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jedibuttercupGen; Sleepy Hollow x Guardians of the Galaxy (MCU). 1800w, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
intoabar: Abbie meets Rocket.
The raccoon wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?"
Title: imagine the delinquency
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13/gen
Spoilers: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014); mild Season 2 Sleepy Hollow spoilers.
Notes: Forintoabar, for the prompt, "Abigail Mills goes into a bar and meets... Rocket (MCU)!"
Summary: The raccoon wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?" 1800 words.
Abbie frowned as she walked into the bar, scanning the patrons for the disturbance Hawley had texted about. It would be nice if he'd given her a little more to go on than 'you'll know it when you see it'. The last time she'd been in the bounty hunter's favorite fishing pond, he'd angled hard for a date, brushed her off when she stuck to business, then nearly got eaten by a succubus; she wasn't sure whether to hope he was trying to draw her in again, or really had stumbled over something dangerous.
They'd barely beaten back Moloch's latest attempt to jumpstart the apocalypse; the last thing she and Crane needed was yet another supernatural puzzle on their plates. Abbie sighed and glanced at the screen of her phone again, but no further warning had appeared since the last time she'd checked. Typical.
Nothing stood out at first glance, though she did see several patrons staring avidly around the corner toward the barstools in the back. They looked more fascinated than afraid, but that was where she'd found Hawley before, so it was probably a good place to start. She walked casually past warmly polished wooden furniture and low-lit booths filled with people whispering excitedly over their drinks, and turned to head for the counter-- then stopped short, eyebrows climbing her forehead.
Well. Hawley hadn't been wrong. She definitely knew it when she saw it. The question was, what exactly was she seeing?
Abbie shook off the surprise and kept going, sliding on a stool next to the... three foot tall raccoon? Demon that looked like a raccoon? She couldn't even begin to guess what it might be. Though she was at least sure that whatever it was, it wasn't a puppet; it was dressed in a small jumpsuit and moving too fluidly to be stuffed, programmed, or on wires. Her sidearm was a comforting weight at her hip as she searched for something not entirely ridiculous to say.
"So," she drew the word out. "Come here often?"
The raccoon's head turned sharply, gaze aimed up at her. The face was adorable: dark fur around the eyes bracketed by curving patterns of white, with more white on the muzzle and cutting up in thin stripes through the browner fur over his head. But the expression definitely wasn't, and not just because of the fangs that showed as the muzzle opened with a reply.
"Seriously? Do I look like I'm from around here?" he replied acidly-- and it was definitely a he, Abbie thought in bemusement as he kept going. "I thought you humans were supposed to be smarter than that. Not that you could guess by ours-- but since he's only half, I was being generous and only docking you by fifty percent of Quill's particular brand of idiocy."
A small paw waved a glass around in the air as he spoke; it still held, by the smell of what he'd sloshed during his little speech, about half a shot of hard liquor. And from the row of upturned shot glasses on the bar, several more had already made their way inside him. He tossed back the remainder, made a face, then slapped the glass down on the bar to join the others. "Hey, barkeep! Keep 'em coming."
The bartender was slightly wild-eyed as she poured a fresh glass; Abbie didn't blame her.
She worked her jaw, then surreptitiously pinched herself in the leg to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Not that the lack of waking up was really all that conclusive, given her experiences with purgatory, but it did make her feel better. Pity there wasn't a similar test for spell-induced illusions. Well, she'd deliberately stuck her hand in a jar full of false maggots once; she'd just have to brazen through this situation as well.
"Since you're not, ah, from around here, I hope you understand when I ask whether you have the funds to pay for that?" Abbie replied.
The raccoon laughed stridently. "Ask someone who hasn't been in the acquisition business on more planets than this bar holds people. Like I was going to rely on anyone else paying for me-- or risk pissing off some jerk who never forgets a stiffed tab. This place could be useful, if Quill keeps dragging us back to this backwater world to visit his grandfather. Nah, I got the goods." He pulled what looked like a double eagle from a pocket-- a $20 gold coin that hadn't been in active circulation since the thirties-- and slapped it down on the bar. "What business is it of yours, anyway? You a bouncer?"
The strangeness just kept piling up. "Planets?" she tackled first, skeptically.
Aliens hadn't been mentioned anywhere in the Book of Revelation in her Bible. Maybe it was egocentric to think that every single weird thing that happened in Sleepy Hollow was connected to the pending apocalypse one police lieutenant Abigail Mills and former Revolutionary soldier Ichabod Crane were destined to Witness, but the last year or so's track record of incidents was pretty illustrative.
