the Black Order's 'ludicrous' bounties were transferred over to them.
"We also need an alnestor. Some gravity mags would be nice too. As for my scut…" Grinning, Rocket went through the long list of parts and pieces that Quill had blown up, adding here or there some tech he'd never actually owned because he knew none of them could tell the difference and there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of your friend's generosity once in a while. "And we should get her some Chew Toiz," Rocket finished, jabbing a claw behind his back to where Cosmo was currently chasing her tail. "She's an addict."
"I missed you, too," said the labrador, padding over to give him an affectionate nuzzle.
"Don't push it," the raccoon scowled, shoving her face out of his own. "If it was up to me you'd still be on Corix." He shoved his hands into the pockets of the stupid, puffy robe he was wearing and kicked at a nonexistent clump of grass. "We should also get a parking simulator for you, Quill. Maybe then you'll learn you're supposed to land the ship as close to your destination as possible."
The Legendary Star-Lord rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Say what you really mean man. You're just mad half of Xandar's gonna see you wearing a bathrobe."
"They're staring at me Quill!" Rocket whined. "And I just know some flarknard's gonna take a picture and put it on the holonet."
In his experience most Xandarians knew better than to stare. It was impolite, and snobbish as they were, Xandarians were never impolite. Instead they preferred to act like he didn't exist. That had suited Rocket just fine back when he'd been a bounty hunter. People had been all too eager to look away from the little monster with a gun. All that had gone out the window after saving the dast planet. Suddenly everyone forgot their manners and he was being oggled everywhere he went. People wanted photos. Autographs. To shake his creepy little hands despite the claws on them.
"I still don't understand why you incinerated the clothes you were wearing before," said Drax. "I thought they suited you."
"They were three times my size!" Rocket scoffed. And any gift from Sire and especially one with a built-in tracker was one destined for the flamethrower.
"How is the robe any different?"
Before Rocket could reply to that, an innocent-looking young Aaskavarian ran up to them, a tiny infoglass held in their tentacles.
"Excuse me! Y-you're the Guardians of the Galaxy!" said the kid, staring at them with all the wonder in the world inside their singular eyeball. "C-can I take a picture?"
"No," snapped Rocket, at exactly the same time, the beaming Quill put on his most winning smile and said "Sure!"
The two stared each other down for a hot minute before the raccoon relented, raising his arms in defeat and backing away from the group.
"Fine, whatever. But don't say I didn't warn you. I know how this ends." One fan wanted a photo, another one wanted you to sign a 'get well soon' card for their dying grandma and before long you were getting jostled about and picked up and petted and force-fed Chew Toiz because you looked like some kind of animal, and people called you cute and booped your nose and had the audacity to look outraged when you clawed your way free.
Before long, the Guardians were surrounded.
"Gamora! Gamora!" shouted a pair of young, bearded and paunchy Xandarians. "We love you! We have tattoos of you on our chest!" And they ripped their shirts off to show her and the rest of the world a pair of worryingly hyper-realistic tattoos.
"STAR-MAN ARE YOU SINGLE!?" demanded a muscle-bound alien of indeterminate species and gender, who was at least three times Quill's size.
"I didn't know you were all so famous," said Cosmo, putting her smaller stature to good use and very carefully backing into the adjacent alleyway Rocket had retreated into.
"Me neither," the raccoon admitted. "Yanno, sometimes? I kinda miss being a criminal." He caught the way Cosmo was staring at him in horror and scowled. "What? At least then people only bothered me after I did something."
"It's not that. Just… Whatever you do, do not turn around."
Rocket made the mistake of ignoring her, and felt his blood run cold. Behind the display of the nearest shop lay half-a-hundred plushies, all modelled on the freakish visage and motley fur that greeted him whenever he stared into a mirror.
"Flark me," Rocket groaned, wilting in defeat.
"At least noone is buying them?" Cosmo offered, noticing the way he was drooping and doing her best to make him feel better.
A moment later a pack of screaming children raced out of the shop, each one clutching one of the stupid stuffed Rockets.
"At least they do not look like you." the spacedog amended.
