Girl Scout Cookie Murder

March 26, 2018:

Among the piles of packaged cookies, there is death. Unintentional death, but death nonetheless.



NPCs: None.

Mentions: Captain America


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

From the depths, it arose - the creature, the one they thought was laid to rest forever. How wrong they were to believe they had the ability to keep it from returning. How naive they were to think they knew what they were doing…

In reality, the so-called 'depths' are nothing more than the many girl scout cookie boxes scattered and strewn across the Triskelion hangar bay floor, creating miniature piles of trash no one has thought to remove from the premises. A few of those boxes are still sealed, fresh and ready for opening. Others, however are the casualties left to rot as they are. Some still have leftovers in them, and if one isn't as lucky on the draw, they find themselves met with crumbs.

One of the leftover boxes shifts and tilts, falling flat onto its side. As its crumbly contents spill out, a small treelike being clambers his way past the crinkled wrapper within. Two cookies are kept under an arm upon his escape, his free hand shielding his eyes from the lighting above.

"I am Groot," he tiny-grunts, but he's satisfied with his findings so far. All that work…all he wants to do is eat some snacks and watch stuff while sitting on his favorite couch. But maybe two cookies may not be enough.

His plan for the time being: put those two cookies up top on the couch and go scavenging for more. THEN he can vege out.

Except there's somebody by the couch. Somebody very heroic. Exceptionally heroic. With his own theme song. Because he's humming it. Forearms pressed on the top of the couch, eyes turned towards the projector lighting up the wall, is… Captain America.

That's right. Truth, justice, blue hat, wings, stripes, you know the deal. It's one of his older, most classic costumes, too: clearly he's having a nostalgic day. And a really bad skin reaction: his jaw and nose look like he wandered through a julienne slicer once a day- for a few years running. While on the surface of the sun.

He drops his chin down to rest on crossed forearms, still leaning, bent over, to 'rest' his upper body on the couch's back. And, evidently, finally spots Groot. "Try the Samoas," 'Captain' sunburn calls, pointing at a box to Groot's right. "Like little wagon wheels of bliss for your Organ Trail trip back over."

All of Groot's activity comes to a record-scratching halt the moment he looks up at his couch. Especially at the person standing right next to it with mighty star-spangled arms draped over the back.

Captain America!? On HIS couch!?!?

Wait. Hold on. Groot can't remember if the Good Captain has updated his wardrobe. He doesn't even recall if Captain America is supposed to come down and visit today. Minor details, but not important.

The tiny tree pauses and wrinkles his non-existent nose at the man, clearly confused despite being pointed in the direction of the Samoas. "…I am Groot??"

It must be Captain America, because nobody else could do such a fabulously easy flip sideways from the back of the couch, hurling it like so much easy barbed wire, and plopping onto the couch just so. He must have left his shield elsewhere, because he doesn't have it. But the suit is the real deal!

And so is the muscle. Oh yeah. Minor flex.

"Yeah, good of you to ask after me: I'm entirely on a most secret mission, of the ultimate of secret squirrel types, so you really can't tell anybody. But you seem like a trustworthy sort. Really got it together. Like a right and a left sock. Like thighs on a fat lady. They call you Zipper lips. Right? I can just tell about people," Captain cuisinart-jaw rambles.

Groot tilts his head to one side as 'Cap' continues talking, but he immediately stops listening when the man decides to vault over and make himself comfortable on the couch.

His couch.

Captain America did not. He did not.

…Oh, but he did. And that causes a little branch inside the Grootling to snap. "I am Groot!" he angrily cries, stamping a foot to punctuate his feelings on the matter. But despite the tone, it falls in perfect time to the scarred man's ramblings.

Cap leaps to his feet. "There's a land mine under the couch?" He demands in shock to Groot's statement, and drops FLAT to the floor on his belly next to it. Just suddenly, SPLAT on his face, and checking under the couch. Heroically. He feels around under it, deep to the shoulder, humming a little.

