#rickv786

Vice Rick the day he picked up Clawdia. 🐯🌴🧡

@rickv-786 said: ❝I said I'm not jealous.❞ (For Nurse Diane ) ↳ ANGST LEVELS

Granted, she hadn't really said anything out of the ordinary. She was just used to seeing many Ricks and Morty's alike come in and out of this infirmary in need of her help. It was just a typical for her to greet them cheerfully and give them advice, but sometimes certain Ricks and Morty's seemed touchy or distant or something else. Just how it was she guessed?!

"A-Alright. Whatever you say." Nurse Diane responded, working on a wound of his. It wasn't hard for her to gather he was a druglord of sorts, or just dealt really hard into the stuff too. Either way, he had gotten into a fight of sorts from it with what she could gather together at least.

"I'm just doing my job, but sure, get on the nurse despite her having the degree to help take care of you." Who said she couldn't be feisty right back to her patients if the situation called for it?

"Miss me already?"

A few tendrils begin to curl around Vice's ankles as they travel upwards. Slowly, but surely, and the pressure applied grows steady as they keep a lightly constricted sensation on the man.

"Almost makes me think that you have feelings for me. I'd advise against making me believe that."

A few of the tentacles work up further, stopping just short of the man's thighs.

"I'm unfortunately a hopeless romantic for the living."

˚ .˚ 🐾❄️ ˖ ˚ 𓂂 . ──── Frankly Pawbert's not sure if he should be offended or flattered by the question. Still a paw comes up to run along longer tufts of fur before answering, "I'm a lynx!" Like that should be obvious from that trait and ears flick because that's another defining feature his species shared.

"..."

Uh oh. Another Rick. But it's not the one that he recognizes. Not the one that's threatened him plenty of times in the past.

Still, he's guarded in the face of this stranger, ready to either hold his ground or run at a moment's notice--whatever would result in him to live another day.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Vice tilts his head slightly, the glint of his aviators catching in the light, a smirk curls across his lips. He takes a drag from his cigarette, exhales smoothly, and leans in just enough for the air to thicken with charm and heat. "My deal?" His voice is a slick drawl, dipped in honey and gasoline. "I’m the guy your mama warned you about... and the reason you didn’t listen." He chuckles low, cigarette between his fingers, eyes never leaving the Prime's face. "I own the night, sweetheart. Flash of neon, pulse of bass, a whisper in the right ear and a bullet in the wrong heart. I run a club, I dance with danger, and I don’t play fair." Another slow exhale. The smoke drifts like a veil between them. "So you better ask yourself—what's your deal? 'Cause once you step into my world, baby... there's no walking out clean." He winks. "Now. You still curious?"

Smoke billowed in the air as if waiting to be admired, and Prime watched it rise, lazy and scented with something half-familiar—chemical, nostalgic, but not worth running through his sensors. The guy across from him had a certain aura about him... Something sleazy-smooth that vaguely reminded him of that Miami Rick bastard.

“See, I don’t do clean exits.” Flatlined. “There’s a maid back in the lab for a reason.” First to clean up the blood. Second, for the other kind of mess. The kind he didn’t pretend was innocent. “What can I say, gotta give the woman a job, y’know?”

Now, Prime didn’t hate Ricks. Didn’t even mind most of them… just the ones who licked their own boots and thought family made them holy. Those Ricks? Yeah, fuck ‘em.

He snagged a bottle off a passing tray—vodka, or something clear enough to pass off as such—and dropped into the seat opposite of the guy. Cards appeared in his hands like they’d been waiting to be relevant.