“Ain’t that a fuckin’ kick?” Rocket hauled out one of the chairs at Emma’ table and dropped into it, not as awkward as he had been right after he’d woken up and no more given to casual politeness. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt courtesy of Quill’s help, and his voice sounded right, even if everything else was wrong. “You get to blow shit up, an’ I just get to be fuckin’ bald.”