You hate my couch, m'gonna defend my couch. It's my sleeping couch. Sleeping here.
[His eyes slide shut, but he grumbles as they do:]
... Don't touch my shoes...
[His floppy drunkard feet wiggle where they're perched on the end arm of the couch, as if an added threat in Quill's direction. The candy is partly opened and just sort of hangs in his hands. Tragic.]
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You hate my couch, m'gonna defend my couch. It's my sleeping couch. Sleeping here.
[His eyes slide shut, but he grumbles as they do:]
... Don't touch my shoes...
[His floppy drunkard feet wiggle where they're perched on the end arm of the couch, as if an added threat in Quill's direction. The candy is partly opened and just sort of hangs in his hands. Tragic.]