Marisol's dreams had never made much sense, even before these powers had been thrust upon her. One would think that being able to dream the future would be helpful.

That she'd be able to conjure up the winning lottery tickets or what the weather would be like on any given planet the day of a big heist. Something useful like that.

Nope. All she got was completely and utterly random nonsense. How was that useful? What was she supposed to do with a bunch of unconnected junk?

More than anything, the dreams annoyed her to no end. They were impossible to decipher, which was more than a little nerve wracking for her, considering she had an inexplicable urge to solve every puzzle out there. Her dreams just weren't solvable.

That night at the prison Marisol had one of her most confusing, and frankly spookiest, dreams yet.

It started out with nothing but darkness; slowly light leaked in, as a sliding door was thrust open, revealing a small crate from the inside.

The crate was carrying a massive, two ton, golden gauntlet, fixed with six little slots where one could attach gems if they wanted. (Personally Marisol thought it would have looked better with some jewels. It also would have been twice as valuable, which meant she'd get more money for selling it if she ever got her hands on it.)

"Fine." The voice reverberated around the crate, rattling it the slightest bit. It was low, deep, menacing. Angry. "I'll do it myself." Then, the mad titan himself appeared in front of the crate. His form was gigantic.

Marisol imagined he was probably the same size as two whole earth mountains; he could probably squash anyone who stood in his way all by his lonesome. (Which made the army sort of arbitrary, but Marisol didn't make a habit of judging other people's evil schemes.)

Thanos reached inside the crate, his purple skin seemingly darker in the light of the suns behind him. The golden armor over his body, glinted in the light threateningly.

The mad titan grabbed the gauntlet inside the crate, sliding it onto his arm, slowly.

Before Marisol could figure out just what he was going to "do himself" the scene changed, filling in the gaps for her.

It was a Xandarian city. For a moment, everything was nice. Perfect and stupid as per usual... In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

A thick, purple cloud washed over the city in one swift motion. People ran and screamed, but there was no where to hide. In a matter of seconds, everything was destroyed.

Woman, children, and even the mightiest of men didn't stand a chance. They were struck down, screaming in agony as the cloud washed over them, leaving behind nothing but their mangled corpses.

The city itself was destroyed, as its people were brought to their knees. Buildings crumpled, falling apart like bad bread. Vehicles fell from the sky, crashing and burning along with everything else.

A massive sink hole formed, swallowing all the water and beautiful structures within seconds.

The scene changed again. This time Ronan the Accuser was standing before five very dead looking figures.

His blue skin, lined with black markings, was covered in dust, as he sauntered from the debris and rubble of Xander. He swept a hand over the five figures, calling out to whatever survivors might still be out there. "Behold! Your Guardians of the Galaxy!"

The dream washed over the figures' faces like some sort of shitty movie, revealing the faces of Drax the Destroyer, Gamora, Rocket, Peter Quill, and Marisol herself.

Each of them were beaten badly. Rocket looked like he couldn't stand. He might have even been dead. Mari couldn't tell.

Her own form was curled up into a ball, shutting down from whatever fight had occured moments before this scene.

Drax and Gamora looked no better, but somehow they still managed to look ready for a fight; Peter was already struggling to his feet.

But even through the horrific scene something felt off. It took Marisol a minute to figure it out, but another look at herself and Rocket made it clear: Groot was missing.

Again, the scene changed, before Marisol could even wonder where her sweet little tree had gone off to.

Now, they were standing in an unfamiliar place, watching as it too burned to the ground.

Thanos held Gamora tightly from the back of her neck as she sobbed pleadingly. Marisol herself stood off to the side.

Her cousin was next to her, aiming a blaster directly at Gamora's heart, but it didn't look like he was doing it willingly. His eyes were shut tightly, and his hand was trembling terribly.

Gamora stared at him, tears streaming down her face like waterfalls. "I love you more than anything."

The image changed once more. They were back on Xander, even Gamora. The five Guardians of the Galaxy, as Ronan had called them, were falling from the sky.

Groot had wrapped a shield around everyone, fireflies swarming around them. Marisol had only ever seen him do that one other time.

She and Rocket didn't allow him to do it often, because they worried he would over extend himself...which is exactly what he was doing in the dream.

That explained why he wasn't with the others in the Ronan scene... Belatedly, Marisol questioned why she couldn't seem to see the events in their rightful order. It was very irksome.