"You heard me," the raccoon replied, eyeing her condescendingly. Then he shook his head. "You know, I thought Quill was exaggerating when he said your people still believe they're the only sentient species in the universe? You're not even the only humies in the universe, and it's not like you haven't been bouncing your signals out into the galaxy for decades. Why'd you do that if you thought no one was listening? But I have to say, I was expecting a lot more running and screaming." He gestured around to the staring customers seated around the room.
Abbie pursed her lips. Whether he was telling the truth or not... she didn't have time to deal with yet another reality-altering headache with Moloch on the move. Why hadn't the raccoon and the rest of his crew-- presuming they did exist-- come down in Colorado, or someplace else out of her jurisdiction?
"Luckily," she replied dryly, "you just so happened to arrive in a town with a serious case of Sunnydale Syndrome."
He blinked at that, leaning a little away from her. "What's that? Some humie disease? It doesn't cross the species barrier, does it?"
She suppressed a smile; this was more familiar ground. It was a shame Crane was still up at the cabin; he was missing out. "Not the way you're thinking. It's a cultural reference. It means two-thirds of the people here are convinced they're watching some sort of special effect; most of the rest will have put it to the back of their minds and forgotten about it by the end of the week. But to get back to your earlier question... I'm not a bouncer, I'm local law enforcement. Someone at this location reported a disturbance. I'm guessing that's you."
He wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer-- though the sharp teeth still kept distracting her. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?"
From the stiffness of his posture, and the way he shifted a hand-paw closer to the pockets of his jumpsuit, she gathered he'd had several such experiences before. Fortunately for both of them, Abbie had absolutely no intention of inflicting him on the Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's office; the fallout would probably be more than any of them were prepared for. It was almost a pity, because she dearly would have loved to see the look on Reyes' face.
"No, this is the part where I ask you to go quietly. Mister...?"
"Just call me Rocket."
Right. "And you can call me Lieutenant Mills. Now, are we going to have a problem here?"
Her phone buzzed as she finished introducing herself; she fished it out of her pocket immediately, glancing briefly down at the screen. She'd been expecting a text from Hawley apologizing for bolting on her, since he was nowhere to be found. But it was from Crane; maybe Hawley was with him? It began "Lieutenant Mills, I seem to have encountered a sentient and mobile species of tree..." accompanied by an image that out-weirded even Rocket for strangest encounter of the week.
Trees; one of her least favorite signs of the Apocalypse. At least this one wasn't white, and didn't come in a grouping of four. She hoped it was one of Rocket's 'us', and not Henry's latest shot over the bow.
Rocket's acerbic reply drew her attention back to him. "Not if you let me finish my drink in peace, Lieutenant. What does a guy gotta do to get properly drunk without having to defend his existence around here?"
She rolled her eyes. "Drink it, then," she said, sweetly. "And in the meantime, you can tell me if there's anyone else I should be keeping an eye out for? There are people in this town that would shoot first and ask questions later, and I'd hate for one of my people to accidentally start an interstellar war over a simple misunderstanding."
Or to drive the aliens, and their technology, into Henry's hands. The last thing the Horseman of War needed was extraterrestrial ammunition.
"Like I'm gonna sell my crew out to you. Nice try, lady. If the Nova Corps couldn't hold 'em, your people don't have a prayer."
"I don't know about that," Abbie replied, turning the phone screen toward Rocket to show him the picture. "My friend's handy with an axe, and he knows where the kerosene's stored. Unless you're gonna claim this isn't one of your crew?"
Rocket sat up straighter, all evidence of inebriation vanishing. "Is that...?" he said, snagging the phone out of her hand and poking at the picture to enlarge it. "Groot! What are you doing, you idiot? You let a guy out of your sight for a couple of hours to commune with the local foliage...."
She grabbed the phone back. "So you do recognize...." she began.
"I ain't got time for this. Which way's this friend's place? He torches Groot, and you and me are gonna have words!" He tossed back what was left of his drink, slammed the glass down on the bar, and then jumped down off his stool. When he moved, she got a clearer look at what appeared to be holsters on his thighs; better shut any potential overreaction down quick.
"How about I drive you out there?" she suggested. "Less potential for misunderstandings that way... and maybe I can drop you both off wherever it is you're staying afterward...?"
The raccoon made a scoffing sound; from the way he eyed her, Abbie figured he had a pretty accurate idea of her actual motivation. "Lead the way, then," he said sarcastically.
Whatever got the job done. Abbie took a steadying breath, then headed for the door.
