As far as women go, Rocket’s in a league all her own.
She’s vitality and violence and voracity all bound up in one petite package, all at once a best friend and a dangerous adversary. His acquaintance with her has been something of a whirlwind, but he likes it that way– likes HER. A galaxy full of self-concerned conservative assholes gets tiring after a while; it’s nice knowing someone with some SPARK.
“Why ya gotta go sittin’ all the way over there when I ain’t had a proper taste a’ them SUGAR LIPS yet, huh?” He flashes a grin– ever the insufferable flirt, whether or not he’s really interested.
(And with Rocket, how could he not be?)
“You’re one t’ talk about stamina. You been bouncin’ off the walls all night? Careful, you’re gonna get my boys all TUCKERED OUT.”
She twists, the mobility of the stool top allowing the suddenly vicious switch of her hips, putting into stark contrast the other lines and angles of her frame; elongatingly, wickedly knife-edged; her smile stemming from a similar sharpness. “The first one’s ALWAYS free. The others COST ya!”
The pronouncement is punctuated by the length of fishnetted legs, and the revolutionary, ruthless kicks clad on the attached feet, plopping down presumptuously (but always with pinpointed precision) to her buddy’s lap, half upsetting the mug currently held in his assured grip; heel held firmly on the iron muscle of his upper, opposite thigh - the toes lightly dug to his hipbone, wheedling the reminder of this parable playfully to his side.
Smile spread wider, elbows propped to the counter behind her, her head tips back, addressing the bartender improperly (upside-down, no less!). “YO, Chico! FILLERUP! ‘Nother round. And leave the PITCHER!” Tracking his movements to make sure her order is TOP priority in this pit-stop-pleasure-dome, she jerks upright when a light slap smacks to the side of her knee, nearly jostling her perfect perch, in enough time to catch her crew moving past, her older sister, Sweet Pea, in the lead.
“I’m FINE, M.O.M.!” She calls after with a petulance akin to a powderkeg. Amber giggles, and Blondie bringing up the rear arches a dark brow, her smokey eyed glance equal parts inquiry and approval. Rocket blows a laughably lewd kiss to both before turning back at last to the sly Centaurian smuggler she so adores.
“Aw, HONEY-DU...whatcha THINK I’m DOIN’ here with YOU! I KNOW you got RESERVES to SPARE in your ROSTER.” She arches off her seat with the aid of the bar at her back, pretending to scout the surroundings, “ALTHOUGH....that KRAGLIN Ferrari FELLA might meet my DEMANDS to do some SIGNIFICANT DAMAGE...Whatcha think? We a good pair?”
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
origamiaround
germansingergirl