Marisol and Rocket were at Groot's sides, begging him to stop before he killed himself. When Rocket demanded why he was doing this, Groot simply looked him in the eyes and said, "We are Groot." Then, he died. (It was the hardest thing Marisol had ever had to watch unfold in her dreams.)

The next few scenes was filled with a montage of people Marisol had never even met before. It looked as though most of them were from Terra, Earth.

There was a man running around in a black cat suit, an army of highly sophisticated warriors at his side. A kid dressed in a red and blue costume swung from building to building with what looked like a spider web. Another man, wearing metal red and gold armor was flying after him.

Marisol could see a red haired woman and a red skinned man running and hiding from someone; the man changed his appearance so that he looked like a normal Terran.

A blonde man ran with super speed in front of another man carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows, just in time to take a bullet for him. The blonde looked at the Green Arrow man, smirking through the pain. "Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

Another blonde man was running around, tossing a massive red, white, and blue shield at his enemies. He was fighting along side a man with a metal arm.

Standing on a cliff over the waters of, Marisol guessed, Norway, a woman with long dark hair dressed in green was smirking deviously. In front of her, two men were glaring at her.

The man on the left was dressed similarly to her, his own dark hair coming to a stop at his shoulders. The man on the right was dressed in red and silver armor, a heavy looking hammer in his hands, long blonde hair flowing in the wind.

The blonde man threw his hammer at the woman, only for her to catch it in mid air, shattering it to pieces. The men exchanged worried glances. "That's not possible," the blonde mumbled.

"Darling," the woman sneered. "You have no idea what's possible."

A woman with short blonde hair and a cape flew through the air, punching her way right through a space ship, which was kind of hot, Marisol thought.

Below her, the others and many, many more stood as an army, banding together to defeat Thanos and his own army.

The red haired woman was seen again, single handedly beating the shit out of Thanos, before he was forced to move away from her.

The man with shield was seen throwing around a hammer now, fighting next to the other blonde man, who had put on a few pounds and was now fighting with a scythe.

Spider boy was swinging around rapidly. It looked as though he were trying to keep something away from the purple skinned titan, the women warriors guarding him.

The fight was so fast paced and confusing, it made Marisol's head spin; and it was much too hard to follow, especially considering she had no idea who any of these people were.

All around the battle field warriors of different decent waved their hands rapidly, using weapons made from golden light.

Men and women jabbed at Thanos' army with spears and swords. A few of the soldiers even brandished laser guns.

Ships soared through the air, blasting at each other with their weapons. Marisol couldn't tell which vessels were friendly and which were the foes, though.

Marisol tried to will the to fast forward, (if she was dreaming lucidly then it made sense for her to be able to control her dreams, didn't it?) but all she managed to do was to make herself feel dizzy. (Which was odd. How could one be dizzy in a dream?)

All she knew for sure was that the fight ended with the death of the man in the red and gold suit.

The scene shifted one last time. The image was of Marisol and yet another man she didn't know.

He looked Terran, but he was dressed strangely -- a long red cloak over his shoulders, a robe fitted neatly against his skin, yellow gloves over his hands.

His facial hair was well trimmed, and his brown hair was swooped over to one side. (Though, his most noticeable feature was definitely those prominent cheek bones.)

Marisol looked as though she had recently taken a swim inside a dumpster. Her hair was matted and gross. Her clothes were torn to shreds, and her favorite boots had more than a few holes on them.

The duo was standing alone on what looked like the planet Titan, the home of Thanos. There was a ship wreckage behind them.

A group of people stood in front of them -- Peter, Drax, that spider kid, the man in gold and red, and a woman with tan skin and antennae. They were all arguing.

The man in the cloak glanced at Marisol, ignoring the others. "You saw it to?"

Marisol nodded, her face down cast, expression completely passive.

"Then, it really is the only way," he said.

"Yup," Marisol sighed.

The dream ended with a montage of varies planets being over run by a giant blue blob, people running and desperately trying to escape it to no avail.

Marisol found herself standing before the blob, trying to escape herself. But her legs wouldn't move fast enough. Her body was plowed over by the blob.

Marisol jumped up, a short gasp escaping her lips as she woke up. For a moment, she just sat there, breathing rapidly through her nose before she was finally able to get a grip on herself.