(x-posted at AO3)
intoabar: Abbie meets Rocket.The raccoon wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?"
Title: imagine the delinquency
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13/gen
Spoilers: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014); mild Season 2 Sleepy Hollow spoilers.
Notes: For
intoabar, for the prompt, "Abigail Mills goes into a bar and meets... Rocket (MCU)!"Summary: The raccoon wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?" 1800 words.
Abbie frowned as she walked into the bar, scanning the patrons for the disturbance Hawley had texted about. It would be nice if he'd given her a little more to go on than 'you'll know it when you see it'. The last time she'd been in the bounty hunter's favorite fishing pond, he'd angled hard for a date, brushed her off when she stuck to business, then nearly got eaten by a succubus; she wasn't sure whether to hope he was trying to draw her in again, or really had stumbled over something dangerous.
They'd barely beaten back Moloch's latest attempt to jumpstart the apocalypse; the last thing she and Crane needed was yet another supernatural puzzle on their plates. Abbie sighed and glanced at the screen of her phone again, but no further warning had appeared since the last time she'd checked. Typical.
Nothing stood out at first glance, though she did see several patrons staring avidly around the corner toward the barstools in the back. They looked more fascinated than afraid, but that was where she'd found Hawley before, so it was probably a good place to start. She walked casually past warmly polished wooden furniture and low-lit booths filled with people whispering excitedly over their drinks, and turned to head for the counter-- then stopped short, eyebrows climbing her forehead.
Well. Hawley hadn't been wrong. She definitely knew it when she saw it. The question was, what exactly was she seeing?
Abbie shook off the surprise and kept going, sliding on a stool next to the... three foot tall raccoon? Demon that looked like a raccoon? She couldn't even begin to guess what it might be. Though she was at least sure that whatever it was, it wasn't a puppet; it was dressed in a small jumpsuit and moving too fluidly to be stuffed, programmed, or on wires. Her sidearm was a comforting weight at her hip as she searched for something not entirely ridiculous to say.
"So," she drew the word out. "Come here often?"
The raccoon's head turned sharply, gaze aimed up at her. The face was adorable: dark fur around the eyes bracketed by curving patterns of white, with more white on the muzzle and cutting up in thin stripes through the browner fur over his head. But the expression definitely wasn't, and not just because of the fangs that showed as the muzzle opened with a reply.
"Seriously? Do I look like I'm from around here?" he replied acidly-- and it was definitely a he, Abbie thought in bemusement as he kept going. "I thought you humans were supposed to be smarter than that. Not that you could guess by ours-- but since he's only half, I was being generous and only docking you by fifty percent of Quill's particular brand of idiocy."
A small paw waved a glass around in the air as he spoke; it still held, by the smell of what he'd sloshed during his little speech, about half a shot of hard liquor. And from the row of upturned shot glasses on the bar, several more had already made their way inside him. He tossed back the remainder, made a face, then slapped the glass down on the bar to join the others. "Hey, barkeep! Keep 'em coming."
The bartender was slightly wild-eyed as she poured a fresh glass; Abbie didn't blame her.
She worked her jaw, then surreptitiously pinched herself in the leg to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Not that the lack of waking up was really all that conclusive, given her experiences with purgatory, but it did make her feel better. Pity there wasn't a similar test for spell-induced illusions. Well, she'd deliberately stuck her hand in a jar full of false maggots once; she'd just have to brazen through this situation as well.
"Since you're not, ah, from around here, I hope you understand when I ask whether you have the funds to pay for that?" Abbie replied.
The raccoon laughed stridently. "Ask someone who hasn't been in the acquisition business on more planets than this bar holds people. Like I was going to rely on anyone else paying for me-- or risk pissing off some jerk who never forgets a stiffed tab. This place could be useful, if Quill keeps dragging us back to this backwater world to visit his grandfather. Nah, I got the goods." He pulled what looked like a double eagle from a pocket-- a $20 gold coin that hadn't been in active circulation since the thirties-- and slapped it down on the bar. "What business is it of yours, anyway? You a bouncer?"
The strangeness just kept piling up. "Planets?" she tackled first, skeptically.
Aliens hadn't been mentioned anywhere in the Book of Revelation in her Bible. Maybe it was egocentric to think that every single weird thing that happened in Sleepy Hollow was connected to the pending apocalypse one police lieutenant Abigail Mills and former Revolutionary soldier Ichabod Crane were destined to Witness, but the last year or so's track record of incidents was pretty illustrative.