"I think the resemblance is uncanny," said Drax, who had somehow managed to escape the throng of overzealous fans and now joined them in the safety of the alleyway. He placed a firm hand on Rocket's shoulder. "It is good to see you are loved."
"No it's not!" the raccoon whined, dragging his paws over his face. "It's humiliating! I notice they didn't make stuffies out of the rest of you!"
A moment later, a no-longer grinning Quill and a disgruntled Gamora managed to join them.
"I think we lost them," said Gamora, ducking behind a recycling bin as the crowd rushed past.
"I take it all back," Peter groaned. "No more scenic routes. I've learned my lesson. Is my jacket okay?" He turned around to show them. "I think someone might have torn a chunk off the back or something."
"Nah, it looks fine," said Rocket, before any of the other Guardians could point out that there was indeed a giant hole in the middle of it. He met Gamora's disapproving eye and folded his paws together in a silent plea.
"It could be worse," she relented, rolling her eyes as the delighted Rocket celebrated his victory with a little happy dance.
"Damn, fans are rabid these days," muttered Quill, raising an eyebrow as Gamora reluctantly brought her hand into Rocket's waiting high-five.
"We can't all be as lucky as Rocket," said Drax seriously, bringing everyone's attention back to the plushies.
"Lucky!? Are you frickin' kidding me!?" the raccoon stormed over to the display, which only accentuated the frankly uncanny resemblance between him and the plushies. "'Cute and cuddly companion for your little one to snuggle with!' What part of that sounds anything like me!?"
"You are cute," said Drax, matter-of-factedly.
Because the frickin' Destroyer was the last person he'd expect to have an opinion on the subject, Rocket was too stunned to offer any kind of reply to that.
"And I have seen you snuggle with Groot."
Rocket blinked stupidly and refused to meet their eyes as he did his best to deny it. "Sure there was this one time when Groot had a nightmare. And that other time when he was cold. A-and once I just happened to fall asleep while working. I-I-" Who was he even kidding? They'd all seen him do it.
"We can have this discussion later," Gamora interjected, sparing the raccoon from further embarrassment as she gestured for them to follow her out. "We should get to HQ before-" she rounded the corner and froze on the spot. "Oh no."
"Guardians! Guardians!" shouted a strawberry-blonde, violently-pink reporter, immediately rushing across the street towards them and leaving a traffic pile-up in her wake. "Can I have a word?"
"Da?" offered Cosmo, oblivious to the danger the woman posed.
"You cannot," said Drax, seriously.
"Go suck an orloni!" snapped Rocket.
"No thank you," said Gamora, her politeness marred with the threat of death.
"Nah-ah! Not even one!" Quill shouted, waving his arms to the side, and pausing when he realised- "Wait, that was more than one."
"I mean nyet."
"Excellent!" the reporter grinned, unperturbed by their dismissals. "I am live on the scene here on Xandar-"
"What was it like to have to face the Children of Thanos after betraying him?" asked a rival newscaster, appearing out of nowhere and shoving the first aside with animalistic brutality.
"How do you tell the Black Order apart from each other?" came a third, barging between the first two and thrusting a microphone at Gamora.
"The Galaxy needs to know!" shrieked a fourth, grabbing Quill by the shoulder and dragging him away from the others. "What's it like dating the Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy?"
"Is it true Kylosian's have sensitive nipples?" three separate journalists demanded of Drax.
Rocket would have found the plight of his friends more amusing if he wasn't getting his fair share of harassment. He raised a paw to shield his eyes from the flashing lights as he backed away from the cacophony of questions and camera snaps.
"Is it true you live entirely on a diet of Chew Toiz?"
"WHAT IS THE SECRET BEHIND FUR LIKE THAT? (Say Loreal!)"
"Were you neutered and do you have an opinion on neutering animals?"
Rocket bit back a growl as his back hit a wall. It was a good thing he'd left his blaster aboard the Milano, because otherwise this could have very easily turned into a homicide.
