The likelihood of Rocket snatching back the bottle seemed high, and in reality it was about the same as though this was any other day. Rocket was often protective of many things, not just over-sized weapons and ammunition. He wasn’t known to share, and when he did, he almost always made a joke out of it. Today’s events did not put him in a joking mood, however. Gretel would be extremely lucky if he all he did to hurt her, was to call her creative names.
Rocket’s patience with Gretel was surprising, for he was content enough to stay seated, gaze fixed on a random spot on the floor, his bushy tail curled round him. He didn’t say anything- aloud, that is, for he had decided early on that it was best if he kept his thoughts to himself. While he waited for Gretel to open the bottle, in his mind he went through a check-list of all the qualities he detested in Humies. Was it fair? Probably not, because he didn’t know if a Humie was even responsible for the animal deaths. But it made him feel a fraction better, and that was reason enough for him.
One ear flicked and turned to face Gretel when she spoke, and though he accepted the bottle when it was offered back to him, that ear flick was the only sign that he was even listening to her. Rocket studied the bottle for a moment, tracing its neck with his clawed fingers. After a brief pause, he lifted it to his muzzle and took a mouthful, then swallowed. Little of what Gretel said made sense to him, for in his opinion, she wasn’t being clear. What other animals were there left to skin, and was it information that he needed to know?
His ears pressed flat against his head, and Rocket shifted, turning away from Gretel a little more. “That makes no fucking difference, Humie. You’re not one of them. You won’t disappear next.” Licking his muzzle, Rocket took another swig, and held it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. The bottle wasn’t easy to hold with just one hand, but he managed.