#rickq178

Clothes Meme| Accepting

“Uh huh. Then why are you counting it down, poindexter? Th-Thought all you kids were forced to give each other cards these days.”

   ⚛ ⚛ — ❝ I am NOT ‘ counting it down! ‘ I have merely calculated just how long, in total, there is left before this stupid holiday is meant to commence; a single, simple mention of acknowledgement is MORE than what I believe it deserves. ❞ Laced between cross words, did those same azure pools roll within cerulean lenses, glove-clad digits rapping against the dimming, digitized screen still bound at his wrist.

     Morty had been hidden away in the bathroom for ten minutes now.

His dream had sparked emotions he didn’t want to feel, memories he didn’t want to relive -- a familiar voice rang in his ear, something about biology, something about crazed teenagers going through a phase -- and though something so simple, so otherwise routine shouldn’t give off this kind of reaction, Morty felt his panic in the shaking of his hands. He held his phone, thumb hovering over the contact for five minutes at this point. 

He shouldn’t bother him with this. This was stupid, Rick would laugh at him, he --

Morty’s thumb brushed the call button, and the phone reacted before he could. Now was the time to panic.

Fumbling, Morty whined as he tried to figure out if he really did want to call Rick, but it was too late, now. His first call, finally asking for help, would be for something like this. Carefully Morty pressed the phone to his ear, his free hand rubbing at the cotton of his shirt.

“As long as you’re legal, baby. That’s all I give a shit about.”

One of the things he liked with the increased freedom that came with not having his grandfather around was getting to choose what adventures he got to have. They weren’t exactly as exciting as the ones that he and Rick had, but in a lot of ways that suited him just fine. It wasn’t as purposeful as the old man’s journeys, the man always had been operating at full speed no matter what, always looking for something, or deciding to go to massive space parties or what have you. 

Maybe it’s out of a sense of nostalgia that he decides to seek out the big club he heard about, the “Blue Velvet” that he heard about from one of the aliens from his own adventures. It wasn’t surprising that it was totally retro and a tourist trap for humans and aliens, but what was surprising was the club’s fucking owner. 

“M-m-motherfucker.”

He was well aware that Ricks where everywhere, he’d have to be dumb as a regular Morty not to realize that, and he knows that he really should have expected a Rick or two at a club; the place was practically rick bate after all... Booze, drugs, sex... A party every FUCKING DAY. The surprise wears away leaving only disappointment. He’s gotta get out of here before the Rick smells him out... What was it with Ricks and their ability to suss out Mortys anyway?