The cherry pink reporter shoved an infoglass into his face. "Tell us. Xandar needs to know. Who were you firing at? Was it the Black Order? Poachers? Innocent civilians?"
"What the hell are you- oh crap," Rocket cut himself off, screaming internally as the feed snapped open and played out a security holo from Corix 85.
"HEY ASSHOLES!" Rocket shouted, popping up from behind a weapon's stall as an ioniser sprung to life behind him. "NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" Screams of terror were drowned out beneath the sound of his laughter and the blaring of his guns.
The rest of the transmission was abruptly cut short when a long crack shattered the screen. It was followed up by a general cry of alarm as the swarm of cameras, microphones and infoglasses crumpled like paper.
"Oops," said Cosmo, scratching at an ear and doing a horrible job at feigning innocence. "It seems you have encountered technical difficulties."
Realising what had happened, Drax promptly burst into laughter.
"No comment," Rocket grinned, shoving his paws into his pockets as the crowd departed with bad grace. He did his best to push the security feed to the back of his mind. It wasn't that surprising all things considered, and in the grand scheme of things, not much of an issue. And if worst came to worst he could just deny the whole thing. He had bigger fish to fry than some phoney footage…
"Nice save, Cosmo," said Quill, crouching down to give the spacedog a well-earned petting. "You guys good?"
Drax was still bellowing guffaws and pointing at the defeated journalists, which answered the question better than any actual answer could.
"I'm fine," said Gamora, although Rocket guessed she would have said that even if she wasn't. It was the only lie she told well, after all.
"C'mon," Rocket snorted, kicking at a stray piece of broken camera as he led the way down a less-busy backstreet. All things considered, the violent destruction of property had put him in an excellent mood. "Bounty's waiting!"
"Fifty units," the raccoon clapped his paws together and gave a pronounced whistle. "Fifty units per head gets you a grand total of two hundred units." He rounded on the unanimously-stunned Guardians with a scowl. "This is why you never turn bounties into the Nova Corps."
"I'm very sorry sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding," interjected the young, freckled Nova cadet, who was somehow the only Corpsman to be found at the normally-bustling HQ.
"See, nothing to get worked up about," said Quill, ignoring the way Rocket scowled at him as leaned against the reception desk. "I apologise for my friend here. Bit of a temper."
"It's quite alright. Not unexpected really. I've read his file." The young Xandarian cleared their throat importantly. "The bounty is fifty units altogether."
Quill blinked stupidly as beside him Rocket cackled like a maniac.
"And these are supposed to be some of the most wanted flarknards in the Galaxy? What the hell are your lower-end bounties like?"
"Rocket, stop it," said Gamora, as usual her tone was reproachful. "Fifty units is likely all they can afford to spare while rebuilding the city and supporting the families that-"
"That sounds like their problem!" Rocket snapped, jabbing a claw at the cadet. "We just wiped four monumental threats to their existence off the map and have you seen our shopping list!? What the hell are we supposed to buy for fifty units!?"
"Twelve and a half packets of Chew Toiz," chirped Cosmo, without thinking. She had the grace to look embarrassed when Rocket turned to frown at her.
"She's right," noted Drax, doing the same calculations in his head. "Mathematically, at least."
Quill cleared his throat to bring them back to the main issue. "There must be some kind of mistake." He said, failing completely at making it sound like a casual comment.
"Well the actual bounty is fifty thousand units," the cadet explained, staring wide-eyed at his monitor and growing three shades paler the more he scrolled down.
"There we go!" Quill grinned, slapping his knee and rounding on Rocket. "See, what did I tell you? You don't always have to-"
"It's just blocked for the time being," the Xandarian interrupted, swallowing audibly. "Due to… well…" He turned the monitor around to show them and Rocket felt his fur stand on end.
"HEY ASSHOLES!" Rocket shouted, popping up from behind a weapon's stall as an ioniser sprung to life behind him. "NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" Screams of terror were drowned out beneath the sound of his laughter and the blaring of his guns.
"Let me call my superior. Must be some kind of mistake. System glitch or… something." Apparently very eager to put some distance between himself and the hyper-violent raccoon, the cadet rushed over to the other side of HQ's reception.
