#moonrockshot

 RP Excerpt

   After Rick finished punching in the coordinates, he held off on pressing the final button to activate the portal.

   He stared longingly at Morty through his sunglasses, the smirk vanishing from his lips. There would have been a point in time where he would have just snatched this Morty off of the street. A year ago, he would have embedded a Morty Manipulator Chip underneath his skin without question. He used to do so easily back when he was deep into Pocket Mortys craze, even coercing his original Miami Morty into kicking the shit out of the other Mortys.

   He spent a lot of that time on a perpetual high, using a mixture of coke, K-lax, and even Fractal Dust. When he was constantly up, it made dishing out fucked up orders to Miami easier. He could do so without the on-set of guilt. He often kept at it for days with no sleep, using the Mortys he chipped when Miami needed a rest in order to capture more.

   He’d felt unstoppable.

   He’d been wrong.

   Miami had convinced him to release all of the Mortys when another Rick with a stronger team finally took him down. Miami’s tears also made Rick behave significantly better with his addiction. He had the propensity to stick to bumps throughout the day, rather than snorting lines, and drinking from his flask. He saved the hardcore partying for the night now.

   Those had been some dark times.

   Rick shook his head in an effort to free himself from the memories. Ever since that fascist fuck of a president came to power, he needed to exhibit extreme caution. He couldn’t just kidnap Mortys off the street (maybe he no longer wanted to), but convincing them to come with him… To perhaps, in a sense, make them become his Morty, or one of his Mortys, didn’t seem so bad. But none of them could ever be quite like Miami had been to him.

   “Yeah, you’ll call,” Rick told Morty with authority. “Take—Take care of yourself, Morty.” He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. He told himself he didn’t; he wasn’t going to ever become one of those soft old Ricks who’d bend over backwards for every goddamn version of their grandson.

 RP Excerpts

     Now he drank vodka like water and at least snorted two or three bumps of coke or K-lax throughout the day. He knew it was getting worse and he’d probably die faster than most Ricks but whatever. He never planned to live this long.

      Rick snatched the bottle, clenching the neck of the whiskey bottle to the point of his knuckles turning white. The sound of Moonrock’s laughter echoed in his ears.

     He stormed down to his lab in the basement. The facial scanning, fingerprint, and hilarious periodic table passcode (Fluorine, Uranium, Carbon, Potassium, and Uranium again---or F-U-C-K-U) seemed like pointless precautionary measures at this point. The instruments in his lab were collecting dust. The most recent invention that sat on his workbench was a neon pink and blue compact mirror for his original Morty, Miami. It was supposed to be more than a fabulous mirror. It was supposed to be a teleportation device back to the mansion.

     Maybe if he’d finished it before the whole incident of Jerry fucking accidentally asking Morty for a dance, maybe if he gave it to Morty before Jerry blew the whistle to Beth and Paul, maybe, just maybe Morty would have came right back here after being sent to boarding school.

     Maybe then he would have never met Mimi and Moonrock.

     Rick seized the mirror and threw it against the wall, watching as it shattered into hundreds of pieces. He wanted to throw the bottle of whiskey, too, but he wanted it too much.

     Breaking the seal, he took a long swig, letting the hard liquor burn down his throat, as it had countless times before. He abandoned the lab and went back upstairs, locking himself away in his bedroom. He crawled into bed, becoming thoroughly acquainted with the whiskey until he blacked out.

      Miami smirked a little when Mimi brought up Rick being old since he still wasn’t awake. “Knowing him, he probably stayed up all night trying to keep up with people or aliens way younger than him. Stupid old man’s gonna be out of commission for a while if we don’t wake him. Sometimes, he’ll sleep the entire day away, only to stumble into the club when the night hits.”

    He sighed, the smirk vanishing. "Wh-When he gets like that, he wouldn’t even be up to open the club on time. I’d have to do it those nights...” More nights than Miami would care to admit. “Look... T-Take care of the stupid geezer while I’m away, will you? Make sure he sleeps on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own grody throw-up.” His lower lip trembled. He thought sometimes Rick partied the night away with the intent of never waking up. He didn’t want the idea to affect him. The old man was old; he’d lived his life and now the prick was even trying to replace him. Why should he care if the old man kicked the bucket? Still, Miami couldn’t help it. He loved his Grandpa Rick.