He pulls out an old empty cheetos bag. "No," He says, tosses it. Feels around more. "Don't worry, little pal. If it's here, I'll throw myself on it," he promises the little plant, tone urgent.

Obviously this isn't what he expected him to do. Skittering back a few steps, Groot barely gets out of the way at the drop of the 'Cap,' now staring at eye-level with the weirdo wearing Captain America's branding.

His silence stands for a while longer before he blinks, still kind of angry and confused at what is going on. "I am Groot." As the cheetos bag is pulled out, he's suddenly reminded of why he feels angry.

Snack. COUCH.

"…I am GROOT!!" One of the cookies is aimlessly chucked at 'Captain America.' The other one is tossed at the couch before the little thing runs off screeching, tearing through one of the smaller piles of boxes to find the Samoas.

They may be eaten. They may be used as extra ammunition. Who knows.

"Oo. A cookie. Thank you," the intruding weirdo wearing Captain America's outfit says, catching the first of the cookies tossed at him. He blows it off. Pauses, removes a splinter from it with a pluck of fingers - made much more difficult with the gloves on - and then slowly eats it. He relaxes as well, laying in front of the couch on his stomach now, and chewing on the cookie. He bends his legs, and crosses his ankles a bit, watching Groot's strange tirade away from him into the cookie boxes.

"Glad those are coming to good use. I thought maybe I brought too many boxes. No such thing, I told myself. I'm glad I listened to me."

Hearing that shout is both a relief and a cause for concern. That Groot's even in earshot is always good to confirm, but having him shout such things really doesn't make sense without some kind of provocation. Unless the kid was yelling at the TV again. That happens.

Rocket hurries his pace from across the way where he'd been borrowing some Terran tools to tinker around with the quinjet. With the supposed Captain on the other side of the couch, Rocket doesn't have a clear view of him. He does see a few emptied cookie boxes being thrown clear of the couch's cover, however.

"Groot?" he calls out as he nears, his ears perking at the other voice as he comes around the side of their makeshift rec room.

"What the."

The good 'Captain' swaps position as he hears Rocket. He rolls to his side, boosts one cheek with a bent arm, lofts the other over raised knee. You know the pose.


"Hey," says the weirdo, calmly, in a super butch tone. "Sup." He also snaps his fingers on raised hand and points.

And then he transfers the rest of the cookie from his other hand to his mouth to finish the last of it. Chew. ….Chew.

Somewhere in the background, Groot is still screech-yelling at the top of his lungs, throwing an empty box across the bay. Or a few feet, anyway. He then kicks over two other boxes before throwing himself bodily into another pile of untouched girl scout cookie boxes. Because that seems like the logical thing to do when enraged.

"….." The fuzzy Guardian looks at the masked man for a good long time even after the greeting. That sure isn't Captain America.

"Huh. This for one of them convention things? Otherwise I'm pretty sure Hollow-spleen doesn't happen until later," he notes. Then he squints and glances over his shoulder as a box bounces off his side, eyeing the angry tree tyke who looks like he's attempting to burrow into cookie boxes. He rubs at the spot between his brows with a sigh.

"It should be every day. My Halloween store merch would just sky-rocket. I sell a bajillion katanas, and they aren't even very good, you can't stab anybody worth anything. I'd be rolling in money though. Scrooch Mc-Ducking it. Which would break all of your body, to do, I'm certain. But the fantasy remains — to kill someone by chucking them into an enormous pile of metal coins from a diving board. If I were a supervillain I'd need to build one of those. F___ the sharks with the lasers on their heads."

So even if Deadpool were invisible, it would be really obvious who this is right about now. No kidding.

"What the am I censored?!" Deadpool demands of nobody. " you pieces of and in the …. ___."

Probably insane.

Another box - this time full of Tagalongs - skids its way into the coffee table. It lightly bumps the leg and stays put, almost innocent in is inanimate nature. It may have missed its mark of red, white, and blue, but Groot's arm strength is a toss-up in this stage of life.

