strangetrip | [OTA] shopping or whatever

The 'boutique' was pretty much a nightmare of pink and glittery, at least in places, but the fact that the thing restocked itself was useful as fuck. Sure, you couldn't always rely on finding the same things you did before, but there was almost always something similar. And Rocket was used to repurposing and relying on junk, anyway. Junk was usually free. Nobody cared if you took their garbage, and they didn't care for long after they were blown up by what you'd turned the garbage into.

All of which was why Rocket spent a lot more time in the boutique/gift shop than most people would have expected, given that there was nothing pink and glittery about him. Except, now, a backpack which was still pink but no longer glittery, as the rhinestone-things had been pried off and store elsewhere.

As per usual, he climbed shelves and fixtures, evaluating items and occasionally shoving something into the backpack. There was a heavy emphasis on anything with clockwork or mechanisms, but also postcards, greeting cards, and clothes that had rhinestones, sequins, or beads.

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Butters was too much a child of the Midwest to have entirely suppressed his instinctive "oh god there's a raccoon in the store" reaction, but he got over it quickly. "Sentient space raccoon" was the kind of news that got around, and what the hell, stranger things had happened--if Bob was to be believed, Harry had once bummed a donut off a Billy Goat Gruff. Anyway, he was here on a mission of his own.

"Don't suppose you've run across a tuba or an accordion anywhere, have you?" he called up to the raccoon.

"If I knew what either'a those things were, the answer'd prob'ly still be no." It was a good thing he'd had a couple years in Gotham to get at least a little used to humies just acting like he was a normal thing, Rocket thought. It'd never completely stop being weird, but it made life easier, especially when there wasn't much of a body count to pile up before he was left alone.

But that didn't mean he couldn't mess with them. Rocket dangled a thing off a shelf. "Hey, is this it?" (It was not. It was a glittery pink pen on a lanyard.)

"No, but that's completely fair, I should have asked if they have polka in space. Hang on." Butters did, of course, have a selection of polka videos on his phone. Let's see, the actual polka suit was probably a little... much for an introduction, and while he did have a couple of Jolly Rogers performances because it was always good to know your enemy, screw the Jolly Rogers. Ah, of course, you couldn't go wrong with Al. "Accordion's what the guy in the middle is playing, and the yeti on the right has the tuba."

Edited 2018-06-05 00:31 (UTC)

Rocket watched it for probably longer than was safe for his brain cells (what? what was that? why?) before shaking his head and making a shoving motion at the phone. "Every time I think I seen the weirdest fuckin' humie shit, along comes somethin' new." But because his brain didn't actually turn off very often, and it was an obvious question, he asked, "Why d'you want both? An' if you're gonna tell me there's more than one'a you, consider lying."

"Oh, I play them at the same time. At home, I mean." Butters queued up a second video, clearly shot on a phone, of himself bouncing around on a stage wearing an ungainly amalgamation of an accordion, a tuba, and a bass drum, cheerfully polka-ing away. "This is last year at Oktoberfest. I came in second."

"That is fuckin' horrifyin'." Rocket assumed 'horrifying' was what he'd been going for, so it was a compliment. "If I weren't already kinda stuck here, I'd say I'm staying the fuck away from Earth. Not that I hadn't been tryin' to anyway."

"I know, right? I swear the Jolly Rogers have an in with the judges or something." Butters shrugged. "Anyway, I've been trying to put a polka suit together just for something to do with all the spare time we get around here, but whoever or whatever restocks the stores doesn't seem to think musical instruments are a priority."

Good, it'd been taken as a compliment. Not that the sad hurt humie face wasn't fun and all, just that this one wouldn't've been as fun as Quill's on account of being about a thousand percent sadder. And Rocket was too distracted to care more. "Well, not for nothin' but I build shit sometimes an' I mighta been collecting junk. I could maybe try to build an 'accordion' thing if you promise you'll never show me those videos again."

More projects were good. Even a weird compressed-air caterwauly thing would kill time.

"I get that a lot, actually." Even Andi was fonder of Weird Al the pop parodist than she was Weird Al the polka legend. "You've definitely got a deal, though, thanks. I could try to sketch out the internals for you if you want--I couldn't build one from scratch but I know basically how they go together."

"Yeah, that'd help. I got a few ideas, too, so we'll see how things go." Primitive pneumatics, definitely, with the pumping. There were a lot of instruments that used pneumatics of some kind, not that Rocket had ever paid any real attention before. "At least the first couple'll be shit, fair warning. That's just how it goes."

"No, that's fair. Trial and error. My first actual autopsy I dropped the spleen on the floor and stepped on it." Butters grinned cheerfully. "Man, I can't tell you how big a favor this is."

"Eh, whoever it was wasn't usin' it anymore." Rocket, generally, didn't care much about dead bodies and what happened to them. He wasn't the type to cut them open or root around inside, but some people were and that was no big deal so long as they weren't trying to cut him open and root around inside. "I needed more things t'do anyway, it's not a thing."

"That's true, and the guy died from a gunshot to the head so it didn't affect cause of death determination, but it was still messy." Butters shrugged. "It's a thing to me, though, so if you ever need me to do something, let me know."

[OTA] shopping or whatever

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