The Games; Application

[rocket_raccoon]

OUT of CHARACTER

Name: Hika

Other characters: None

IN CHARACTER

Name: Rocket

Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy (Marvel MCU)

Canon point/AU: post-movie

Journal:

rocket_raccoon

 

History: Movie Wiki, but as far as Rocket's history goes Wikipedia has this to say, though how different Rocket's background is in MCU is largely unknown.

Prior to the events of Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket was created and cybernetically enhanced by an unknown group of people (likely scientists or, if it follows the comics, robots). It can be assumed that he left this group, either by escaping or being let loose, and set out to the galaxy on his own, wreaking havoc with a multitude of crimes, including theft, escaping prison, mercenary work, arson, and surely much more. By the time the movie begins Rocket is running around with Groot, a sentient tree creature of unknown origin and clearly Rocket's best and dearest friend, picking up bounties to get rich off of.

Presentation:

Rocket stands about 3 feet tall, with bushy, coarse hair all over his body, and it makes him look like- well, a raccoon. Not that he knows what that is (clearly it's some Terran thing that he wouldn't give a damn about anyway), and it's probably for the best that no one call him that. A good bulk of his interactions with others has consisted of them trying to figure out what he is or laughing at his general appearance, and quite frankly Rocket's sick of it. People have referred to him as "vermin" and "rodent", and the words offend him to the point where he's quickly willing to violently lash out at the offenders. In his own words, he didn't ask to be made, and being treated by others like he's just some stupid creature or a little monster is the last thing he'll stand for.

Being genetically and cybernetically enhanced comes with a few things that are, well, out of the ordinary. He's a bounty hunter, a mercenary, and a master of weapons and battle tactics. He was created to be a "mean-ass fighting machine" (according to the movie's director). Everything about him was augmented to be that way; a genetically augmented cerebral cortex, cybernetic skeletal structure, etc. His knowledge of weaponry is ridiculously extensive, to the point where he may even prefer building his own weaponry as they are more advanced than most anything he could find or buy; it helps that having such unique weaponry eliminates the possibility of an opponent knowing what weaknesses to take advantage of. And knowing Rocket, he wouldn't let any obvious vulnerabilities exist on his original work.

According to Rocket, he was taken apart and put together over and over and over until they got him just right. As a result he's extremely angry and he's extremely brilliant, having been able to break out of every prison he'd ever been thrown into. His mind always seems to need to be working on something: It's pretty clear that he was able to put together his escape plan from the prison he and the other would-be Guardians were in very quickly. Weapons and tactics in particular are his bread and butter. He can build just about any kind of weapon he wants with pieces of scrap and spare parts, and is even able to do so in a matter of minutes. In fact, he spends his down-time on Peter Quill's ship building bombs and weapons out of pieces he decided to tear out. It's always good to have a hobby, even if it is building dangerous weapons in close quarters with others.

Motivations:

In a way, Rocket's actually pretty simple. Ever since getting out from under whoever it was that made him the way he is, Rocket's primary concern has always been looking out for numero uno. Using his gifts to become a bounty hunter and mercenary, most of his goals tend to revolve around the acquisition of money, and the power (and explosives) that go along with it. Because of what he is and how he came to be, he has a lot of anger issues and has absolutely no problem with letting others know when they piss him off. Primarily by blasting them away/to bits with one of his best guns. He enjoys "the simple things, like how much this is going to hurt" someone else. Rocket doesn't exactly have a whole lot of remorse for most of his actions, so long as things work out to his benefit (or entertainment). If that means hurting people, blowing up moons, or stealing a man's prosthetic leg, then so be it.

Because of the tests and experiments that created Rocket, much of his anger and frustration is born from the fact that he's alone in the universe. He's been able to use that as fuel to push him through life, and acting on that rage has always been the way he gets others to take him seriously. Almost every alien race he meets (or maybe even everyone that just sees him) stops to question what he is, and being the small, furry creature that he is often means he'll get laughed at. This isn't something that Rocket handles well, and when the comments reach his ears he's quick to reach for one of his massive guns. Though he rarely admits it (and only does so when drunk in canon), knowing that everyone looks down at him the way they do pains him deeply. And that pain only serves to fuel his anger. Being the only one of his kind ("Ain't no thing like me 'cept me.") is possibly what has drawn him and Groot together. They're both lonely misfits in the universe, but together they can take on whatever life throws at them.

For all of his “go big or go home” attitude, Rocket still knows when to quit. Being as smart as he is, he’s pretty damn good at evaluating and situation and deciding whether or not it’s worth dying for. This mindset has been tempered just slightly since the events of the Guardians of the Galaxy movie, but only in the sense that he’s broadened his scope of when something is worth doing. His time with the guardians has brought him around to being open to acting altruistically, even at great personal expense.

Somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep, deep within him, there's some little part of Rocket that can actually be a good person. This part of himself is tendered to by his close friendship with Groot, who in many ways acts as Rocket's moral compass and conscience. It isn't easy for Rocket to make friends, especially with how angry, brash, impulsive, and violent he is, but when he does manage to make some kind of connection with people (like he did with Peter Quill, Gamora, and even Drax), he values them deeply. We see this side of himself in two specific instances in the movie: when Groot is convincing Rocket to go rescue Peter and Gamora, and when Groot protects everyone from harm. At these times we can see just how seriously Rocket commits to his friendships, going to great lengths to avenge or rescue them, and even openly weeping over their injuries.

Setting:

Being an inhabitant of the Marvel Cosmos Universe means that the brand of cruelty that Rocket will find in the Capitol is nothing new. There are plenty of gladiator planets out there, and of course plenty of planets with batshit crazy governments, and being a bounty hunter and a mercenary must mean that Rocket’s had his share of run ins with them. And in order for him to have survived as long as he has and to be able to function in his line of work, he’s had to do plenty of killing in his day.

Rocket has no problems with gunning down anything and everything that gets in his way, especially if it means getting money or getting free.. Death happens everyday, and "everyone has dead people," and whether or not he's responsible for it it isn't generally something that will make him rethink his actions. However, the idea of having someone controlling his life and his actions, taking away his freedom and free will, is highly unappealing, to say the least. It's the reason why he continually breaks out of every prison he's been thrown into, but he's smart enough to know when to wait for when the timing is right.

SAMPLES

First Person Thread:

[The recording begins abruptly, and it’s pretty clear that Rocket isn’t addressing his “audience” first. He seems to be talking to someone just offscreen, clearly offended by what he’s just been told.] What th’- Are you friggin’ kidding me? At a time like this, you want me talkin’ about my feelings? Am I supposed to clasp my hands under my chin and look pathetic, too?

[Which he immediately does, turning at last to face the recording device. He does actually look pretty pitiful, his eyes gleaming out from beneath all the matted fur.] “Oh, BOO. HOO. HOO. I’VE NEVER BEEN IN PAIN LIKE THIS BEFORE AN’ NOW I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF. I LOST THE GAMES AND NOW I AIN’T EVER GETTIN’ OUT. WOE IS ME. WAAAHHH.”

[And then the act drops immediately, his “pathetic” face dropping back into a scowl.] That what ya wanna hear? Huh?!? Whaddaya even expect me to say??

Let me make somethin’ abundantly clear. I ain’t some soft, scared little Xandarian, okay-- I get into fights all the time, I’ve been through way worse than what happened back there and I got the scars and body mods to prove it. I got the balls to do what’s gotta be done, and just ‘cause some humie kid with a buncha primitive humie weapons got lucky don’t mean I’m finished here.

I got dead this time. From what I’ve been hearin’, that ain’t a big deal around here. And it definitely ain’t the worst thing that’s ever been done to me. You try lettin’ concentrated destructive power of a universe surge through ya after you’ve spent a lifetime bein’ torn apart an’ put back together again, and then I’ll talk to you ‘bout how you’re feelin’. See how you like it!!

[In case it wasn’t obvious, Rocket is more upset about people wanting to pry into his mind than about the fact that he got fried in an explosion. Death and injuries are an occupational hazard for him, after all. He doesn’t like it, but it’s a fact of life. He then bares his teeth in a snarl, leaning in close to the device as he speaks.] Go on and throw me back in, ya buncha fascists! SEE WHAT I CARE!!

Prose: 200 word minimum. To mimic the spirit of capriciousness within this game, please write your third person sample based on the following prompt:

You have been set in a room in front of the Gamemakers to be judged on a score of one to twelve, with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. The Gamemakers sit safely behind a force field and watch, and you are provided with an array of weapons and targets, though no gun to be seen.

If you are a new tribute, you have been plucked from home and rushed in here with only a brief explanation of what is going on: You are about to enter an arena death match that only one person will make it out of, and impressing these people will help you live.

Rocket had been to planets like this before. Places where the main form of local entertainment were a series of gladiator fights, battles to the death in an arena where everyone in the world could watch. Of course, when he’d visited those places he’d been able to be in the stands to watch. Mostly he’d been there to collect payment on bounties or whatever his latest mercenary work had been. But he’d at the option of being a spectator. As if anyone in their right mind would travel to those planets just to be thrown into the arena of death and destruction.