Speaking of boxes, Groot does come stomping back over to where Deadpool and Rocket are conversing, dragging two boxes of cookies with him. And one of them is the Samoa box.

Stopping short of where Cap!Pool is literally censoring himself aloud, the tiny tree snorts. Shoving the Samoa box up front, he boots it, letting it to slide straight into the man before continuing his circuit back to his couch.

"I am Groot," he grumbles, passing by the raccoon Guardian as he drags the other box along.

"Eh, it's practically every day for some people, ain't it? Wearin' those weirdo suits you guys do. I mean, is that spandex crap really all that durable?" Rocket doesn't bother picking up after Groot, instead wandering over to the coffee table to pick up the box of Tagalongs and giving it a shake before he rips the top off.

"Euh?" Cap-pool's making no sense, but then not like that's anything new. Rocket gives him an odd look as he complains about being censored, glancing around for whomever it might be that the guy's addressing as me munches on chocolate covered peanut buttery goodness. His eyes drop back towards Groot as the little one stalks past him. "What was with the wimpy box throwing anyway? I know you can haul an arcade cabinet with your skimpy root arms."

Cap!pool is crying. Possibly real tears. Really hard to tell. Real enough. He mumbles something along the line of 'thank you' and opens the Samoa box slowly, curling around it. But then gets distracted. His phone made a noise. He tries to figure out how to get at it from the pocket underneath the costume at his thigh. Well. Hmmm. He finally loosens his belt and slips a hand down in there to fish around under thigh level. And withdraws the phone.

"Oh yay. Someone sent me lives." It is important to always use the lives up. Cheery. No tears. He pushes the cookie box aside - entirely untouched, just opened, and begins to try to play with his phone. "Stupid s___ gloves, how does he use anything," Deadpool complains.

He uses his tongue to unlock his phone, and then uses his teeth to pull one glove off. He has his own black and red glove under it, of course.

Wait. "You can hurl an arcade cabinet? I hope you mean throwing, not vomiting, although I'd also like to see the other option. Can you hurl me? I'm very aerodynamic despite not being a cabinet."

"I…am…Groot!" His reply to Rocket is made between grunts as he tries to maneuver his claimed box of cookies onto the couch. Which is…sad, from this angle. After a few more futile attempts, he stops to take a break, turning on a heel to look at his raccoon friend. "I am Groot."

There's a difference between girl scout cookies and an arcade cabinet. Big difference. And his explanation doesn't really justify why he can't do what he did back then.

His beady black gaze then falls back onto Deadpool. His brow arches, bark shifting ever so slightly, at the man, but it takes a moment to fully process what he's saying. But he does nod. Sort of. "I am Groot."

Rocket doesn't look very concerned at the man's lamenting, probably because he's still not sure what all Cap!pool's crying about. His attention shifts to the promptly discarded box of Samoas and then to- "Augh, flark- really? Why're you even-" Pause. "…you seriously wearin' your crappy costume under the crappier one?" Making a face as Deadpool ends up using his tongue to unlock the screen of his phone, Rocket shakes his head and steps over to help toss Groot up onto the couch.

"Yeah, that makes no sense. The other thing was like a hundred times tiny Groot size," he says. He also doesn't try to correct either Groot or their odd company in regards to whether or not Deadpool can be hurled. It might be something to see.

"No. I did take my face off," Deadpool supplies with a gesture to his facial-area.

If he did rip his face off, that might actually be the reason why his cheeks and jaw look like exposed muscle and it's questionable about if he actually has lips or just scars around his teeth. "It's in my pocket."

Deadpool does pick up the discarded Samoas box and move to set it gently near Groot on the couch. Peace offering? See? Nicey-nice?

"I look forward to my hurling, then. Don't warn me, that's a more fun as a surprise. Like being shot in the back of the head. If you see it, then it's too much anticip- …." ….

Little legs wriggle after the Rocket toss, digging into the couch cushions for better footing as Groot clambers onto it. Once he's settled, he finds out that his cookies are still on the floor. And out of reach.