Slowly, she lowered her head back down onto the mangy pillow the guards forced the inmates to sleep with. She closed her eyes, hoping to fall back to sleep, but it was an impossible task, the nightmare from before swirling around in her head.

She couldn't keep the images from her mind's eye no matter what she tried. Sleep became even more impossible when a startled yelp sounded a few feet away.

With a groan, Marisol peeled her eyes open just wide enough that she could see what was going on.

Gamora was surrounded by Caucasian men, one of which held a knife to her throat. She was struggling to get away from them, but she was vastly outnumbered.

Marisol smiled, closing her eyes again. Rocket owes me thirty units, she thought giddily.

She heard one of the guards saying, "Take her down to the showers. It'll be easier to clean up the blood down there."

Gamora screamed, the men dragging her down the hall, slamming the cell shut behind them.

Marisol tried getting back to sleep again, except now that she was awake the memories of her past fought their way to the forefront of her mind along side the images from her nightmare. The walls were seemingly closing in on her, her breathing becoming rigid.

She tried distracting herself by thinking about Peter's walkman. There had to be some sort of modification done to the stupid little tape recorder.

It was the only thing that made sense, really. There was no way that thing would have lasted so long otherwise. The question was... What had Peter done to it?

When she couldn't​ think of anything right away, Mari sat up, cursing under her breath. She jumped out of bed, pacing around a bit before letting out a frustrated cry. Marisol pushed on the door out of frustration, stumbling a little when it unexpectedly moved.

She stood upright and pushed it the rest of the way open. Marisol scoffed.

That moronic guard left the door unlocked. She started down the hall, absently following Gamora's screams. She might as well go watch the show.

Along the way she passed a room where her cousin and Rocket were dog piled on the floor with some other brutes.

She wasn't sure why they were all sleeping that way. All the inmates had cells, so this method of sleep seemed rather redundant, if not just completely fucking weird.

The men dragged Gamora by the room, her screams waking Peter and Rocket. Peter stood up, meeting Marisol at the doorway.

He didn't stop for hi's though, hurriedly moving after the men and Gamora. He didn't look like he wanted in on the action either. Marisol sighed. He had grown into such an idiot.

Rocket hopped on Marisol's shoulder, exchanging looks with her before calling after Peter in a hushed tone. "Quill, where are you going? Quill! Quill!"

He didn't answer though, following the men downstairs and right into the showers. Rocket sighed, glancing at Marisol, whispering, "We gotta follow him don't we?"

"What are you asking me for?" Marisol whispered back.

"Well he's your stupid cousin!" Rocket said a bit too loudly.

Marisol shushed him; the duo glanced over at the brutes, making sure they hadn't woken up. (Though it was a wonder how Gamora hadn't woken them. She was screaming pretty loudly.) They didn't need any more trouble than what Starlord and Gamora were about to drag them into.

Marisol didn't ask how Rocket had figured how Quill was her cousin. He'd probably just over heard it with his better than average hearing when they'd been talking about it earlier. She rolled her eyes, following Quill and the brutes.

By the time Rocket and Marisol had caught up with Peter, the brutes had Gamora pinned to the wall, knife held under her throat.

She glared back at them, unwavering, as one man spat in her face. "Gamora, consider this a death sentence for your crimes against the galaxy."

Marisol rolled her eyes. How many people in this prison wanted this bitch dead for working with Ronan? Hundreds? Thousands?

At least ten, which was about as many men that had gathered in the showers. All because she'd helped kill their families or some bunk.

Sentiment. It was such a waste of time. Marisol could think of at least ten better ways to spend her time in prison than seeking revenge for some dead idiots.

The showers were fairly ghastly. Despite the guard's proclamation that the blood would be easier to clean up, multicolored splatters had dried on the titles' surface, crusting over the slightest bit.

The shower heads were rusted, and the dials for hot and cold water were crusted over as well.

Marisol guessed these things hadn't been used in ages, and she doubted one could start up a shower even if they wanted to from the looks of it. (That would explain the rancid stench of the inmates.)

She glared at her cousin, as they ducked behind the wall. "I can't believe you dragged me all the way down here for this!"

"You didn't have to come," Starlord whispered back. "Besides, you were already following them anyways!"

