Resisting the urge to allow the smug little grin from coming across his face, Mortimer chooses to lean back in his seat and watch his Space Hyena as she approaches the Morty, sniffing at his face, the back of his neck. She came up pretty high on him, armed with rows of dangerously sharp teeth that dripped slowly with a green venom.
Sylvie only offers him another low GROWL before Mortimer calls her back over. She goes without complaint, tail wagging as she settles down beside him; the only noise in the room for a little bit is the loud THUMP of her tail smacking against the floor.
“Of course. Take a seat.” He rumbles finally, ignoring the way Rico let out a huff of laughter. Mortimer DOES send a glare back at the Secret Service Rick, but the president only gets a smile in return.
“Now, to make sure we’ve got everything on here correct, I’m going to be asking you questions and I’d like you to answer them to the best of your ability. If you’d rather NOT answer, then this discussion is immediately over and I will have my guards escort you from this room.” The smile on Mortimer’s face grows.
“First one. What’s your original dimension number?”
morty doesn’t know what behaviors this space hyena has, let alone what species it is; he doesn’t know if looking her in the eyes is considered a challenge, or if he’s supposed to be offering something in return for this... inspection. all he can do is stay still, face flinching with her breaths as they billow across his skin and create goosebumps. the hairs on the back of his neck stand up even after she’s gone, and morty rubs at his nape to try to get rid of the lingering feeling.
he isn’t so much afraid of her as he is simply intimidated by the power she posed; she seemed well-trained enough that unless he did something rash, she wouldn’t lash out. and if the president wanted him dead, he would have ordered her to tear him to shreds already. but morty isn’t afraid of death. mortys die every day, and if he’s added to the count? well, rick will just have to find a replacement, is all.
finally forcing himself to move, morty sits in the open chair, careful that his movements aren’t sudden. he doesn’t relax -- not really -- and his polite smile has waned. in fact, the first question offered has him grimacing.
it doesn’t give him any help in discerning which president he’s speaking to; he was asked this before, and he didn’t give an answer. it isn’t that he doesn’t want to, but numbers and letters get jumbled and mixed up in his head, and he’s forgotten, really. morty’s mind races, trying to come up with something to give him before he hesitates too long and he’s thrown out.
❝ i’m... not sure if i remember exactly, ❞ he says slowly, frowning. he remembers that at the end, he always thought it was K9 -- like a dog. but he always had to remind himself that it isn’t. ❝ it’s long and stupid, and i never thought it was important. it’s like... ❞ morty waves a hand, a gesture that shows how little he really cares and how much he’s thinking about it despite that.
❝ J923... K4? ❞ his voice inclines at the end, unsure. ❝ that sounds right. J923-K4. ❞
morty doesn’t let himself think too much about his original reality. his original rick. his original family. there’s no time right now for reminiscing.
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