He frowns. Then he looks over to see that there is the one cookie he threw earlier nestled between cushions. The frown lessens.

"I am Groot," he shrugs at Rocket, leaning back a bit. Like a king on his throne, Groot then acknowledges Deadpool's peace offering. Those big black eyes narrow and squint, darting between the box and the man in the Captain America duds. "…I am Groot," he considers, thoughtfully stroking his little chin.

At least it seems they're in agreement that the costume is crappy. Costumes? Rocket stuffs another couple of cookies into his mouth, looking over at Deadpool before just as quickly looking back towards Groot. "Yeesh, what happened to your face anyway? You look like you went up against a meat grinder headfirst."

He reaches down to pick up the other box that Groot had left on the floor, tossing it over beside the tree kid as Groot looks to taking Deadpool's cookies off his hands. "Eh, you heard 'im," he shrugs.

Deadpool scoots on the floor so that he's entirely out of Groot's view, due to being super close to the front of the couch. And then reaches up with just one little finger and nudges the box an inch closer to Groot. Nuuuudge. And then the hand descends back down.

"…Pation." From the floor.

And then, because Rocket asked: "Nicholas Cage won't give me back my other face after I swapped with Travolta."

One box lands next to Groot. As he reaches over to tear it open, he watches Deadpool scoot closer and nudge the other box toward him. Two boxes. Now that's not bad at all.

Digging for a cookie with one hand, the tree looks at Deadpool. And then at his free hand. The arm attached to that free hand starts to extend while Rocket asks about the man's marked face, stretching out as if to test some limits before going any further. After stuffing his face, Groot does the same with his other arm, getting them to about equal length of each other, quietly hovering out of Deadpool's line of sight.

"……" Sorry, Rocket's not up to speed with Terran movie trivia. That one's probably too modern for even Quill to get. So instead, Deadpool's treated to some munching of cookies.

"Anyway," the raccoonoid says amidst a spray of crumbs. He glances briefly at Groot, watching as arms grow and stretch. Stuffing another cookie or three into his mouth, Rocket frowns, cheeks bulging around said mouthful as he shakes the apparently emptied box about. "Tch." Another shower of cookie crumbs as he tosses the box over his shoulder and goes towards the mini fridge, probably for a beer to wash all that down.

There's some quiet sounds from Deadpool playing his mobile game on the ground. Little cheerful bling-bling noises. And some humming. Deadpool did put his glove back on. So how he's playing the game, well. He doesn't have a lot of other exposed body parts, overall.

"Also, cancer of the everything."

"…oh," remarks Rocket, glancing up briefly from around the fridge. "Well that sucks."

"Yeah. Not just the face, either." Kind of sobering. The tone is relaxed but serious.

And Deadpool will soon find himself wrapped in a wooden embrace. It's a comforting gesture, soft and light. One that may be missed since he's busy amusing himself with fun mobile apps. But it's the thought that counts. Not everyone has it easy. Alien and Terran alike can make that claim through mutual understanding.

…Of course, the meaning behind the 'hug' falls short once it tightens up. Without thinking, Groot goes on ahead to lift the man off of the floor to throw him full tilt.

"I am Groot!!!" he shouts, sounding accomplished and oblivious to what has just been said seconds ago.

Rocket can only imagine how that might work, and really, even just one particular cancer seems like enough to have to deal with. He straightens from the fridge, cracking open a can of beer for a gulp, the movement of extending tree limbs caught out of the corner of his eye.

Slowly the raccoonoid turns to look, can still upended for a longer swig.

…up until Groot ends up flinging his woody arms upwards, the abruptness making Rocket choke on his beer as he sputters.

Deadpool's reflexes are insane. But they don't matter when he doesn't dodge or strike back. He sort of looked at the interesting wooden bits. "Oh f___ me, this is a scene from Evil Dead, isn't it?"