"Well, someone had to kept your moronic ass from getting yourself killed," Marisol hissed. "And I wanted to watch the show!"

"Then what are you complaining for?" Peter sighed.

"It's fun and makes you look stupid...and it's not very hard, honestly," Marisol shrugged.

"You know, you're a lot meaner than I remember," Peter scoffed quietly.

"And you're a lot more moronic than I remember," Marisol shot back.

Peter looked like he was about to argue against that statement, but before he could, Rocket waved at them both frantically from where he stood between the two cousins.

"Shh!! Big guy, three o'clock!" Rocket warned.

The cousins turned, spotting the 'big guy' Rocket was referring to. He wasn't as large as the man Groot had taken down earlier, but he was still pretty massive. His skin was a dull grey, thick red veins bulging out all along his body.

He wore no shirt, revealing his six pack abs. Marisol recognized him from the galactic news too. Drax the Destroyer, they called him.

Very dangerous guy. (Marisol tried very hard not to think about the fact that she'd just been dreaming about him.)

Marisol had met him one other time. She'd been working a solo job, since she and Rocket had been in a spat over who's turn it was to cook dinner.

(She always cooked. It wasn't fair! Why didn't he ever do it for once?!)

They hadn't really talked much, though because he was too busy tearing apart some egg heads with his bare hands, but after that Marisol had gained a great deal of respect for the man.

Drax marched towards the men attacking Gamora, his eyes narrowed.

The two cousins and Rocket ducked around the corner when he passed, but it was unnecessary. He didn't even take notice of them at all.

When he spoke, his voice was just above a growl, reverberating through throat. "You dare?"

The men whirled around, facing Drax with fearful looks. Slowly, they stepped away from Gamora, their legs wobbling as Drax stepped closer. "You know who I am, yes?"

Marisol snickered, watching the stupid bastards squirm under the Destroyer's harsh gaze.

The sight was even funnier than Peter's face when he'd realized she'd been fooling him. Rocket shushed her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

The prisoners nodded frantically. They all shifted uncomfortably.

One of them, a sleazeball with slick, greasy hair, stepped forward. "You're Drax the Destroyer."

"And you know why they call me this?" Drax said, coming to a stop in front of the brutes, his sights set on Gamora.

His gaze was harsh, beyond furious. He looked murderous, and Marisol stifled her excitement as best she could.

The idea of seeing Drax the Destroyer, well, destroy something was enticing, to say the least. 

Peter shot her a disapproving look; Marisol sighed. So, he had gotten a hero complex along with his stupidity. How annoying.

"You slayed dozens of Ronan's minions," the sleazeball answered nervously. He fiddled with his hands like a shy child.

Drax gave a curt nod. "Ronan murdered my wife, Ovette, and my daughter, Camaria."

He glared at Gamora; she looked down but said nothing as he went on. "He slaughtered them where they stood. And he laughed!" Drax yelled that last word, screaming it in the face of one prisoner, making him flinch back. Then, quieter, he addressed the brutes. "Her life is not yours to take."

Oh boo! Marisol grumbled inwardly. The Destroyer is a sap too! Lame!

She hoped he would at least make Gamora's death last a good long while to make up for it.

The guy was a complete psycho, so rumors had it. And the last time Marisol had seen him, he had been relentless.

He'd probably make her death last as long as possible, as painful as he could possibly make it. At least Marisol hoped so.

Otherwise he wasn't much of a Destroyer was he? She would also lose a great deal of respect for the guy, if that were the case.

Saps were annoying. If it turned out he was actually Drax the Sap...Well, it would be disheartening, really.

He looked back at Gamora, meeting her eyes. "He killed my family. I shall kill one of his in return."

"Of course, Drax," the man with the knife nodded. "Here, I…"

He handed him the knife. Drax took it, but before he could use it, Gamora leapt forward, crashing her firsts into the men holding her down.

Moving faster than lightning, she yanked the knife away from Drax, taking another from one of the men who'd had her pinned, aiming them at Drax and whoever else dared get close to her.

Groaning inwardly, Marisol rolled her eyes. She was getting a bit impatient. The blood splatter was taking much too long!

If they weren't going to kill her any time soon, then she wasn't going to stick around. Marisol moved, ready to leave, but of course Peter just had to act like a fool.

He slowly stepped out into the light, approaching the brutes and Gamora. Rocket called after him in a whisper-shout. "Quill! What are you doing?"

