Wrench might give some passing consideration to the idea that the raccoon doesn't know English or Common or however the brain text might be transmitting, except for the fact that Rocket seems to keep responding. The sentient animal is clearly pissed off about something, but for once the man can't think of anything he's done recently to deserve this kind of ire. Not unless the representative has a thing for Darkhounds, or a particularly feeble goat.

He doesn't have much time to wrack his brain further when Rocket launches himself at Wrench. More specifically at the blade he's been sharpening. The tall man can only assume the raccoon means to turn it against him for some reason, and he's not about to have that. Not that he particularly wants to hurt the creature, either. A fight erupting in the middle of the welcome meal probably isn't a good look for the new summoned. Wrench blocks, turning the knife hand to his back and extending his other arm out in front of him to give Rocket a good chest-shove.

Are you fucking rabid? Get off of me. It's likely not the most well-advised reaction, but here they are. He's not about to let the raccoon get the knife if he thinks it's going to lead to him being stabbed.