And then a more important thing: "Wait wait let me grab my phoo- " Deadpool yelps, managing to grab at the phone. "MY PRECIOUS." Before suddenly being hurled across the hangar. Deadpool twists in the air, a graceful triple-salchow -

(The Salchow is a figure skating jump with a takeoff from a back inside edge of one foot. The rotation in the air is made in the direction of the curve of the take-off edge. The landing is made on the back outside edge of the foot opposite the one used for take-off! // THE MORE YOU KNOW // )

- right into the CEMENT wall. There's a bloody and awful crack of shoulder blade and spine as he slams it and drops to the floor, at least breaking the wrist that lands first. *Crunch.*

From where he was sitting, Groot is now standing, arms up and returning to their normal length. Black eyes stare out at where Deadpool has flown off to, widening a bit as his mouth goes slack. He barely makes a sound, almost unsure of whether he did a good thing or not.

Probably not. Most likely not.

"…I am Groot?"

Between coughs, Rocket watches as Deadpool is rather impressively flung. A little too impressive, really. He cringes as body meets wall and everything else to follow is just an awful bloody mess. Staring in that familiar manner in which one can't tear their eyes from a trainwreck, the raccoonoid steps over too place a hand over Groot's face to cover his eyes from the carnage, taking a very long pull from his beer can before he resurfaces for a breath.

"Hoooooooo crap."

It's like… a horror movie over there. A muffled sort of broken wet sound.

And it quickly gets dark, thanks to Rocket's guiding hand.

Groot wonders why he's not allowed to see the mess Deadpool has left on the wall. "I am Groot," he says, trying to pry the raccoon's hand away from his face.

"Shhhhshhshshshhh," Rocket hushes, ignoring Groot's protests as he sloowly gathers him under an arm and sinks down to sit on the floor on front of the couch and out of sight of…that disturbing sight and sound. They are totally not hiding. They are just. …hoping someone else will take care of the mess because that's on the other end of the hangar and couldn't possibly have been their fault because they're way over here.

Just like a horror movie. Or a horror movie with ZOMBIES? "I can TELL .. When I'm not WANTED," announces an irate Deadpool from the heap. He grunts a little and slowly turns himself onto his back with his BROKEN ARM as the leverage, which is really rather horrifying to watch, twisted backwards. He cracks it back into place. He then sighs a little, relaxing spread eagle.

"Just kiddin', Audrey II, my best shrubbery-matey. We cool," Deadpool calls, using his other hand to show a very very slooooow thumbs up, like the Terminator being slowly lowered into molten metal. CRY, CRY FOR ME. For maybe a minute.

Then Deadpool gets up, sleekly, hopping to his feet with a slick-as-you-please pulse of legs and torso. And checks his phone, it chirped.

"Ooo. Another extra life." He wipes the blood off the phone with his forearm. Removes the glove again, sticks it in the side of his belt.

Beep beep, dingle-dingle-bip chime!~~

"I'll be back later!" Deadpool calls, and suddenly skips out of the hangar.

Being shushed does get Groot to quiet down and obediently sit with Rocket, but it still leaves him somewhat curious as to why they're sitting on the floor and not on the couch like they usually would.

He doesn't even know how long they sit there for. And it starts to bother him. But the second he opens his mouth to say something, Deadpool's voice rings out, startling him instead. The little yelp of surprise is all the not-zombie man gets once he's put himself back together, not even comprehending the fact that they're okay despite the accidental murder experience.

And then he leaves. Just like that.

Groot stares at nothing but the coffee table, blinking slowly as he carefully pieces that last section together. He then looks up at Rocket. "…I am Groot?"

Ears twitching at the voice that seemingly impossibly sounds from across the way, Rocket just looks disturbed where he sits with Groot, amidst a scattering of cookie boxes.

Sure, the guy said he can regenerate, but that sure as hell wasn't anything minor. But that's Deadpool's voice, and that's the sound of footsteps traipsing off. It's very slowly then that the Guardian looks down at the smaller sitting beside him, slowly shaking his head.

"…I have no idea."

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