#timeforaction

“ ...  really?  you  really  think  so.  i  mean,  i  might--  i  might  have  to,  um,  politely  disagree,  from  where  i’m  standing,  mister  president.  all  due  respect,  y’know? ”  

morty  assumes  the  incredulous  note  of  snark  that  edges  his  tone  isn’t  lost  on  the  ricks  in  the  room;  their  disapproval  is  evident  in  the  hardening  of  their  expressions,  the  pointed  adjustment  of  the  guns  in  their  arms  that  are  pointed  his  way.  despite  this  subtle  aggression  from  the  active  threats  in  the  room,  the  teenager  pays  them  little  mind,  refusing  to  be  intimidated.  hazel  eyes  remain  transfixed  upon  his  alternate,  bright  with  intense  apprehension.  

as  a  general  rule,  c-136  has  always  hated  stopping  by  the  citadel. he  can’t  imagine  what  it  must  be  like  to  live  here.  the  brief  visits  to  pick  up  orders  of  certain  materials  for  rick  and  say  hi  to  certain  mortys  he’s  come  to  know  here  are  awful  enough.  foolishly,  he’s  always  found  himself  inclined  to  put  the  inherent  shittiness  of  this  place  down  to  the  fact  a  bunch  of  ricks  headed  it--  a  council  he’d  butted  heads  with  time  and  time  again  before  their  eventual  demise.  a  fish  rots  from  the  head  down,  or  whatever.  his  brows  knit.

“ right.  the  circumstances.  um.  can  i  ask  what  those  are,  exactly?  w--  what’s  this  about? ”  despite  himself,  he  glances  to  the  guard  stationed  directly  beside  him,  and  a  look  of  outright  annoyance  flashes  across  his  visage  as  he  notes  how  close  the  barrel  of  the  gun  is  to  his  head.  he  leans  away  from  it  pointedly.  “ jesus  christ--  can  you  not?!  i  get  it,  you--  you’ve  got  a  gun.  i--  i  haven’t  forgotten.  i’m  very  aware. ”  

She wasn’t expecting visitors, and certainly not him. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t thankful for his company. Her hair was slightly disheveled from having barricaded herself under four covers and her voice was sore from choking on her sobs. Her eyes were puffy from all the crying she’d been doing, but there was a sparkle of softness when he proposed taking her mind off of her pain in the only way they both knew how. A gentle smile rose upon her cheeks.

“S-So, you’ve got an eye patch and a dark color scheme and you think that’ll automatically intimidate me? News flash, I’ve seen stereotypical villain types ten times scarier than you that almost made me shit myself. So maybe go back to party city and get yourself a scarier outfit and then we’ll talk.”