Seeing Helen's little face blackened with soot, Gwen quickly took her to wash up. Peter, meanwhile, washed Pikachu and Rocket Raccoon's fur at the sink in the backyard. Pikachu started rapping again, and Rocket Raccoon simply couldn't outcurse him.
Two freshly made tacos were placed before Schiller and Eddie. The sun-darkened Mexican young man winked at Schiller and said, "Sir, your pets certainly have personality."
Pikachu had just finished a verse and was catching his breath when he saw Helen come out, so he could only fall silent.
It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to rap in recent years. It was mainly that he was always surrounded by either mothers or children, and he knew it was a bad influence, so he tried his best to hold it in.
But this time, he had cursed to his heart's content in Battleworld. How did Schiller know? Just look at the number of emails demanding that the production team quickly develop a mute function.
When it was actually time to eat, Pikachu jumped onto the table and started shoving Rocket Raccoon around.
Their builds were actually not that different. Rocket Raccoon was a little taller and had modern weapons, but Pikachu's Thunderbolt was no joke either. Their fight was all sparks and lightning, and in the end, both rodents had their fur smoked black.
Schiller picked up a taco by its colorful wrapper, pinched the opening shut, and bit along the edge. The corn tortilla had been fried crisp around the edges, somewhat like a corn chip snack but thinner and with a better texture. The first taste was the rich fragrance of grain.
Then came the sour and spicy salsa, bursting with tomato flavor and packing quite a punch. The instant it went down, it felt as though he had turned