"I'm not family of Ronan or Thanos," Gamora told Drax, apparently not noticing Peter yet.

Though Marisol wasn't sure how. He couldn't have been more obvious if he'd had a big neon sign above his head reading: Look over here, losers! I'm a big, fat idiot!

Then, as if to prove just how brave and heroic she was, Gamora stepped back, dropping the knives and letting them clatter to the floor.

A bit stupid in Marisol's opinion. These men wouldn't give a damn about heroics, especially not from someone like her.

If anything she'd just opened herself up for attacks. But of course she just had to hop up on that high horse of hers and ride it into the stupid sunset!

Marisol scoffed. If there was anything more annoying than saps it was heroes.

Always acting better than everyone. Thinking they knew what was best for the world. She didn't need that shit!

"I'm your only hope at stopping him," Gamora told Drax.

With an angry roar, Drax ran forward, picking up the knife and slamming Gamora into the wall again; she let out a cry of pain.

He pinned her by the throat, aiming the knife at the side of her head. "Woman, your words mean nothing to me!"

For a brief moment, Marisol's excitement returned. She even almost cheered out with glee, sure that the action was finally about to start... Then, he cousin had to ruin everything.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Peter said, holding his hands out uselessly. This brought everyone's attention to him and, subsequently, to Rocket and Marisol as well.

Rocket ran a paw over his snout, groaning softly. "Aw, crap."

Marisol scowled at the back of her cousin's head harshly. It was bad enough that he was intercepting the show, but he had to call attention to her and Rocket, too! He was such an idiot!

"If we don't die, remind me to kill him for this later." Rocket nodded curtly in response, the two getting ready to fight, just in case.

Peter looked at Drax, talking complete shit. "You know, if killing Ronan is truly your sole purpose, I don't think this is the best way to go about it."

Drax glared back at Quill. "Are you not the man this wench attempted to kill?" He squeezed Gamora's throat a little tighter, causing her to gasp for air, as he said the word 'wench.'

Peter shrugged. "Well, I mean, she's hardly the first woman who tried to do that to me. Look." He lifted his shirt up, pointing to a scar on his side. "This is from a smoking-hot Rajak girl. Stabbed me with a fork. Didn't like me skippin' out on her at sunrise."

Mari laughed at that. She knew from her own experiences just how hostile Rajak girls could be, especially when you used them for one night stands or didn't call them back after the first date.

The image of her cousin being attacked by one of those chicks was almost enough to make up for his being a complete moron.

Peter lowered his shirt, pulling down his collar. "I got, right here, a Kree girl tried to rip out my thorax." He pointed to another scar on his throat. "She caught me with a skinny little A'askavariian who worked Nova Records. I was tryna get information."

He shrugged, like whatever wrongdoing was completely justified. Then he ruined it by talking some more. "You ever see an A'askavariian? They have tentacles and needles for teeth. If you seriously think I'm interested in that, then…" He made a face.

Drax growled, looking impatient, and Peter shifted nervously. "You don't care," he realized. "But here's the point."

He nodded to Gamora. "She betrayed Ronan. He's coming back for her. And when he does you…"

He ran his finger along his throat, sticking his tongue out and making a gagging noise.

Drax looked confused. "Why would I put my finger on his throat?"

"What?" Peter squinted, before realizing he needed to explain. "Oh, this is a symbol. This is a symbol for you slicing his throat."

"I would not slice his throat," Drax said. "I would cut his head clean off."

"It's a general expression for you killing somebody," Peter explained. He glanced over at one of the other inmates for backup. "You've heard of this. You've seen this, right?" He did the motion again. The prisoner nodded quickly.

Drax turned to the guy too. "You know what that is?"

"Yeah, yeah," the guy said frantically. "Everyone knows."

"No, no," another inmate warned, afraid of Drax.

"Santo infierno!" Marisol cursed. "It doesn't matter!"

Peter nodded in agreement. "Yeah you're right." He turned back to Drax. "What I'm saying is, you want to keep her alive." He gestured at Gamora. "Don't do his work for him."

Marisol was sure that Drax was about to kill them all, but with one final dirty look at the daughter of Thanos, he dropped Gamora to the ground and stepped away.

Gamora fell to her knees, gagging and coughing uncontrollably for several minutes.

