Work Text:
Rocket experiences snow for the first time after stalking his bounty all the way to Contraxia.
For a moment, wonder fills his wiry, mangled chest as he steps out of his S-Class and peers up at the sky (which has not stopped being beautiful and forever) —tilting his head at the pretty little snowflakes flitting to settle on and melt through fur.
In awe (and before he can think better of it, frankly), he sticks out his tongue. Small, curious pinpricks of flavorless cold. He registers that he’s buried a few inches into the ground, and his paws make a padded crunch on the unfamiliar surface when he decides to move.
For a moment, he forgets that he isn’t considered a person. That he’s Orgocorp property and that the only life he’ll lead is one that he can never, ever stop fighting for. He furrows his brow, trying to maneuver the strange terrain, padding on forward toward neon advertisements and nasty dives, only to trip and fall.
The impact is soft. Blinking, he stretches out his limbs, watching as the stuff bunches under the swipe of an arm. He doesn’t quite smile, no, but he wonders what else he could be missing out on.
For a moment, Rocket is a child.