"You heard me," the raccoon replied, eyeing her condescendingly. Then he shook his head. "You know, I thought Quill was exaggerating when he said your people still believe they're the only sentient species in the universe? You're not even the only humies in the universe, and it's not like you haven't been bouncing your signals out into the galaxy for decades. Why'd you do that if you thought no one was listening? But I have to say, I was expecting a lot more running and screaming." He gestured around to the staring customers seated around the room.
Abbie pursed her lips. Whether he was telling the truth or not... she didn't have time to deal with yet another reality-altering headache with Moloch on the move. Why hadn't the raccoon and the rest of his crew-- presuming they did exist-- come down in Colorado, or someplace else out of her jurisdiction?
"Luckily," she replied dryly, "you just so happened to arrive in a town with a serious case of Sunnydale Syndrome."
He blinked at that, leaning a little away from her. "What's that? Some humie disease? It doesn't cross the species barrier, does it?"
She suppressed a smile; this was more familiar ground. It was a shame Crane was still up at the cabin; he was missing out. "Not the way you're thinking. It's a cultural reference. It means two-thirds of the people here are convinced they're watching some sort of special effect; most of the rest will have put it to the back of their minds and forgotten about it by the end of the week. But to get back to your earlier question... I'm not a bouncer, I'm local law enforcement. Someone at this location reported a disturbance. I'm guessing that's you."
He wrinkled his muzzle in what looked like a sneer-- though the sharp teeth still kept distracting her. "Figures. Is this the part where you ask me to come quietly?"
From the stiffness of his posture, and the way he shifted a hand-paw closer to the pockets of his jumpsuit, she gathered he'd had several such experiences before. Fortunately for both of them, Abbie had absolutely no intention of inflicting him on the Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's office; the fallout would probably be more than any of them were prepared for. It was almost a pity, because she dearly would have loved to see the look on Reyes' face.
"No, this is the part where I ask you to go quietly. Mister...?"
"Just call me Rocket."
Right. "And you can call me Lieutenant Mills. Now, are we going to have a problem here?"
Her phone buzzed as she finished introducing herself; she fished it out of her pocket immediately, glancing briefly down at the screen. She'd been expecting a text from Hawley apologizing for bolting on her, since he was nowhere to be found. But it was from Crane; maybe Hawley was with him? It began "Lieutenant Mills, I seem to have encountered a sentient and mobile species of tree..." accompanied by an image that out-weirded even Rocket for strangest encounter of the week.
Trees; one of her least favorite signs of the Apocalypse. At least this one wasn't white, and didn't come in a grouping of four. She hoped it was one of Rocket's 'us', and not Henry's latest shot over the bow.
Rocket's acerbic reply drew her attention back to him. "Not if you let me finish my drink in peace, Lieutenant. What does a guy gotta do to get properly drunk without having to defend his existence around here?"
She rolled her eyes. "Drink it, then," she said, sweetly. "And in the meantime, you can tell me if there's anyone else I should be keeping an eye out for? There are people in this town that would shoot first and ask questions later, and I'd hate for one of my people to accidentally start an interstellar war over a simple misunderstanding."
Or to drive the aliens, and their technology, into Henry's hands. The last thing the Horseman of War needed was extraterrestrial ammunition.
"Like I'm gonna sell my crew out to you. Nice try, lady. If the Nova Corps couldn't hold 'em, your people don't have a prayer."
"I don't know about that," Abbie replied, turning the phone screen toward Rocket to show him the picture. "My friend's handy with an axe, and he knows where the kerosene's stored. Unless you're gonna claim this isn't one of your crew?"
Rocket sat up straighter, all evidence of inebriation vanishing. "Is that...?" he said, snagging the phone out of her hand and poking at the picture to enlarge it. "Groot! What are you doing, you idiot? You let a guy out of your sight for a couple of hours to commune with the local foliage...."
She grabbed the phone back. "So you do recognize...." she began.
"I ain't got time for this. Which way's this friend's place? He torches Groot, and you and me are gonna have words!" He tossed back what was left of his drink, slammed the glass down on the bar, and then jumped down off his stool. When he moved, she got a clearer look at what appeared to be holsters on his thighs; better shut any potential overreaction down quick.
"How about I drive you out there?" she suggested. "Less potential for misunderstandings that way... and maybe I can drop you both off wherever it is you're staying afterward...?"
The raccoon made a scoffing sound; from the way he eyed her, Abbie figured he had a pretty accurate idea of her actual motivation. "Lead the way, then," he said sarcastically.
Whatever got the job done. Abbie took a steadying breath, then headed for the door.
(x-posted at AO3)