Drax slowly turned his gaze to the knife in his hand. "I like this knife. I'm keeping it." He stalked off, looking annoyed more than anything.

The red eyed man Drax had taken it from pouted. "That was my favorite knife…"

Marisol patted his back with fake sympathy. "That's why you don't get attached to inanimate objects, mi amigo."

"Listen!" Peter was saying, as they left the showers, Gamora at the lead once more. "I couldn't care less whether you lived or whether you died."

Gamora spun around on her heel, instantly calling his bluff. "Then, why stop the big guy?"

"Simple," Peter said.

Marisol leaned against the wall, arms folded in front of her, a smirk plastered on her face. "You want in her pants?"

She'd said it as a joke, but as she recalled the scene in her dream in which Gamora had told Peter she loved him the humor became a bit stale.

Peter and Gamora whirled around, both staring with wide eyes. Rocket snickered. "You know," he said, scurrying up on Mari's shoulder. "I've actually been thinking the same thing."

Peter shook his head. "Well, you're wrong. Both of you." He turned back to Gamora. "The real reason is: you know where to sell my orb."

Gamora scoffed. "How are we going to sell it when we, and it, are still here?"

Peter grinned, a no doubt dumb ass idea forming in his head. He nodded to Rocket, who was still perched on Marisol's shoulder. "My friend Rocket, here, has escaped twenty-two prisons."

Rocket nodded slowly. "Oh, we're gettin' out," he said, absolutely sure of himself. "And then we're going straight to Yondu to retrieve your bounty." He pointed at Quill, squinting his eyes threateningly.

Peter scoffed, turning to Marisol. "But I'm your cousin!"

Marisol shrugged, Rocket shifting slightly at the movement. She looked back at Starlord with a blank stare. "We might share the same blood, chico estrella, but we haven't seen each other in over twenty years. We're hardly related anymore."

"That's ridiculous," Peter protested. "Of course we're still family! We still have the same blood and DNA and stuff."

Marisol rolled her eyes. "DNA doesn't always confirm who your family is." She pointed at Rocket. "Rocket and I go way back. And I haven't seen you in nearly three decades. So, as far as I'm concerned, he's more family than you've ever been."

Peter's expression was one of hurt and betrayal, but Marisol wasn't sure he had any right to wear it. Did he honestly think the plan would change just because he'd proved he was her cousin?

"Damn, that's cold. I remember there was a time when you actually cared for your family. For everyone, for that matter. And now you're just...a walking block of ice." He gestured at her dramatically.

She gave another careless shrug, forcing Rocket to jump off of her at the movement. "People change, Primito. They don't stay eleven years old forever."

"How did you get this way?" he asked, actually having the audacity to look concerned for her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "After everything I showed you and the other inmates, you're really gonna ask me that?"

Rocket shifted. The movement was brief, but Marisol still caught it. He got like that sometimes whenever their time as lab rats was brought up, all uncomfortable and fidgety. They didn't talk about it often, but she knew he was just as messed up as she was because of it.

Gamora and Peter glanced at the ground, not meeting Marisol or Rocket's eyes.

That was the annoying thing about people finding out you'd been tortured for half hour life. They treated you like you were broken.

After a moment Quill shook his head, looking up at Gamora, speaking as though the last few sentences of their conversation hadn't been uttered. "How much was your buyer willing to pay you for my Orb?"

Gamora sighed, turning to Quill, her voice monotone. "Four billion units."

Rocket jumped up; Mari's eyes widened. The two exchanged looks with one another. That was way more than they were being offered for Quill's bounty. "What?" Rocket yelped.

"Holy shit," Quill mumbled.

"I could buy hundreds of flying douchebag cars with that many units," Marisol realized.

Gamora nodded, not meeting any of their eyes. "The Orb is my opportunity to get away from Thanos and Ronan." She glanced at Rocket briefly. "If you free us, I'll lead you to the buyer directly, and I'll split the profit between the four of us."

Groot appeared next to Marisol, seemingly coming from out of nowhere. "I am Groot," he corrected.

"The five of us," Rocket translated. He looked up at Groot, exasperated. "Asleep for the danger, awake for the money, as per frickin' usually!"

Mari nodded slowly, gently patting Groot on the arm. "Yeah, we gotta work on that, mi arbolito dulce."