"I can explain," said Rocket, uncomfortably aware that the rest of the Guardians were staring at him. He opened and shut his mouth, unsure of where to begin or even what he was supposed to be explaining. A paw traced circles in the floor as he struggled to find the right words.
The click of a loaded blaster drew their attention away from the raccoon and towards a blonde, reedy Xandarian leaning back against a marble pillar, scratching his pointed chin with one hand while holding a cheap gun in the other. "You've got a fat bounty on your head, Rocky."
"Er- we have a strict no-weapons policy," the cadet called over, frantically dialling for rescue.
"And I've got a strict money-making policy," the bounty-hunter rolled their eyes and threw the Guardians a roguish grin. "I just want you to know it's nothing personal."
"Sorry, who are you?" asked Gamora, and Rocket had never seen a Xandarian get so pale.
"L-lady Gamora-" Further words failed him. The blaster clattered to the floor and was immediately followed by the unconcious Xandarian himself.
Both out of habit and as a way to avoid having to talk about the security feed, Rocket scuttled over to retrieve the blaster. "Wonder who put up the bounty, huh?" he asked noone in particular, inspecting the weapon and tossing it into the nearest recycling bin where it belonged.
"Guardians, it is lovely to see you in Xandar again!" came the cool, clipped voice of another Xandarian, one that the Guardians were somewhat more familiar with.
Captain Fring was something of a legend in the Nova Corps. Which thankfully meant small-fry like Rocket generally never got within a parsec of him. But he had been the frontrunner to replace the late Saal as Xandar's Dennarian and had a view of upholding the law 'fairly but firmly' that would have landed the Guardians right back in prison.
His eyes darted from Drax's knives, to Quill's blasters, to Gamora's blade and a frown graced his lips. "It seems you were not aware, but I have to inform you that we have a strict no-weapons policy."
"Yup, got it. No more weapons," said Quill, immediately handing over his blasters.
Once the rest of their weaponry had been passed over, Fring's smile returned. "How can I help?"
It took a 'gentle' nudge from Drax to remind Quill he was in charge of negotiations. "Hey, yeah, we were just a little confused is all. We're here to pick up a bounty for the er- the Black Order but for some reason it won't go through."
Fring nodded, turning the monitor back towards himself. He frowned. "Well, the matter seems rather self-explanatory." He gestured down at Rocket. "There is a warrant out for his arrest."
"For what?" demanded Quill, and the disbelief in his voice made the raccoon feel warm all over even as he stood frozen in terror.
"Let's see," Fring popped open a separate tab.
Flarkflarkflarkflarkflarkflarkflark! Rocket screamed. If Nova managed to trace any of the dead Recorders back to Sire then they were both finished. The Nova Corps would come thundering down upon the High Evolutionary with all their pomp and protocol, and then it was game over. Killswitch triggered. Painful end. And he'd dragged Lylla, Teefs and Floor into it because he was such an awful friend.
"'Causing a violent allergic reaction.'"
The outrageousness of it all slapped Rocket back into reality. "Huh?"
"You reportedly threw a pineapple into a Sonnoran baby," said the Captain, matter-of-factedly. "You are also being charged with political instigation, indecent exposure, aggravated assault, disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, extortion, harassment, arson, criminal contempt of court, and jaywalking."
"What!?" demanded Rocket, somehow more annoyed than relieved that most of those were things he hadn't done.
"I'm very sorry, sir. I am sure everything will be cleared up in due time." Fring withdrew a pair of size-adjustable handcuffs from his belt. "But for now, it is Corps policy to have you detained."
"Corix isn't even in Nova jurisdiction!" Rocket protested, taking a step backwards and instinctively counting the distance between himself and the door.
"That does not absolve you of any crimes committed."
Quill stepped between them, arms raised in the universal gesture for surrender. "I think we all need to take a deep breath and slow down a little. There must be some misunderstanding."
"I'm sure there is," replied Fring, his smile growing somewhat strained. "No doubt it will be cleared up in due time." He gestured towards a door the Guardians knew lead to Xandar's principal holding cells. "If you will please follow me. This tends to go much easier if you do not resist."