Of course, now that he realized that the chances of them volunteering to be part of this had to be slim to none. More than likely they were teleported into the prep rooms (if that’s what you wanted to call them), or kidnapped, drugged - some measure of force had to have been used. Because Rocket certainly wouldn’t have ended up in this situation if it hadn’t happened that way. Now that he has ended up in such a situation, he knew only one real thing: He had to live so he could get the hell out. Rocket had already been to hell and back in his lifetime, and he’d broken out of plenty of prisons before. In his mind, this wouldn’t be any different.

Step one was to impress these “judges” he was about to go meet.

Rocket strolled into the room the same way he’d enter any room. And immediately his mind went to work. Some kind of primitive forcefield was protecting the judges as they sat up in a booth and watched. Weapons and equipment all scattered around the room. Bows and arrows, ropes, swords... All primitive. Terran technology. No guns to be seen anywhere. There were some ventilation shafts high up toward the ceiling; the walls were too smooth for even Rocket to scramble up. Smooth stone pillars. Rafters in the ceiling. Floor lights all around the room against the walls. He could hear a faint thrumming beneath the floor. No other windows. The only door was the one he’d entered through. Every pair of eyes behind that forcefield were on him. Some of them seemed to be smiling. Laughing. Rocket sniffed. Well, he was going to have to put an end to that.

He coughed loudly before speaking up, voice just as loud and clear as usual. “Attention, idiots.”

If that hadn’t caught their attention, he wasn’t sure what would. “Firstly, I’d like to point out that the weapons you’ve put out here are totally useless. Primitive humie shit. But if you’re thinkin’ that’s gonna slow me down? You’ve got me all wrong. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Then he got to work. Rocket grabbed up a knife, testing its sharpness against one finger. He then walked the floor for a moment, ears listening for where he could hear the strongest humming. Once he found it he slammed the knife into the floor and began carving a small square shape, all while humming a cheerful sort of melody. As soon that was done, he grabbed a sword, some rope, and a bow and arrow. He tied one end of the rope to an arrow and the other to the hilt of the rope, wedged the sword into one side of the square he’d carved, then shot the arrow up and over one of the rafters in the ceiling. Still humming, he pulled a sack of flour over to where the arrow was now dangling and tied them together. Systematically, he added more and more sacks to that end, and soon enough the square panel he’d carved out began to pull upward.

It didn’t need to get raised very far. Rocket had small arms. As soon as it was pulled high enough, he ran back over to the hole he’d made and began to reach in for parts. There were parts here. Wires. Batteries. Strips of metal and maybe even some computer chips. He needed them. That forcefield had a power source somewhere, and with it being so primitive there was going to be a chink in the armor. He’d break it. That would get them to stop laughing at him, he was sure of it.

Setting the bow down next to him, Rocket quickly began yanking everything he could from out of the floor, weaving them all together to attach to the end of the arrow. He was still humming as he worked, occasionally moving from his spot to grab things from the other weapon stations; metal hooks, more arrows, knives, traps to take apart, a mallet. He was finished within minutes, and then he was raising a makeshift crossbow into position, loaded with an arrow that was connected to all the many wires from the floor. And he aimed it right for the little chink in the forcefield.

“First thing you humies gotta know about me,” he announced loudly, baring his teeth in a grin. If the fact that he’d pried the floor open wasn’t attention-grabbing enough, now that he had a weapon pointed at them he had some more eyebrows raising in surprise or alarm. “I always have a plan to get my ass outta places like this.”

And then he set the arrow loose. But Rocket didn’t get to find out whether or not it shattered the forcefield. It was only seconds later that the figures in all white descended on him to stop him.

What is your character scored:

Rocket would probably snag either an 8 or a 9 (though give him some proper weapons and he could go up another point). While he doesn’t have any superpowers to speak of, he’s highly intelligent, resourceful, an expert in weapons and battle tactics, and comes with a true “do or die” attitude. He knows how to adapt to his surroundings and survive in the most dire of situations. But if he has nothing to work with, then he kind of falls into a rut.

There are really only a few things about him physically that would give him any sort of advantage over a human in a fight. One of these things being the fact that he’s been made into a raccoon-like creature. As such, he has all those same abilities; higher speed and agility, acute sense of smell, sight, hearing, and touch. Rocket was made to be a fighting machine, with a cybernetically enhanced skeletal structure that will allow him to take some pretty big hits to the body. He’s a damn good pilot (from industrial pods to spaceships and the like) and an expert marksman with his weapons, all of which are skills that are ingrained into his muscles rather than actual superpowers.

Upon entering the arena, all Rocket will have initially are his wits. That’s plenty to begin with, but until he can get his hands on a weapon (or at least something that can be made into a weapon) he’ll be having a bit of a struggle.

Additional information: Question specifically for certain character types. Feel free to ignore if it does not apply to your character type. Please answer all that do (For example, a past victor AU would answer both their question, and the past victory question)