"Nah, screw this!" Rocket turned tail to run and was instantly wrenched off his feet.
"Acting under the orders of a superior officer would absolve you of any supposed criminal activity," Gamora cut in, freezing the raccoon halfway through his attempt at clamping down on her forearm.
"And who's orders were you acting under?" demanded Fring as Rocket caught onto what she was doing and very carefully pulled his jaws away.
"To my understanding, sir, Rocket was…" Rhomann Dey paused, looking over the long list of charges. "Acting out to lure the Black Order out of hiding, so that the rest of the team could take them by surprise."
"I see…" said Fring, voice dripping with disbelief. "Standard procedure is to have a report filed within four hours of the mission's completion. However, an exception can be made due to the nature of the personnel involved." He gave the Guardians his warmest smile, as if he hadn't just tried to arrest one of them. "My apologies, the bounty should be transferred in full once the appropriate paperwork is filled in. I will send it to your office, Denarrian?"
"That would be excellent, Captain." Still not used to being the superior officer, Dey saluted him.
One needlessly long lecture on protocol later, and the Guardians had finally made it to the safety of the Denarrian's office. It was plain but spacious, with an open window overlooking the city and a large framed portrait of Garthan Saal, who's office this had been not too long ago.
"Sorry about that," Dey said earnestly, dropping onto his revolving chair with a poorly-stifled groan. "I would have cleared it all up before you got here but I've had a lot on my plate recently. Nova Prime's away at the moment. Diplomatic mission with the Kree Emperor."
"Sounds like she's having fun," said Gamora dryly.
Dey snorted. "More than me, I'm sure." He paused, squinting at the group and doing a quick headcount. "Are there more of you?"
"Hello," said Cosmo, wagging her tail behind her as she hopped onto the desk and gave the Xandarian an inquisitive sniff.
"Hey," he replied, as usual taken aback but rolling with whatever the Guardians threw at him. Talking dog in a spacesuit wasn't that surprising, all things considered. Idly scratching Cosmo between the ears, Dey turned his attention to the rest of his charges. "I don't think I have to tell you how big a favour you did taking the Black Order out of the picture." He gave Gamora a pointed look and she returned the subtlest of nods. "But I do feel obligated to say that this is more money than the average corpsman makes in a year. Please try and be a little responsible."
"Of course," said Quill, clearing his throat and adjusting his jacket to look a little more professional.
"You've also got a hole in your back," said Dey, gesturing behind himself. "You should probably visit the tailor."
Rocket had the grace to look ever so slightly sheepish as Peter shot him a glare.
"There is also something we need to discuss before I transfer the units over." Dey sat up, idly slapping on his malfunctioning occulights to at least give the illusion of professionalism. "Rocket, could you sit down? I have some questions for you."
The raccoon's grin fell faster than a meteorite. "About what?"
Dey paused, no doubt struggling to find a 'polite' way to put things. When that failed he settled for the truth. "There are more than sufficient grounds to arrest you and hold an investigation as to what happened on Corix 85. But I want to give you the benefit of the doubt and ask you privately, so we can clear this up now. What happened?"
"Nothing," Rocket growled, crossing his arms over his chest and daring anyone to contradict him. Dey raised an unconvinced eyebrow, Gamora screwed her eyes shut, Quill put his hands in his pockets and began whistling, Drax was suddenly very interested in Dey's potted plant collection and Cosmo developed a bad case of itchy ear.
Five minutes of awkward silence later, Rocket slumped in defeat and pulled up a chair. "Let's just say working with the Nova Corps don't make you popular with the black market crowd." He snorted. "Not like I was ever popular to begin with."
"So it was self-defense?"
The raccoon shrugged. "Kinda."
"Was anyone… hurt?"
Rocket grit his teeth. He liked Dey, he really did. But what kind of a frickin' question was that? He'd seen the security holo. By now half of Xandar likely had. There was no point in denying it, not when there was concrete evidence to the contrary. "Noone who didn't deserve it."
"Alright," said Dey, as behind him an old-fashioned printer 'bloorped' and spat out a sheet of paper. "Sign here and you'll be absolved of any and all crimes commited in the service of the Empire."
Rocket's ear flicked in confusion. "That's it?"
"Well there's more stuff to sign but I believe you're telling the truth." Dey handed him a pen.
"Right." Rocket picked it up, frowning as a second paper joined the first. "Why?"
"Well, you are, aren't you?" Dey frowned at him. "Telling the truth, I mean."
"Yeah, obviously." Well, technically he hadn't lied. "But why?"
The Xandarian blinked, glancing over at the Guardians in search of an explanation and finding none. Quill shrugged. "I mean, you did save my family. And the planet. And all things considered I'd rather have you guys running around instead of the Black Order."
Rocket squinted at him, refusing to believe it was that easy. Refusing to believe people were that nice. That trusting. All his life he'd been tossed in jail for less, and now Xandar was all too happy to let him go scot free? "I guess it would look pretty bad if you guys had to lock up Nova Prime's 're-election campaign', huh?"
"Rocket, come on man, relax," Quill gave the raccoon's seat a sudden swivel. "You're not some voting strategy."
"That explains the merchandise," Rocket spat, clinging onto the armrest for dear life.
"All of it illegal," Dey interjected. "And honestly, it's driving me insane. But the simple truth is we don't have the manpower to crack down on it and bigger things to deal with than action figures, posters and plushies." He sighed. "And my daughter owns one and she cried when I tried to confiscate it."
"Yeah that checks out," Rocket sighed. "Kids these days."
Dey couldn't quite stifle a chuckle as he handed Rocket another sheet of paper to sign. "And sign this one for political instigation. What was that about anyways?"
"If I had to guess I'd say everything within ten feet of a kree and a skrull is political instigation."
Dey snorted and went on in his usual amicable way. "Look, I know you and the Corps have history. Bad blood and honestly lots of misconduct on our part, but that's all in the past and a clean record means a clean record. Try and keep it that way, okay?"
There was something about the earnestness in his voice that made Rocket feel guilty for ever doubting his sincerity. His ears flicked downwards in shame. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just new to, well," he gestured at the office and the papers. New to trusting people. And being loved. And being thrust in front of a camera instead of behind bars. "All of this."
"You're doing good so far. Honestly better than I expected." Dey gave Rocket the kind of smile he'd always wanted from Sire. "Keep it up."
"Thanks." Rocket cleared his throat and set the pen down, ignoring the lump in his stomach that told him that that wouldn't be possible. "You got a jar or something? Technically speaking we should be doing this proper and my signature is..." He trailed off gesturing at his paw and making a stamping motion with it.
Footnote: I kind of struggled with where to start this arc because there's three different stories I want to tell before we move onto the next one and I just honestly wasn't sure which way to format things. I've got a clearer picture now but I'm still not quite sure how it'll all fold together.
I think having the Guardians deal with things like the paparazzi is very meta considering I'm sure the real life actors have had their fair share of crazed and overzealous fans/the press. And don't get me wrong- I don't think there's anything wrong with being an overealous fan (especially considering I likely am one for writing this fanfic) but I also had a lot of fun with some of the questions being posed- maybe too much fun. A lot of it I got from various reddit threads or Discord convos (there is a large number of people who wonder if Rocket is neutered- hence that one potentially homicidal question) and honestly it was just a blast to write from start to finish.
Captain Fring (as portrayed by Giancarlo Esposito) is another fun addition to my roster of one-scene OCs. Similar to Titus, except less outwardly antagonistic. I imagine a fair few of the Higher-Ranking Nova Corpsmen weren't too happy with letting the Daughter of Thanos and Mister Twenty-Three Prison Breaks go free, even if they did save the planet.
And honestly I'm just a fan of writing Dey as the straight-man handler of the Guardians who just has to go with whatever they throw at him, while bending a few rules here and there for their sake. He's a good cop, but no amount of academy training or Corps protocol could have prepared him for them.